Ah,Life

Haircut

2012-01-31T13:07:00.000-08:00

It's all gone! And I'm loving it! Makes me feel frisky.

Turning

2012-01-27T21:12:00.000-08:00

Lately I've been feeling wrung out. Exhausted. Spent. Empty. Dried up. Drained. I look at a sunset and feel tired. I sit down to write and feel tired. I am impatient with other people. Holidays make me cranky. Poetry, art, learning new things, connecting with God...they all take waaaay too much effort. I just don't have energy for such things.

At first I blamed the children. They wake up a lot at night and I just don't get enough sleep. Then I blamed my job. Too much pressure, too little paid time off. Then I blamed church. Two callings, plus three hours of church a week, suck away a lot of my time. Most recently I've blamed Abe. If that man would lift a finger to help out once in a damn while, I've thought, I would have more time to recharge my batteries.

Admittedly, all of these factors contribute to my stress. But the truth is that, at the very core, I am the source of my own stress. I am creating my own problems. And I need to change something in order for things to improve.

One of the big contributing factors is my obsession with productivity. I floss while I pee. I check my email while I talk on the phone. I plan menus and create grocery lists on one side of a computer screen while my children watch Sesame Street videos on the other. I get a little high thinking about all the things I've been able to accomplish in a day. Abe will come home on Tuesday (the day I stay home with the kids) and I'll immediately intercept him on his way down to the computer room: "Do you want to know what I did today? Do you? Do you? Huh? Huh? I cooked whole wheat pancakes for breakfast. I washed and folded (and put away!) four loads of laundry. I went grocery shopping, took the kids to the library, mopped the floors, vacuumed the carpets, cooked two nutritious meals (one for today, one for tomorrow), introduced the children to Beethoven while engaging in imaginative play, visited with both of my stay-at-home mom friends, and cleaned out the fridge! Aren't I amazing? Aren't I? Aren't I? Huh? Huh? Huh?" I despise being behind on things-- I never want to be scrambling at the last minute to do anything--but I've become so hell-bent on being ahead that not being ahead has become like being behind and I find myself scrambling anyway.

The second issue is that I have convinced myself that my children surely couldn't live for a single day without having me-- their sun! their soil! their water!-- there to nourish and guide and direct them. I feel guilty about having to leave them for thirty- six hours a week while I go to work. I feel guilty leaving them on Saturday evenings to go on a date with their father. I want desperately to be able to spend more time with them, teaching them, reading to them, crafting with them, taking them to play dates, creating structure and routine for each of their days. I do what I can, but it's never what I wish I could do. Because I'm gone much more than I would like to be, I feel compelled to spend all my non-working time lavishing the children with attention and nurture. Besides going to work, taking naps, and leaving for a weekly date with Abe, I don't go anywhere without them.

So my life is a series of identical days that go something like this: Wake up sometime between five and six a.m. with my wild little boys, who think this is a godly hour for waking. (They are wrong, of course, but try convincing them of that.) Then, from the moment they persuade me that I am not going to talk them into letting me sleep for another hour 'til the moment my head hits the pillow at 9 pm or so, I am a whirlwind of frantic activity. Cook a hot breakfast, bathe the boys, get ready for work, dress the children, play with the kids, family scriptures, family prayer, drive to work, work-work-work, come home, cook dinner, play with kids, get the kids ready for bed, family prayer, story time, admire the children, appreciate them as they are right now, enjoy them because they grow up too fast, now put them to bed, clean up house, wash dishes, fold laundry, read for ten minutes, and crash into bed. There's just not enough time! I always think. There's so much to do and just not enough time! I run around panicked all the time, terrified that I am not doing enough.

This isn't living-- it's wheel spinning. Something needs to change. I need to change. But the question is, what? And how?

I don't know for sure, but as I've pondered this question, the following thoughts have come to mind:

Delegate.

Seek quiet.

Love.

Trust.

Be mindful.

Let go.

As the New Year approached, I found myself identifying a lot of ways in which I could improve, areas in which I could use a lot of work. I was trying to figure out an efficient way to work through them as quickly and effectively as possible. Then I had a wild, gasping, sobbing breakdown at work last week (so embarrassing), and I realized that I wouldn't be able to do anything to better myself or heal the world if I didn't slow down, remember how to breathe, and reconnect with the simple joys of life.

So that is what I am going to do. Over the next twelve months or so, I'm going to dedicate some time to exploring, writing about, and trying to weave the above concepts into my life. If you find yourself pushing yourself to go, go, go at an unhappy and unsustainable pace, I hope you will join me.

Here's to a calmer, more joyful 2012.

Brothers

2012-01-22T06:10:00.000-08:00

About a year ago, Soren finally accepted that he really wasn't going to be able to persuade us to return Liam. They still fight a little, of course, but they've also become friends.

No mistletoe needed. Just brotherly love.

Bedtime roughhousing.

I love how in this shot Liam looks like he's twice Soren's size.

Soren will be quick to point out that he weighs two full pounds more than his baby brother.

Every night when I come home to work, this is how I'm greeted. "Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!"

Soren made this gingerbread house at preschool.

Here he's sharing some of the candy from the roof with Liam.

Toothbrushing time.

Fabulous idea from pinterest: add a little food coloring to cheap shaving cream and you've got some fabulous bathtub paint. The boys love this.

Liam: January 2012

2012-01-19T20:02:00.000-08:00

Tonight Liam picked a piece of wooden railroad track out of the toy box and began "playing" it like a harmonica. As I tucked him in bed, he was happily sawing it back and forth across his lips while singing a tuneless, wordless song. That's a fun change I've observed in my littlest guy over the past couple of months: he has become very imaginative. He'll eat pretend food and make little chewing noises, saying "mmm!"while appreciatively nodding his head; he'll put on his lion mask and follow me around, grinning and gently saying "rawwwr! rawwwr! rawwwwr!"; he'll touch a picture of fire in a book and quickly pull back his finger, exclaiming, "Hot! Ouch!" One of his favorite things to do is stand in front of the couch, wave his arms around like he's losing his balance, say, "Woah...woah...woah!" and fling himself backwards onto the cushions.

The world's most adorable lion.

Liam loves to cook. He especially loves to stir things around in the electric skillet. He'll happily saute onions and garlic, brown beef, or stir together a sauce for me. When we bake bread and cookies, he helps by liberally sampling the dough.

When Liam wants a kiss he'll make smacking noises with his lips, then kind of suck them in and lean forward. It ends up being a lipless kiss, but he always makes a big popping noise and grins broadly afterwards. I love it. I'm sure the girls will too.

The child still can't consistently differentiate between "Mommy" and "Daddy" (I imagine him waving a dismissive hand in his mind, saying, "'Mommy,' 'Daddy,' whatever. They're just those big people who are here to make me happy.") but--as Soren has pointed out--he definitely knows who his brother is. It's so cute to hear him call out, "Sonin!' and have Soren answer, "What, Neeum?" and watch Liam pad off in the direction of his brother's voice. (Incidentally, Liam currently weighs just 2 pounds less than Soren.)

Today while Daddy walked the half block and back to pick up Soren from preschool, Liam (who, just for visualization's sake, was wearing nothing but a diaper) snuck into the kitchen, swiped a hunk of cheese, and took it to the front room, where he climbed up on the couch to savor his illicit treat in comfort. Then Daddy came home. Knowing he was in all kinds of forbidden territory, Liam tried to hide the cheese under his chubby little body where Daddy wouldn't see it.

Recently Soren bumped his head on a doorknob and was screaming loudly about the pain. Liam followed him around, repeating, "Sowwy. Sowwy. Sowwy." Finally Soren turned to Liam and solemnly said, "It wasn't you, Neeum. It was the doorknob."

If is not uncommon for the little Bubba to fall asleep while eating. He's such a Skousen.

He loves books, of course. Here he's reading Kevin Henkes' Birds.

Last month Liam randomly started having some foot/ankle pain in his right foot. We weren't ever sure what happened, but he stopped putting weight on it and crawled everywhere he wanted to go. It would get better, then worse, so it took us a while to take him to the doctor. The doctor sent us to a radiologist, who--while Liam screamed directly into my ear as though we were extracting his toenails without anesthesia--took an x-ray and sent it back to the doctor, who said, "Looks like he might have had a fracture that's healing. But it's hard to say. That might be how his foot always looks. But I don't think we need to do anything about it." A few days later Liam was walking on the foot like nothing had ever happened. Sigh. Another wasted co-pay.

Liam is a creature of comfort. You'll put him in bed and he'll nestle down under the covers, grinning with sparkly Disney eyes. He loves to snuggle under blankets, he loves to cuddle, he loves to be hugged and squeezed and kissed and adored. He is my little cuddlebucket of love and it totally blows my mind that the little pootums is going to be three next month. 'taint natural.

'Taint.

Soren: January 2012

2012-01-18T20:17:00.000-08:00

I'm sure it's some sort of developmental phase, but Soren is constantly comparing things: size, height, strength, speed, age, toughness. He talks about it all the time. He can rank everyone in our family according to age or size, and does so frequently. The comparing also comes out in his story-telling. For example, last night Soren told me a lengthy story about a monster whose feet were the size of six houses and whose teeth were each as big as a skyscraper. The monster swalloed him and Liam whole but then pooped them out into a fragile toilet that didn't flush. Tonight he told me a story about a "minivan minivan minivan bus car" that was longer than a train and so tall you couldn't even see a monster truck semi truck from the windows. Soren's stories generally consist of lengthy wide-eyed, spittle-flecked descriptions of objects of incredible size ("Bigger than DADDY! Big enough to hold TRILLIONS of people, Mommy! Bigger than THIRTY SIX ELEPHANTS! Bigger than the WHOLE EARTH!" ) or speed ("Faster than a CHEETAH! Faster than WIGHTNING MCQUEEN! Faster than WIGHTNING!") These descriptions are generally repeated over and over, particularly if I don't give a sufficiently enthusiastic response the first five times. "Mommy! Mommy! Are you wistening? I said it was FASTER THAN WIGHTNING!"

Side note: Possibly the happiest moment of Soren's life occurred when we googled "biggest truck in the world" and he discovered that Monster Truck Semi-Trucks really DO exist.

My daddy was over for dinner one evening when Soren ran over and asked if I wanted to hear something. "Mommy! Do you want to hear blahblahblahblblbah?" What the something was, I didn't really understand, but I enthusiastically replied, "Sure, honey!" Soren then burst into an ear-splitting scream. I could literally feel the pressure on my ears. It was at that moment that my auditory memory processor flashed back to our prior exchange (imagine rewind sequence here) and I realized that he had said "Mommy! Do you want to hear the loudest scream in the world?"

The scream was painful, but look of utter consternation on my father's face was priceless.

(Unfortunately, Soren also utilizes the World's Loudest Scream when he's frustrated or angry or overtired or experiencing any form physical discomfort. At least one of these circumstances arises at least once daily; hence my inability to hear his request in the first place.)

Soren has lately become very interested in adding and subtracting numbers. We were sitting in sacrament meeting one Sunday when he randomly whispered to me, "Mommy, twelve and twelve make twenty-four." He'd figured that out from counting the numbers on the hymn board. One day he told me, "Mommy, Daddy has five more years than you. He's firty free and you're twenty eight. That's five years apart." And he can tell you how old Liam will be when Soren is any age up to twenty.

One evening Soren informed me that mice were poisonous.

"Ummm, no they're not," I said.

"Miss Misty says they are," he countered.

"Welllll," I said. "Sometimes if a mouse is sick its poop can make you sick. That's called Hantavirus. But mice all by themselves aren't poisonous."

"Or," added Daddy, looking up from his book, "Sometimes a mouse can have rabies, and then if it bites you it will make you sick. But mice aren't poisonous."

"But mice are poisonous," insisted Soren.

"No," I said.

"No," Daddy said.

"Wook," said Soren. "I know you beweeve they're not poisonous, but some people know that they are."

(This is a rhetorical technique he's been utilizing in other settings as well: "I know you fink that's true, Briar, but I know you're wrong.")

Soren's been exploring his relationship with Liam, trying on different perspectives to see how they fit. For a while he had it all figured that Liam was a naughty kid and he was the good boy. Liam would commit some minor indiscretion and Soren would be like, "That Liam. He is so naughty. Mommy, you're always mad at Liam, aren't you? It's a good thing I never do naughty things." (Just for the record, I think by the time Soren was Liam's age I had contemplated killing him TRILLIONS of times. I don't think I've considered killing Liam even once. Liam at two is the sweetest cakewalk in the world compared to the holiest of holy terrors that our two-year-old Soren was. Which isn't to say that Soren hasn't bloomed into an extremely sweet if somewhat emotionally volatile and loudly expressive five-year-old, nor is it to say that Liam is perfect. I'm just trying to point out that, while I may have lost double digits worth of IQ points through the sleep-deprivation torture of motherhood, the irony here wasn't lost on me.)

More recently, though, he's been trying out protector/protected roles for himself and his brother. Today the boys woke up from a nap and, instead of finding Daddy, they went into the kitchen where Soren microwaved them some hotdogs for a snack. Tonight he said, "Mommy, I would like to take care of Liam for four days while you and Daddy go somewhere nelse."

One Sunday morning I sat down on the couch and--exhausted-- burst into tears. Soren rubbed my back, got me a pillow and blanket, and had me lie down. While I was napping he very carefully decorated the house with his collection of silk flowers. (It looked like a hurricane had hit the Macy's Day Parade, but Abe, who watched the whole thing, said he was extremely careful about the placement of each flower.) When I woke up I felt much better. "I heawed you, Mommy," he said.

Soren loves his stuffed animals. Bucky (a stuffed rabbit left over from my own childhood) is his favorite. "Bucky is very special to me," Soren will say. Bucky is, according to Soren, six years old. But he's small, according to Soren, like a baby, so sometimes he gets carried around in a bucket baby carrier. Sometimes Bucky comes with us places in the car and has to be buckled in. Sometimes we have to make Bucky paper food. The other stuffed animals get in on the action too, though. Occasionally the stuffed animals will have birthdays and we'll have to have a party. Sometimes they attend a school that Soren teaches. Occasionally they sit around for hours and read a book together, as pictured below.

Soren, like his mommy, has a very active dream life. One night he woke up screaming and Abe went in to comfort him. "Daddy! I dreamed that Briar chopped mommy up into little pieces and I was trying to talk to the pieces but Briar put them in the crockpot and cooked her! Briar cooked Mommy! In the crockpot!" (He later climbed into bed with me ...I think just to make sure I was still alive.)

Here are some delightfully quotable things he's said recently:

"Mommy, I'm nicer than you."

"Oh yeah? What makes you say that?"

"Because you get food on your clothes like a baby without a bib. And I don't."

"Dear Hevnwyfather, Fankyoufrthsday. Fankyoufr Mommy and Daddy and Liam. Please help us to worship our bodies. And fank you for Jesus (that's you, Jesus)!"

"Briar, we're pretty much the same size, except that you have wonger arms and eat more candy."

"Mommy, I was just wying still and finking. And I was finking about how I will eat lots of healthy food and get a lot bigger than Koen so he can't push me anymore."

"Mommy, does Jesus live on a cloud in space?"

"There are three kinds of people: good guys, bad guys, and old people."

And what would a Soren update be without pictures of some of his latest creations?

A Christmas wreath. Materials and patience supplied by our friend Pam.

Snowman complex, complete with visiting Creepy Santa.

A Christmas hat, inspired by the book Christmas with the Mousekins.

A better angle.

A cottonball glitter snowman, made at my sister's house.

A "pillow puppet," also courtesy of Auntie Clee.

This is one of my favorites. It's an airplane.

He wrote and illustrated this book. It's bound with yarn.

And here are a couple of random snapshots:

Preview

2012-01-13T20:27:00.000-08:00

I've been extremely busy over the past month, and whenever I had a few spare minutes they were usually devoted to reading The Good Earth or watching back episodes of House M.D.

But.

I haven't forgotten about you, dear readers. And I have a million things I've been wanting to blog about.

For example:

-A tribute to my Grandpa Hanson, who passed away last month.

-My car wreck.

-Learning to play the organ.

-Updates on both the boys, who grow (impossibly!) more adorable each day

-Christmas

-Creepy Santa

-Fun stuff we did over the summer (yes, yes, I know that was a while ago, but I have a tendency to blog about the everyday stuff and forget to write about holidays and trips and things. This is weird and oppositey to most Mommy Blogs, but it's how I roll.)

-Family goal setting

-Review of progress on last year's New Year's goals/New New Year's goals

-Cute stuff I've done to the house

-My piano (MY piano!)

I've also been wanting to start a new regular column-type thing on my blog called "Love Stories," featuring the kind of stories that fill one with hope for humanity, joy at the power of love, and a belief in God's goodness.

And I've been contemplating doing a whiny post about how tired and stressed out I am.

So there's a sneak preview, folks. Pray that I will find a way through our brambled labyrinth of scattered toys and piled up dirty dishes to find my laptop and follow through with my blogging desires.

Some Thoughts on Education

2011-12-09T12:20:00.000-08:00

About two years ago, I shared some of my thoughts about homeschooling on my blog. The topic has been weighing on my mind again more recently because, if we follow the traditional American educational route, Soren will be enrolling in public kindergarten this fall. This causes me more than a little anxiety.

Here are some of my concerns:

1) I am a big believer in child-centered education, meaning that the individual child's interests and readiness to learn should guide the educational process for the child. I know this isn't generally how public school classrooms are structured: there is a boxed curriculum that each child is expected to adhere to, regardless of capability or interest. There are standardized tests to pass. I don't worry that Soren won't be up to the task-- he's a bright little guy and I know he'll do just fine in school--I just worry that the structure will suck away his love of learning, turning it into a chore rather than a joy.

That said, I do believe that the public school provides good opportunities for children to learn about structure, self-discipline, and responsibility. It also provides opportunities to learn about things that they might not initially be interested in but later enjoy.

2) I don't believe that the social environment at school is optimal. You know how it is...kids learn quickly to dislike anyone who is different, to be jealous of anyone who seems "better," do what they can to blend in, act "tough" and "cool," tell dirty jokes in the playground tires. I'll admit, I want to shield my boys from this for as long as I can. Maybe that's wrong. But my job is to protect my children and I want to do it. And I ask you: Soren doesn't fully grasp the concept of modesty yet....how do I equip him to not be dragged down by bad language, inappropriate topics, and even pornography at the age of 5?

That said, I believe that school provides wonderful opportunities for a child to develop his or her identity outside the home, learn how to cope with authority figures other than his or her parents, and develop friendships independently.

So what I'm saying is, while I'm not totally sold on traditional school, I'm also not ready to homeschool my own children.

This year Soren has been attending preschool three times a week for two hours a day. He attends school with six other little people. His teacher, herself a mother of five (five!), is an engaging instructor who has created a positive discipline and educational structure in which the children joyfully learn. They read stories, they sing songs, they dance, they snack, they craft, they learn about letters and numbers, they learn about people in the community. This week they went on a field trip to the bakery. Soren adores Miss Misty and he behaves himself perfectly at preschool. He will buckle down and learn for her in a way I know I could never get him to do for me. At the end of every day the kids sing a song and Misty gives each one of the children a hug, a handshake, a high-five, or a "homerun" (all three). I love this. He's also learning to interact with other children his age. At home, we reinforce and expand on what he's been learning at school. For all this, we pay $65 a month. Totally worth it.

So what I want, instead of public school and instead of homeschool, is for Soren to be in preschool forever.

I'm serious.

And I don't mean that I want him to be a fifteen-year-old sitting at a preschool table shaping letters out of playdough. What I do mean is that I really like the concept of formal learning happening in a small group in someone's home a few hours a day, a few days a week, with that learning reinforced and expanded on at home. The time spent in school could increase over time to four or five hours a day four or five days a week, providing opportunities for the participating child to interact with the outside world on a regular basis, develop an identity outside of the family unit, build self-control, and explore topics he or she might not otherwise pursue. The small group would allow for personalization of the curriculum and for closer monitoring and control of social interactions. And during the time the children aren't in school, they can be pursuing their own interests. Imagine a group of high school aged kids who receive formal mathematics and writing practice in their school and then are left to pursue and report about their other interests. Maybe they could form a Shakespearean reader's theater! Or a science club! Or a swim team! Or an art group!

I would be more than happy to make some financial sacrifices to pay for this individualized attention and education and supplement it at home. Imagine, if one teacher taught two classes a day (morning and afternoon), and each class capped out at ten children, and each child paid $100/month for tuition, the teacher would be making $2000/month. Not fabulous, but not terrible either.

So now I just need to find people willing to teach and mothers willing to participate in an educational co-op like this. What do you think? Am I out of my mind? Should I just buck it up and send Soren to kindergarten in the fall?

Book Reviews

2011-11-19T21:33:00.000-08:00

A newborn baby's mother dies of cancer the day she is born. Left to her startled and recovering-alcoholic dad, Noel, Frankie is raised not only by her father but by a neighborhood of loving neighbors and family members who rally together to support her father in his new role. The story un-sermonizingly reminds its readers that relationships, family, friends-- these are the things that matter most in life. Maeve Binchy's books always give me hope that I can be a real writer someday. They're about simple people living simple lives...but they're always captivating. If you're looking for a gentle, hot-cocoa read, complete with adorable Irish-isms, check out Minding Frankie.

A wonderfully accessible and informative book about the Neuropsychology of decision-making. Loved it. And now I know what the amgydala is!

This is the story of Doc Holladay and the Earp Brothers while they were living in the rough-and-tumble frontier town of Dodge City, Kansas, before their infamous shoot-out at the OK Corral.

Mary Doria Russell excels at character development-- and this book was no exception. I was entranced with the flesh and blood she added to these old-west legends. In fact, reading this book made me develop a little love crush on Wyatt Earp.

When I first heard about the Duggars back in '04, they "only" had fourteen children. I was mildly horrified-- but also fascinated. Who in the world would have that many children? Would the children grow grow up to be wild-eyed overly sheltered conservative Christians, crippled by their unusual upbringing? So I've kept an eye on them over the years, and when I realized they had written books, I was over it like flies on jam. This is their first book. And I must say, as I read this book I found that my at-first-horror-filled fascination bloomed into love. I love this family. They are such genuinely good people and parents-- and their story is an inspiring one about allowing God to guide your life and receiving lots of joy and blessings as a result. By the end of the book, I even started thinking that Jim Bob was a totally legit name.

I was very sorry to hear about their recent miscarriage.

Hoping to Adopt

2011-11-19T20:28:00.001-08:00

This is my friend Lara, with her husband, Justin, and their daughter, Jocelyn. Justin and Lara adopted Jocelyn in April 2009.

I know Lara through church but I've gotten to know her better through her blog. She's an excellent writer and has actually even written a novel....almost two! Reading Lara's blog has taught me a lot about infertility and adoption, much of which I wish I'd known and been able to use to help support our friends Mark and Rachel along a similar path (btw...Mark and Rachel are now the proud/exhuasted parents of two!)

One thing I learned from Lara's blog is that about half of all adoptions happen through word-of-mouth referrals, so I thought I'd do what I could to spread the word through my own little readership: Lara and Justin are hoping to adopt again. If you know anyone who might be interested in placing their baby in a wonderful home, please tell them about Justin and Lara.

(To read more about Justin and Lara on their adoption blog, click here. To read Lara's blog, click here.)

Justin and Lara have created a home that is a safe, creative, musical, joyful place. They are kind and consistent parents. They are thoughtful, intelligent people. They have faith in God and actively attend church. Their daughter is a healthy, adorable, bright little girl who seems secure in the knowledge that she has a mommy and a daddy who love her very much.

I can't imagine a better home for a child.

(In fact, now that I think about it....maybe instead of the gypsies, would Justin and Lara like Soren? Lara, what do you think? He doesn't bite! Okay, he does. But not that often! Of course I'm kidding. Sort of.)

Plus, any child placed with Justin and Lara would have this adorable child for their older sibling. And then, when Liam falls in love with and marries Jocelyn, the baby would be lucky enough to be related to me! Can't top that.

(All photos stalkerishly siphoned off Lara's blogs.)

In favor of Not Changing Time

2011-11-15T19:24:00.001-08:00

When Abe was on his mission in California, he received a letter from his mother that read,

Dear Abraham,

We are no longer observing Daylight Savings Time in our home.

Love,

Mom

(Okay okay, I'm sure there was more to the letter than that, but this is the part I know about.)

That was fifteen years ago, and she has stuck with it ever since. When we visit New Hampshire to visit Abe's parents, I'm in a constant state of time confusion because every time I look at a clock I have to calculate: "Okay, that clock is set on that o'clock Home Time, which means that World Time it is actually this time, so it must be this o'clock in Idaho. So that's why I want to stay up until 1:00 AM!"

When I first heard about Skousen Standard Time, I will admit to maybe doing one of those whistle/eye roll things one does when one hears a story about a particularly nutty person. I thought, Wow. Sounds like Abe's mom is rather, um, eccentric. And I will grant you: my mother-in-law is not the most conventional person in the world. But neither is she as unconventional as, say, the spiky-haired alpaca-wool spinning respiratory therapist at EIRMC who kept trying to sneak me off somewhere so I could breastfeed my baby against doctor's orders. Truly, my mother-in-law is really not all that nutty. Just independent. But not in a stock-up-your-sawed-off-guns-and-rant-about-the-gov'ment sort of way. She just does things the way she wants to and gives very little heed to what anyone might think about it. This is a way of being I aspire to.

ANYWAY, the reason I bring this up at all is that I just wanted to say that I totally take back the whole whistle/eye roll thing because I have come to believe with all my heart that refusing to change times twice a year is really, truly a sensible thing to do. I, too, would boycott time changes, but the fact that I interact so regularly with the outside world makes it impractical.

My numero uno complaint with the time changes is that they throw a massive cog into the wheels of our family's routine twice a year. Since switching back to Standard Time a few weeks ago, my children have been going to bed at 7:00 PM and waking up at 5:00 AM. That means I see them for 30 minutes after I get home from work at night and a full hour earlier than I want to see them in the morning. And because they are little creatures of Circadian habit, it will take us MONTHS of effort to settle them back into a normal 8 PM to 6 AM sleeping routine.

Also, my observation has been that the hour change in daily wake/sleep rhythms increases fatigue, grumpiness, and depression in pretty much everybody. In fact, the strain that the change puts on our bodies is so real that studies have demonstrated that there is a 5% increase in heart attacks following the switch from Standard Time to Daylight Savings Time.

All this would be okay if there were a point to the changes, but the fact is that there is really no benefit to changing times around constantly. Maybe once upon a time Daylight Savings Time was an energy saver, but I truly doubt that is the case in our fast-paced round-the-clock energy burning society.

So I ask: Why are we as a nation still doing changing the time twice a year? Is there anyone out there who enjoys the time changes? How do we put an end to them? Will a letter to our representative cut it? Do we need to lobby somewhere? Can we march on Washington?

Being one who enjoys the extra sunlight in the evenings, I personally would advocate for staying on Daylight Savings Time round-the-clock, but seriously? I would stick with Zimbabwean Standard Time if it just meant that we wouldn't have to change times ever, ever again. So I'm going to advocate for Not Changing Time. Will you join in my crusade? Who will be strong and stand with me?

My Child Geniuses

2011-11-12T20:35:00.001-08:00

I was reading to the kids one evening when I stopped and asked Soren, "Do you see a 'T' on this page?" But before Soren could reply, Liam shouted, 'T!' and pointed to a the correct letter on the page. That's interesting, I thought. Was it a coincidence? So I tried another one. "Is there an 'A' on this page?" And quick as Swiper Fox, Liam shouted, 'A!' and pointed at an A. I tried again, with 'S' and again, he got it. He also recognized 'O'.

As far as I know, nobody has ever coached Liam on his ABCs. He's just a super genius, I guess. He'll totally be using three-word sentences by the time he's three.

Our baby is as intelligent as he is adorable. And slobbery.

______

So while Liam's been sneaking off at night with Dick and Jane, Soren's been busy making stuff...

...like this hand-bound picture book.

I showed him how to do the yarn binding, but he did the sewing and illustrating himself.

...and this friendly little pumpkin.

Totally his idea. No help from me.

...a paper towel roll monster.

Also an original idea, held together with hot glue.

...a ginger bread house

Yes, I did the gingerbread part, but he decorated this all by himself. This was a welcome way for him to use up some of that never-ending Halloween candy. The blue thing is a lightning rod. Soren learned about lightning rods while watching a cartoon about Benjamin Franklin; now he feels they are essential for preventing gingerbread house fires. And don't forget to notice the ginger dog house!

....and (drumroll, please)...an art museum.

(Liam is acting as docent here.)

I did not prompt Soren to do this AT ALL. He just painted a bunch of pictures one day and told me he wanted to make an art museum. We pulled out a big freezer box we'd been saving, taped another box on top of that so it would be big enough for me to stand up in (a modification made at his insistence), hung up the art, added some lighting (a flashlight provided by Auntie Hillary), and...voila! Art! He even colored all the walls with crayon because he thought the cardboard was too ugly. He had me write a note on the outside wall: "This Museum Is Open."

I'm telling you people, I've got prodigies on my hands. Prod.i.gies. Real cute ones.

The Skousen Family Goes Out to Eat

2011-11-10T14:11:00.000-08:00

(I couldn't figure out a way to make the images bigger in this post, but please feel free to click on any of the pictures to make them bigger)

Abraham and Briar spent an entire Wednesday painting the house while I was at work and the kids were with babysitters. Abe didn't want the boys in the house touching the wet paint, so he proposed that we all go out for dinner so it could dry a little longer. It was getting late, so we decided to stay in town; Abe wanted something fattening, so we headed over to Arctic Circle.

I had a hankering for a good taco salad, but was a little taken back by the price. Six ninety nine for a fast food salad? When I could get a burger and fries for half that? But I decided to go ahead and indulge anyway and get the salad. Abe, of course, wanted a burger, and we got a meal for the boys to share.

Soren picked out a table and chose a seat.

Then he decided that, more than anything in the whole wide world, he wanted to sit where Liam was sitting. We pointed out that he could sit anywhere else in the whole restaurant, but that Liam's chair was Liam's.

So Soren threw a fit. This is pretty normal for him and it wasn't a HUGE fit, so we just tried to ignore it and get on with our dinner.

After a while he quieted down and moseyed over to me and climbed up next to me. I offered him some burger, but he declined.

Then he looked over the table at Liam. And apparently it looked to him like Liam was drinking HIS water. Oh, mortal sin!

And that's when Soren's soul left his body....

...and all hell broke loose.

Words cannot describe the sound that Soren makes when he has truly lost all his senses. Letters are inadequate to transcribe it. All I can say is that you need to image how a normal person might react were they to witness the brutal decapitation of a loved one. Then multiply that by five. It is a sound calculated to shatter eardrum and drive all within its range to madness.

That is the sound that next came out of Soren's body.

I tried to hold him and calm him down, but his wild body escaped my grasp. He kicked the tray on the table and my salad flew everywhere.

Horrified, enraged, and completely clueless as to the correct way to handle the situation, I gathered the child under my arm in a football hold and marched out of the restaurant. A nice family having dinner in the corner watched, mouths agape, while we exited.

The little girl of the family even pushed the decorative streamers in the window aside to watch and see what I did to Soren when we got out to the car. She must have been disappointed when all I did was lock him in and then slump against the door, defeated.

Abe brought Liam out to me to comfort while he cleaned our food off the floor of the restaurant. I cuddled him while Soren scrambled from door to door, still screaming like a rabid monkey. I wondered how much our insurance would pay toward a vasectomy.

After more screaming, thrashing, kicking, et al, we finally got the boys loaded up and began the drive back home. Abe was pissed. I just felt defeated and tired.

And then, from the backseat, it came.

Dear heavens.

Soren had just pushed the button to unleash all the fury of the angriest and most spiteful gods.

I held my breath.

And then, again, The scream. The Scream is about one million times worse in the confined space of a car. Liam began wailing too. I honestly began to fear for Soren's life.

I was finally able to persuade Abe that plugging his ears was much preferable to infanticide. We all arrived home whole. I uttered a little prayer of thanks when we pulled into the garage and whisked Soren off to his bedroom as quickly as I could, whispering to him that if he wanted to live another day, he mustn't show his face again that evening.

I think it will be a while before we try Arctic Circle again.

QIA: Routine Calendar

2011-11-07T19:34:00.000-08:00

Soren is forever asking me, "What day is today? What are we doing today? Am I going to school? Who's going to take care of me today?" So I made him a little calendar to help him figure out his routine all on his own and learn to identify the days of the week.

(Please forgive the crappy photography. Also ignore the wrinkles and stains. The poor thing has been dragged all over the house.)

Anyway, it's basically just a table I made in Word using Clip Art and photos of our family. I laminated it with contact paper. Down on the bottom are little Velcro stickers and a movable Velcro Soren that he can move from day to day. Liam has one too.

Liam could care less but Soren really seems to enjoy being able to move himself to a new square in the morning and find out what's in store for him that way.

Mod Podge Project: From Empty Yogurt Container to Religious Supplicants in Three Easy Steps

2011-11-07T18:59:00.000-08:00

1. I wanted to fancify an old yogurt container (right) to make a decorative container for our extra knives, kitchen scissors, and other sharp kitchen tools.

2. So I looked through our old magazines (mostly the Smithsonian and the Ensign) and cut out pictures that I liked.

3. I then mod podged them to the yogurt container.

The result? Now we have an oddly religiously desperate sharps container. It pleases me.

Backers

2011-11-06T16:28:00.000-08:00

"Backers" is how Soren says "backwards."

I just forgot to post a little bit about Halloween. First, I didn't mention that we went trick-or-treating, but we did. And it was adorable.

Secondly, much earlier in the month, we went to the U Pick Red Barn pumpkin patch. We wound our way through the straw bale maze, Soren rode on the train that circles all the fields (Liam did not wish to participate), and we each picked out a pumpkin to decorate.

This is how our Jack-o-Lanterns turned out:

Soren's pumpkin. He picked this one out solely on the basis of size. In this picture it looks like a Samurai warrior with heterochromia iridum, but he later rearranged/added other features that made the final jack-o-latnern look more like a schizophrenic alien.

Liam's. He's French.

Mommy's (left) and Daddy's(right.)
I like this picture because the headless me in it looks thin and strong.

Soren noticed this year that other people carve Jack-o-Lanterns with knives and declared, "We should do it like that next year." So this may be our last year of pleasant, goop-free Pumpkin decorating. For shame.

Happy Halloween!

2011-10-31T21:45:00.000-07:00

For dinner tonight we had caramel apple slices with sprinkles as an appetizer. Then I whipped up THESE bad boys for the entree:

Pretty spooky, eh?

Then the boys dressed up (I'll skip the drama, but just imagine there was some. It's us, right?)

In case you couldn't tell, Soren is a pillow and Liam is a pirate.

Arrrrr!

And now, just to keep my blog from slipping too deeply into Mommy Blogdom, I thought I'd share with you my friend Nick's AMAZING Halloween costume.

Can you even tell which is Freddie Mercury and which is Nick? I thought not.

Milestone

2011-10-19T20:25:00.001-07:00

Today when I was tucking him in bed, I kissed Liam and said, "I sure love you, little angel." And for the first time ever, with a big grin on his face, he said it back: "Iufootoo."

Twenty Minutes

2011-10-19T20:09:00.000-07:00

In twenty minutes I can empty and load my dishwasher and vacuum the living room floor.

In twenty minutes I can fold and put away two loads of laundry.

In twenty minutes I can sweep all the hard floors in my house and clean the bathroom.

How do I know this?

I time myself.

It's really easy for me to look at a dirty house at the end of a day and say, "I will be picking up toys until I die. I can't do this." Suddenly the task of putting the house into order (I've realized what I do isn't so much cleaning as it is preventing the house from attracting the attention of the local health department) looms enormous in my head and I suddenly, desperately, want to sleep.

That's when I set the kitchen timer for twenty minutes.

"Just twenty minutes," I tell myself. "See what kind of a dent you can make in twenty minutes. Then you can go do something fun. This, too, shall pass. Just twenty minutes."

And I get to work.

Usually when the timer buzzes I've made significant progress on preventing the house from attracting the attention of the local health department and I usually feel motivated to keep going. Sometimes for five minutes, sometimes for ten, and sometimes I'll go hog wild crazy and crank the timer all the way back up to twenty.

My family thinks I'm kind of crazy, except for the kids, who are too little to know better. No one even bothers to check the oven anymore when they hear the timer buzzing. But I will tell you, people, it works. In fact, to date, not a single person has reported us to the health department. I consider this a homemaking triumph.

Mod Podge Madness

2011-10-15T21:04:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking about Mod Podge a lot lately. I had two Mod Podge experiences within a month--my first Mod Podge crafting experiences EVER--and now I just can't get the stuff out of my head. Mod Podge...it's like a miracle paste. It's a glue, a sealer, and a finisher....ALL IN ONE. You can Mod Podge paper, you can Mod Podge fabric...you can Mod Podge things onto dishes, walls, wood, cement, ceramic, paper, possibly even children...

I kid you not, I am kept awake nights thinking of amazing things I could make using Mod Podge.

I want to do projects like this:

Except that I would do it on my kitchen cupboards and use some sort of rooster theme. You can Mod Podge something like this onto contact paper so it's not permanent-permanent too, if you're decorating commitment shy, like me. Pretty cool, eh? Eh?

Wouldn't this be a great gift for a grandma? Though I'm not super keen on the red ribbon. Or the close-upness of the pictures. But you get the idea.

Soren really loves puzzles and this would be such a fun challenge for him. Plus, it's six puzzles in one! He had some store-bought ones like these when he was a baby, and they were really cool. They've since been mangled and lost, but a new set--maybe with pictures from a magazine--maybe with pictures of the boys together--would be cool, eh?

Apparently I'm not alone in my obsession, because there's an entire blog devoted to Mod Podge crafts. I feel that you should check it out. And if you want to come to my house and get your Mod Podge groove on, come on over. The pasting is fine.

Wherein another friend takes pity on my abject craftlessness

2011-10-04T19:58:00.000-07:00

Tuesday is my SAHM day. I love it. Love, love, love it. I bustle around the house cooking, cleaning, folding laundry, playing with the children, losing my hearing as a result of the world's loudest screaming being unleashed directly into my ear canals, reading stories, listening to soft rock (loudly, due to the aforementioned hearing loss). Liam and I go for a walk while Soren is in preschool. Our next door neighbors usually come over and hang out for a while. The children are provided with three nutritious meals in a single day. It's fabulous. I feel like I'm playing house and just completely rocking the hell out of it.

Today was even better because my friend Pam came over, lugging huge containers full of craft materials, including her Silhouette, and we had a wild crafting palooza.

The results:

Soren made this from a kit I ordered from Oriental Trading Company.

He also made this bug out of pom poms and pipe cleaners.

Pam was kind enough to let him use some materials to make this frightening display.

And we grown-ups made scary word... things. Mine would have been prettier had I thought through what black vinyl lettering would look like against a black and orange background. And if I hadn't put two blocks of the same size right next to each other. Also, as I scrutinize this picture I realize the "Y" is backwards. 'Cause I'm just that awesome. (I thought it looked kinda weird!) Anyway, Pam's was much cuter and said "BEWARE." (Possibly for BEWARE: RACHEL IS CRAFTING.) I think it's adorable anyway, though. Warts and all. Witches have warts, right? So it's totally appropriate for Halloween.

Thanks, Pam!

Soren Update: October 2011

2011-10-03T20:22:00.000-07:00

Soren is already contemplating the Big Questions. For example, he recently asked, "Mommy, why do mean kitties exist?" He also posed the following quandary: "How did Jesus make the earth? The earth is bigger than him!"

Soren has inherited his father's inability to lose gracefully. We were playing Chutes and Ladders one Saturday and all was going well...until he hit his first chute. "Let's do something else, Mommy," he said, trying to close the game board. "Oh no you don't," I said. "You don't just quit when the going gets tough! Let's keep playing." At chute number two, he grew really quiet and tears started welling up in his eyes. Chute number three was the end: he had reached his breaking point and burst into noisy, sobbing tears. "Let's play a game where there are no winners or losers, okay, Mommy?" he begged. I couldn't resist those big blue eyes.

Soren recently asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. "A writer," I told him. "What do you want to be when you grow up?" I expected him to say "a farmer," which is his usual response to this question. Instead he said, "I want to paint people's houses for them."

Soren's best friend is our next-door neighbor Koen. They've gotten pretty good at playing together, and make up fun little adventure games that involve Good Guys and Bad Guys. They squabble a lot, though. Last week Soren called Koen a "stupid poopoo face" and wouldn't apologize, even with Koen following him around, saying, "Sowen, you awe my fwend." Soren had to go to his room; Koen had to go home. It was very dramatic. It reminds me of all the fights I used to have with my best friend Becky. We'd part in a huff and then the next day it was all, "Can Becky come over to play?"

When we took Soren to the fair this year we let him go on two rides. He stood in the line all by himself, holding his tickets in his little hand, and I almost wept. He just looked so big. And so small.

Soren has taken to big brotherhood, at long, long last. Does he still pick on Liam? Um, yeah. But he also looks out for him. One day he noticed Liam getting sleepy so he guided him into their bedroom, helped him onto the bottom bunk, covered up with a blanket, and tucked him in. "G'night, yeeyum." Another time Liam crashed down some cement steps and was screaming; Soren offered him one of his own fruit snacks as consolation.

Sometimes when Liam lies down for a nap I'll take a little nap too. I'll tell Soren not to talk to me until the timer buzzes, set the timer for an hour, and lie down on the couch. And he'll usually do really well at playing by himself. Once in a while he'll come over and move my hair out of my eyes and whisper, "There you go."

Soren is Soren. He's still intense and emotional. He still knows how to push every single one of my buttons until the machine jams up and I start flashing and making horrible noises. But he's also so sweet. So dear. So cuddly and trusting. I want him to be four forever.

(Photos taken by Andrea Rausch in April 2011)

Some Undestructive Creativity

2011-10-03T20:13:00.000-07:00

When he's not busy destroying the house, Soren loves to make....stuff. He's constantly gluing and/or taping things together. Here's a sampling of some of the creations he's made over the past several weeks:

A scarecrow.

A gift for his cousin Tessa (acrylic paint and Popsicle sticks. If you tilt your head and squint, you'll also see two googly eyes hot-glued to the left hand side of the paper.

A fully furnished home for a family of crayons.

A gas station.

Brothers

2011-10-03T20:08:00.000-07:00

They kind of like each other now. Makes me real glad.

Liam: October 2011

2011-10-02T19:43:00.001-07:00

Liam loves music. He loves singing and being sung to. Today he made up a song. I call it the Shoe Song. It goes something like this: "Shoe, shoe, shoe. Song, song, shoe song, song song."

Speaking of shoes, first thing in the morning, after he's had his bath, Liam is nagging me to put on his shoes. If he's awake, he wants his shoes on.

Liam is an outside kid. He loves to be free to roam around outdoors. At my sister's house, he'll take off down the dirt road that runs along the edge of their property and get real mad if anyone suggests he change his course. This usually involves some sort of self-inflicted face plant in the dirt.

He is also a thrower. He loves to throw stuff: balls, toys, food. He throws stuff when he's happy. He throws stuff when he's mad.

He has taken to calling me "Daddy" as of late. He'll greet me when I come home from work, wiggling all over like a puppy, with a bright and enthusiastic, "Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!"

The child gets pretty ridiculous when he's tired. He laughs hysterically at the littlest provocation. He is also a morning person. Five AM is not an unheard of wake up time for our child. This is not pleasing unto me.

Today I caught Liam licking a cube of butter like it was an ice cream cone. He was grinning from ear to ear but didn't protest when I took it away.

We bought a bunk bed and moved Soren into Liam's room. After a couple of rocky weeks, the big boy bed/sharing a room combo seems to have taken. In fact, they don't even wake up when the other one does. Soren will be screaming for me and Liam will be completely sacked out....and vice versa.

Liam's favorite word lately is "what." And he'll say it more like an order than a question. It agitates Soren, who will repeat himself louder and louder each time Liam says "what." A conversation Abe overheard outside the boy's bedroom door one night:

Soren: Liam, did you know that I love you?

Liam: What!

Soren: Did. You. Know. That. I. Love. You?

Liam: What!

Soren: I! Love! You!

Liam: What!

Soren: gives up

Another cute thing he likes to do is say, "Daddy? Daddy? Daddy?" to get our attention. When one of us asks, "what?" he'll say, "Um......." and then make up something, like "bacumadumamum."

Sentences he's using: "Watch a movie?" "There you are." "Where is it?" "Here you go." "Want some more."

He says "please" like this: "eeeeeeeeeese?" all rising up in tone. Hard to resist.

A bad habit he's picked up from Soren is asking "Why?" whenever we tell him no.

This is something he doesn't have to do very often because it's hard to ever say no to the child due to his cuteness and sweetness.

Liam is my little cuddlebucket of love is very snuggly and schmooshy. I want him to be two forever.

Sure love that little guy.

(Photos taken by Andrea Rausch in April 2011.)

Soren's Continued Career as a Grafitti Artist

2011-10-01T21:13:00.000-07:00

Since the events of September 24th, Soren has:

1) Drawn a self-portrait in crayon on his bedroom wall.
2) Colored the bathroom counters with my eye shadow. Twice.
3) Covered the kitchen table and floor with Elmer's glue.
4) Drawn on the kitchen cabinets with a black permanent marker.
5) Used food coloring to dye his brother's hair blue and green.
6) Sprinkled glitter all over the upstairs of the house.
7) Smeared an unidentifiable blue substance over several surfaces in our home.

He must think scrubbing walls, tables, floors, chairs, etc. is fun.

Family Photos 2011

2011-09-28T20:13:00.000-07:00

My friend Andrea (check out her website! she's amazing!) took these for us. There are a million more, but I'll try to spread them out over time so as to not exhaust you all with our cuteness.

Communication Breakdown

2011-09-26T20:45:00.001-07:00

Soren is an interesting child to parent. Some days, I just put my head between my knees and cry. He is the most intense little human being you will ever meet. In the spirit of the genius behind Hyperbole and a Half, I have put together a little cartoon to represent an interaction I have with Soren on a fairly regular basis.

This is what I'll say:

But this must be what he hears me say:

Because this is how he reacts:

And I, perplexed by his reaction, respond like this:

But this is what he hears:

And it begins again.

This is why I am always tired.

In Loving Memory

2011-09-25T20:39:00.000-07:00

My Grandma, Mary Elizabeth Hanson, passed away early Friday morning. She was a great lady, vivacious, full of spunk and strong opinions, always feeding people, issuing orders. She lived a good, full life and will be missed by all of us (including her and Grandpa's 7 children, 36 grandchildren, and heaven only knows how many great grandchildren).

Following is a poem I wrote about Grandma several years ago.

Glimpses of my Grandma

her wild white hair tied sloppily in pigtails,
the loose strands waving like seaweed,
flinging herself--
with the passion of a lover,
and the volume of a fog horn--
at the feet of a man whom she loudly pronounces to be a "jackass"
(he didn't choose her granddaughter as Miss Carbon County)

lying, broken-hipped, in a puddle of oatmeal, dramatically
hollering,
"Bring them in quietly!
No bells or whistles!
These accidents are getting monotonous!"

and later demanding,
through blind eagle-eyes, that
someone
sit down at that old piano
and feed her the savory meat she craves--Bach and Rachmaninoff and Joplin or
anything musical, really--
as long as it was played now (and decently),

scanning sharp eyes over a premature great-grandson
in hospital intensive care
whose "plumbing" doesn't work quite right,
she laments:
"it's a shame--
he has such a beautiful penis!"

her home is a swallow's nest
of clutter held together by mismatched
bits of squabbling,
stories,
music,
swatches of old newspaper articles she wrote herself,
mismatched silverware,
chipped dishes she pushes under our faces,
piled high with
burn bran balls and peach chutney
or hot dogs for breakfast.

she tosses verbal tomatoes
(red ripe ones--she is a writer)
at Grandpa, who flings them back
they snarl and growl at each other all the way to their bed
where they've slept side by side for almost seventy years.

Grandma laughs like an excited hen with a microphone,
pierces like a tack underfoot,
feels things with her belly,
lets them cut
like the electric knife she uses on her hard brown bread
that sparkles as each slice falls
into a pile of crumbs on her worn cutting board.

I love you , Grandma.

Out of the Ashes

2011-09-24T16:00:00.000-07:00

So the paint cleaned up more easily than we initially thought it would. Phew! There are still handprints on the walls that will need to be painted over; the upholstery on my cedar chest will need to be replaced; Liam's clothes will never be the same.

But we mostly cleaned up.

And!

Today I took the boys and some pumpkin chocolate chip cookies and went over to my friend Lara's house, where we made some awesome fall crafts. We had a lovely afternoon, chatting and crafting while our children watched waaaay too much TV. Lara even made us a picnic that we ate on a blanket in the back yard.

And now I have an adorable harvest display. It makes me feel like a real woman.

Aren't they fabulous?

(Thanks again, Lara!)

Soren Decorates

2011-09-23T15:56:00.000-07:00

About twenty minutes ago, I received a phone call from Abraham. I am at work; he is at home with the boys. He told me to check my email. This is the email he sent me:

20 minutes of alone time. TWENTY FREAKING MINUTES, and I get THIS:

Soren told his daddy that he "wanted to make the house pretty."

Falling Short

2011-09-18T19:48:00.001-07:00

Some days I just feel so insufficient.

It seems that no matter how hard I try, there's always something I could do better.

I make sure the boys' teeth get brushed but often forget to brush their hair.

I bathe the kids every day but their clothes are usually wrinkly and a little too small.'

We have Family Home Evening faithfully but frequently skip church.

I try to cook nutritious meals but Soren's diet is still 90% processed foods.

I read to my children and take them for walks and sing them songs and don't let them watch too much TV but I must be missing something because Liam still doesn't talk and Soren refuses to ride his trike without me walking alongside him.

I clean constantly but the house is always cluttered and the decor is dismal. And the lawn. Oh, the shame of my life. How I hate that lawn and the fact that everyone else in the whole damn world seems to have the time and energy and money and know-how to make their lawn luscious, thick, and weed-free, with perfectly sculpted bushes and beautifully architectured flower beds.

I get along with people and have many wonderful relationships with co-workers and family and close friends but I still struggle with self-doubt, insecurity, and fear in developing new friendships.

I don't garden, I don't can. I don't write down stories that Soren dictates to me. I don't practice Spanish or memorize poetry. I don't hang cute crafts in my house and take flawless photographs of them to post on my blog. My home filing trays are piled more precariously than the Leaning Tower of Pisa with an unorganized assortment of preschool worksheets, possibly overdue bills, and unopened bank statements. My walls have three large patches of plaster that leer hideously at visitors from the walls. There is hard water build-up on my faucets. My kids whine. I need to replace the spark plugs in my car. My clothes are untrendy and old. My hair is flat and uncooperative. My heels are cracked. I haven't prayed consistently since '04. I don't serve enough.

There's so much I need to do-- and want to do-- and just not enough time or energy or money or willpower to do it with.

Yesterday Abe and I were in the craft store and I impulsively threw some Harvest decorations into the cart. "Honey," he said. "That's a little hard on the old budget, don't you think?"

"I just want to be like the other girls," I told him. Just like all those other girls who seem to have it all together, who craft and sew and have lovely well-groomed children who always obey and share without being prompted, those girls who wear perfectly coordinated outfits with their perfectly sculpted hairdos and perfectly applied makeup. The girls who get together to do Zumba while their children play, who know everyone in the community and feel perfectly at home whenever they go out. Who love the gospel and involve the Lord in their lives instead of being stubborn and doubtful and hard-hearted and moody.

I stood there in Michael's clutching my fall garland in one hand and my smelly pine cones in the other hand and suddenly felt very small, like a teenage girl begging her mom to buy her a $100 pair of Lucky jeans just so she could fit in. I saw this, but I still bought the garland. And the smelly cones.

Sometimes I imagine God as a warm-hearted, big-bosomed black lady with a Southern accent. Tonight as I write this I can almost feel her taking my hand and, in her warm molasses voice, saying, "I know, honey. I know you're trying so hard. And I think you're doing just fine. More than just fine. You're doing great. So don't you worry so much about what everyone thinks. You know and I know that you're doing what you can. That's all that matters."

And I would pass that along to all of you women out there who feel, from time to time, insufficient and less than. You are doing just fine. In fact, you're doing great. Don't worry about what everyone else thinks. You're doing what you can. God's love will make up the difference.

My new(ish) Dress

2011-09-13T20:32:00.000-07:00

Abe's sister Lara is an artist for all seasons. She draws. She sculpts. She carves. She knits. She sews. She crafts. She'll see something in a magazine and say, "I could make that." And she does. This is a woman sewed her own wedding dress. Without a pattern. And without a sewing machine. Did you hear me? She sewed her own wedding dress without even using a sewing machine, people! The woman is some sort of artistic sewing savant! So when Lara announced that she had decided to make me a dress for my birthday, I was ecstatic. She asked for my measurements and I emailed her some links to pictures of dresses I liked. And a few months later, this is what I got:

As you might know, my birthday is in March, which means that it took me and Abe a little while to get some pictures taken and a few more weeks for me to post them here. But here they are. Pretty amazing, eh?

A totally disorganized/unedited/unpolished/boring/overly detailed description of my day, which was good. Don't feel obligated to read.

2011-09-06T20:49:00.000-07:00

Woken up this morning on the couch--Liam had taken my spot in the bed sometime around 4 AM-by Soren, who, after some snuggling, willingly acquiesced to my mumbled request that he go play in his room while Mommy slept a while longer. Woken up a while later by little Liam shouting happily, "Daddy!" when he spotted me on the couch. Don't know why, but he's taken to calling me Daddy lately. Was intermittently bounced on/drooled on/cuddled with until Soren emerged from his room, asking, "Is it real morning now? Can we have Big Boy Cereal for breakfast?" Mommy's morale was a bit low from the broken night's sleep but I managed to find my robe, pull out a pan, put The Weepie's "You Can't Go Back Now" on continuous repeat on my under-the-counter kitchen stereo, and start some water boiling. The Weepies increased morale by 80%. Breakfast and a bath with the baby brought all systems to full functioning.

While Soren was at preschool, Liam and I took a walk, watched music videos with Auntie Merritt (we love The Piano Guys.....they often feature fabulous players like Jarrod Radnich, Jon Schmidt, and Steven Sharp Nelson), read stories, and entertained Miss Lindsey, Liam's Occupational Therapist, who couldn't stop gushing about how much progress he's made over the past few months.

Picked up Soren from preschool--the front of his shirt was completely soaked. "He was sucking on the collar," his teacher explained. And, bless her heart, she gave him a good-bye hug anyway.

We had lunch, the boys played, and I cleaned and put dinner in the crockpot. The kids did watercolor paintings together until Liam spilled his water cup and soren sopped up the mess with the rest of the paper. Liam fell asleep eating a brownie in his high chair. I wiped his chubby little fingers and face and carried him to bed. He only protested when I moved to remove his shoes. He feels that it is important to wear his shoes all the time. Even during naps. Who am I to argue?

While Liam napped, Soren tied his trike to the stroller. His favorite thing in the world is to attach things to each other. His idea was to set up a train. Then he realized that I had a bike that could be attached to his trike, so he abandoned the stroller and we rode around the block, both pedaling, but attached by Auntie Hillary's blue jump rope. Mommy in front. We enjoyed the ride so much we went all the way to the city part in the sunshine, chatting pleasantly along the way about things of interest to a four-year-old: why are the telephone wires so high? couldn't they just be put high enough that babies couldn't reach them but big kids who knew not to touch them could? how big are the biggest animals? what kinds of animals lived a long time ago? why are there zoos? don't you like those pretty white rocks? aren't they kind of like crystals? did those people with the construction tools forget they were building a road? have you ever made a friend, mommy?

(which, btw, cutest moment ever at a park on another day....little girl crests hill, i tell soren he should go say hello and introduce himself. he charges forward, gets nervous, turns around, comes back. "I feel shy sometimes, you know," he ways. So w ehave a talk about being brave and how that means doing things even though you're scared. So he tries again, gets a little closer, then turns back. "Did you know that people are shy sometimes, Mommy?" he asks. "Why don't YOU come and say hello?" But I prompt and encourage and finally he gets up the guts....he walks in....swerves away....moves back in and finally says "hello." then he runs back to report: "Mommy! she's just a BABY! like Liam!" At which point Liam runs over and starts strutting his stuff for her, walking back and forth with that funky shoulder wiggle he does when he's feeling extra good. The little girl is named Elly and the three of them play for a while.)

but we played at the park for a while and the sun was so warm and the company was the best and i hadn't ridden bikes to the park with anyone in so many years.

then we came home. liam was running around in the back yard naked while Auntie Merritt supervised; she claimed he had been playing in the kiddie pool. Drank homemade orange julius. Soren took to the pool and Liam stayed inside to help me make Zucchini Bread.

Chatted with various neighbors and friends throughout the day.

The boys dressed up in their pirate costumes--popsicle stick swords, eye patch for soren, bandana for for liam--and ran around sword fighting until soren got all spazzy and violent and had to be hugged then put in his room for some calm time. we took dinner to Sister King from church, who just had heart surgery. visited briefly with her and her husband. darling, wonderful people. came home, took one bite of the dinner, and realized--much to my horror--that while i had remembered No Chocolate, No Whole Wheat, and No Raw Vegetables, I had entirely forgotten Low Sodium. The shame. So poor sister king probably ate cold cereal for dinner while her husband ate my salty salty chicken and dumplings. Sigh...

Soren took it upon himself to give Liam a tutorial about using the potty. He took him into the bathroom: "Liam, this is a toilet. Toi-let. This is where your peepee goes. See? Like this."

The neighbor kids came over to play for a few minutes, then it was time for bed. Read stories, brushed teeth, entirely forgot about song prayer. Tucked the kids in bed, sat in the front room and read maeve binchy while abe read steven erickson and listened while the kids played together in their room--talking and music intermingled with occasional bursts of yelling or crying for another hour.

Then, silence.

Something that MUST go.

2011-08-29T20:57:00.000-07:00

Blog soundtracks.

I'm sorry. I know many of you out there have a blog soundtrack. And I still love you. I promise.

But let me tell you people, when it's 9:30 PM and my nerves have been burned down to little black nubs and I'm settling down into the calm quiet of a house in which the children have been put to bed, I go to your blog. I pull up the page and am just settling into a peaceful read about your little Ian and his clever little antics when---out of nowhere and usually at high volumes-The Proclaimers bust out with "500 Miles" or Edwin McCain starts singing "I Could Not Ask For More."

It scares the LIVING BEJEEBIES out of me. Each one of my little nerve nubblies sits up like the woken dead, grabs both sides of its tiny head, and screams. This tells my hand to scroll down to the bottom of the blog and mute the damnable noise, which it does, thankfully, but for me, it's too late. My nervous system is now totally shot. I spent the rest of the evening throwing sharp glances over my shoulders. I find my can of pepper spray, lock all the doors, and fall asleep lying flat on my back so I can see if there's anything coming into the bedroom to get me.

It's all very nice that you want to add to the ambiance of your blog by sharing your favorite songs, ya'll, but it's just not working out. There is no ambiance, there is only blind panic. No one is listening to your music; they are only rushing to make the uninvited noise stop. Maybe if you put some sort of really visible warning on the blog somewhere it would be okay. Like, perhaps you could change your blog's name to "WARNING: THIS BLOG MAY BEGIN MAKING LOUD NOISES AT ANY MOMENT." Or maybe you could make the music optional, like something your readers could click on in case they wanted to hear the songs you'd been loving lately.

Just a thought. Now if you'll excuse me, It's time for bed. I've got to go lock all my doors and see if I can find my pepper spray.

Big Kid

2011-08-23T21:09:00.000-07:00

Today Soren started preschool.

All morning long, it was "When do I get to go to preschool? How much longer 'til I can go to preschool? How much longer? When? How many minutes? Is that a long time? How much longer now? Is it time yet? Can we go now? Can we go nooowww?"

He ate breakfast. He had a bath. He put on his brand-new bumblebee t-shirt, chino pants, and light-up Lightning McQueen shoes.

At 8: 10 AM (almost an hour before preschool was scheduled to begin), he put on his backpack.

He waited.

And waited.

Finally it was time to go.

We walked four doors down to Little Russets Preschool, where Miss Misty and a very enthusiastic group of Lightning McQueen backpack-wearing kids greeted him from the landing.

He walked up the stairs and didn't look back.

I walked back home feeling a little weepy, a little proud. I fervently wished for a video camera in the preschool so I could watch his every move, see what they were doing, see how he responded.

When Liam and I came to pick Soren up two hours later, he was wearing a sparkly headband with his name on it. He said he liked preschool. He showed me the worksheets he'd colored. He wanted to know if Koen could come over to play.

I think it's going to be a good school year. I can't believe how big my baby has become.

Metablognition

2011-08-21T20:28:00.000-07:00

When I was a kid, I would go for spurts of faithful journal writing. And then there would be a break. A few days, a few weeks, a few months. I didn't really matter how long-- I always felt guilty. Like I'd abandoned my journal. Like maybe it would need therapy to cope with its abandonment issues. So I'd always begin my return entries with a lengthy apology for the length of time it had been since I had written. As though my journal gave a damn.*

I feel compelled to do the same here, though in this context I suppose it makes a little more sense, as there are a few real, live human beings out there who read my blog. Or at least, who used to read my blog. Until I betrayed and abandoned them with my slow, infrequent posting habits. Which means that, while I am ready to break my long internet silence, I can't bring myself to just....start posting again, as though no lengthy absence had occurred. That would be like calling up someone you'd totally blown off for several weeks and expecting them to hang out again without some sort of explanation.

So, um, explanation.

I've been tired, mostly. My days go something like this: wake up at an unreasonably early hour with the children, make breakfast, get ready for work, take care of children, go to work. Work, come home, cook/eat dinner, cajole the children into bed, go for a run, pick up the house, chat with the husband, brush my teeth, wash my face, collapse into bed. If I'm reading something that's completely engaging, I might pick up a book between "wash my face" and "collapse into bed," or maybe Abe will connive me into watching three back-to-back episodes of The Mentalist. And then I'll get all excited about the novelty of doing something I want to do and end up staying up way too late and then be miserable and hypersensitive the next day. So when I'm choosing fun things to do in the fifteen minute slot between "wash my face" and "collapse into bed," I might think about blogging, but the thought of going through all the steps necessary to even get started (opening up the laptop, waiting for it to turn on, opening up the internet browser, going to blogger, logging onto blogger, creating a new post, and then stringing words together into cogent sentences.....good heavens, the toil! the travail!) just makes me tired.

And then I spiral into a doom cycle of insecurity: if I let myself go long periods of time without writing, I start thinking I have nothing to write about, and that if I did write about something, people would think it was boring/offensive/poorly written/too positive/too negative/too religious/too non-religious and then--please, no!--they might stop reading my blog. Not that they've been reading it anyway, as I haven't been posting. But such is the way of my irrational mind. Which means that I'm past due for a little reminder to myself that it's my blog, dang it all, and I'll post whatever I rootin' tootin' dang well please. And ya'll can take it or leave it. So there.

The truth is, though, that just getting on to participate in a little metablognition (blogging about blogging) has been enlivening for my inner writer, so much so that I think I might go through all the effort of turning on the laptop to do it again tomorrow.

We shall see.

*I've got this anthropomorphism problem. It gets so bad sometimes that I won't pick up a bottle of shampoo at the store unless I'm sure I want to buy it because I don't want it to gets its little hopes all lathered up just to put it back on the shelf. Once Abe decided it was time to throw away the microwave my parents let us have when we got married (a microwave that, mind you, had been in my family for years) and I cried hot, bitter tears because it broke my heart to think that all the microwave's years of loyal, faithful service would end in the cold solitude in a landfill somewhere far away.

Liam: July 2011

2011-07-03T23:20:00.000-07:00

Little Yum Yum,

My favorite thing about you right now is the way you walk. It never fails to make me smile: shoulders back, round little belly out, right arm swinging twice as fast as the left. A little wiggle in your shoulders. You always look so joyful, strutting around like a peacock who's just found his plume.

As I was tucking you into bed a few days ago, you initiated a game of cover-your-eyes- peek-a-boo. You looked so cute, lying there in your crib, a big grin on your face, little chubby fingers covering your eyes, an occasionally sparkly peek from underneath, and then a cheery "I see you!" followed by a gale of hysterical giggling.

You've finally started saying "Mommy." It sounds more like "Aunnie!" or "Nonny!" with an occasionally "Ommy!" or "Mommy" thrown in for experimentation sake, but you call it out cheerfully and repeatedly when I come home, in chorus with your brother's "Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!" and together the harmony makes me feel very welcomed.

At the end of prayers, when everyone else is quietly murmuring, "Amen," as a "Mm-mm." you shout it out in two distinct syllables: "EH!" "EN!" In Sacrament Meeting everyone mumbles their little finish and you wait politely-- and then, from the shiny-faced redheaded baby in the back, it comes: "EH! EN!" It makes me think you were made to be some sort of more flamboyant type of Christian-- a Pentecostal or a Southern Baptist or something.

Your occupational therapist tells me that it's good for kids to learn animal sounds because it's a fun way to get them comfortable with the phonemes of their primary language. So when we read books with animals in them, I've been trying to make sure to emphasize the animal sounds. This means, of course, that you've learned the one animal sound that is not a phoneme in your primary language: a pig's snort/grunt. That's my boy.

In general, though, your language development has taken a great big leap as of late. You've become much more interested in words, in repeating things people say, and in describing things around you. Everywhere we go you're shouting out "car!" "car!" or "key!" key!" ("key" means any kind of animal). You say "all gone," describe things as being "cute," "nice," or "kikky" (yucky). You practice touching people "ostly" (softly). When you want something you'll ask by saying "More?" or "Augin?" ( again) or "Eease?" (please.)

A lot about you makes me think that you are an old soul, that you've been around a while and done a lot of things. I think that's part of why you're so relaxed-- you're not in a hurry to rush through things because you've done this before and know there's no need, that all things will come to pass in their own due time. It's not orthodox of me, but I do relish the thought of reincarnation, and I frequently find myself contemplating things you might have been in a past life. Some possibilities: a wizard (you seem to be performing complex incantations at times, complete with magical hand movements to help stir up the magic). a dog (you stopped one day to bark back at a dog yapping at us from behind a fence), or a charismatic dictator (you've been known to give lengthy, punctuated orations at top volumes in your own private language).

A month or so ago, we decided that you were plenty old enough to be getting read of your night time bottle, so we replaced it for several weeks with a sippy cup. And then one night at bedtime you were playing with trucks, so I put you to bed with a truck in each hand. And you haven't needed your sippy since. A truck in each hand, yes, but to heck with those babyish sippy cups.

You are a bold and an intrepid little explorer. Grandpa Hanson describes you as a lemming. He and Grandma took you to the park and they were both amused by how they'd put you down and off you'd go, in a straight, determined, unwavering path.

Tonight as I cleaned up the kitchen you sat on the counter by the radio and fiddled around until you found your favorite station. Then you grabbed a bottle of bubbles and, pointing the bubble wand at me and flashing a winning smile, asked, "Augin?" "Augin?" So I climbed up on the counter next to you and we sat together and blew bubbles. You made gleeful little noises at every one. With the evening's golden sunlight streaming in through the kitchen window and my little pink-cheeked baby boy laughing at bubbles, I felt deliriously happy. And so rich. Rich in adorable little boy product.

I love you so. So, so, so.

Aunnie

Soren: June 2011

2011-06-25T21:21:00.000-07:00

Oh Soren.

So we've been trying to teach you about having gratitude for the things you have, rather than languishing over the things you don't have. In fact, we spent a rather lengthy (and fruitless) Family Home Evening one night trying to explain to you that a little cookie dough (what you were offered) was better than no cookie dough (what you got), even if it wasn't as good as a lot of cookie dough (what you wanted.) We would ask, "Soren? Which would you rather have? Some dough? Or no dough?" And you would say, "I don't want no dough OR a little dough. I just want A LOT of dough." "Right, Soren, but what if you CAN'T have a lot of dough? Then which would you rather have? A little dough? Or no dough? And you would say, "I don't want no dough OR a little dough. I just want A LOT of dough." When this line of questioning continued leading to the same a brick wall, we switched tactics slightly: "Okay, Soren? Which would you rather have? One block, like this? Or no blocks, like this?" And you just looked at us like we'd lost our minds and said, "I don't want no blocks or one block. I just want A LOT OF DOUGH."

Anyway, I tell you this story because yesterday you demonstrated that you HAD internalized this lesson. You fixed a bowl of food for Liam and sent him out to the porch to eat it; then you fixed yourself a bowl and followed him out to the porch. A few minutes later Liam started screaming. A moment after that you ran inside. "Mommy! Liam doesn't want what he has. I took some of his food because I was so hungry and left him some but now he doesn't want it. He is not being very grateful."

Sigh. Close, dear. Close. But no cigar.

Tonight you popped out with a similar garbled regurgitation of something I might say to you. We were playing in your bedroom and you telling me what you wanted our blanket house to look like. At the end of every sentence you added, "Do you understand me?" You've been saying that a lot lately, and though I don't think you intend it to be, the tone/phrase sound a bit bossy--perhaps even menacing-- so I finally told you to stop saying it. "Why?" you asked. "I don't like it," I said. "Why?" you asked. "Because I don't," I said. You then took a step back, looked at me sympathetically, and said, in your kindest voice, "I'm sorry, sweetie. I'm sorry you don't like it. But sometimes people say things you don't like and they're just going to keep saying them. Do you understand me?"

How I love you. In so many ways you are just like the baby we brought home from the hospital four and a half years ago--alert, active, and-- above all--intense-- but in so many other ways, you have completely morphed. You have turned from a helpless infant into a long-legged coltish boy creature with an insatiable curiosity. You talk. And talk. And talk. And talk. And multiply all that talking by one million and you get the number of questions you ask every day. You continue to grow and develop and learn and change and I love being a part of your life, to try to see the world through your eyes. It's a joy watching you try to gain a grasp on this great big complicated place called Earth, a pleasure to see you learning how to love others and treat them with kindness. My greatest happiness comes from watching you and your brother play together as friends, to hear you talking to him with a gentle voice, to see you sharing your toys with him.

You continue to make strides at improving your ability to recognize and cope with emotions. Just recently, for example, you allowed Liam to enter your bedroom. This in itself was a noble gesture; unfortunately, while Liam was in your room he accidentally broke one of your many Duplos creations. Normally a calamity like this would result in an intense fit of rage, probably some violence--most definitely some weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth. But this time you just turned to me and said, "Mommy, I'm really disappointed that Liam broke my airplane but....I guess it's okay."

"Soren!" I said. "I'm so proud of you! You handled that very gracefully."

"What do you mean?" you asked.

"Well, usually you would have gotten really upset and yelled and maybe hurt Liam. But this time you told me how you felt and didn't get mad at all. I'm proud of you."

"Yeah," you said, "But I'm still REALLY disappointed."

I know you were, sweetie. But I was still REALLY proud.

Sometimes during the day your father will send me little text message updates about you and Liam. Here are a few I saved from the last month about you because I think they capture well your very....um....how you say....colorful personality.

Soren is napping. He was just doing his 'I-have-no-life-left-in-my brain-or-my-eyes-I-will- just-scream-as-loud-as-I-can-while-I-stare-straight-ahead' thing."

"Your son started his own dance party. Stripped off his clothes, got a hip-hop station, and was doing the boogie on a storage box in the kitchen."

"It's like he is wired directly to a 220v socket all the time."

You were playing in your bedroom one peaceful afternoon when, out of the blue, you started scream-crying and ran out to your daddy, who was reading on the couch. Your face streaked with tears, you begged, "Don't let the doctor cut me until I'm big!"

Er. Whaaaa.....?

Between sobs it came out that you had swallowed a piece of floss. This was something we had warned you to not do when you took to chewing on wads of the stuff. We had told you that if you swallowed it, the floss would get stuck in your stomach and a doctor would have to cut you open to get it out. Apparently you took that to heart. It took Daddy quite a while to convince you that you wouldn't be going under the knife.

Some other random things about you:

You've been intrigued by very small things as of late. Recently you asked me, "Are ants small enough to see atoms?"

Your brain seems to be being sponsored as of late by the number twelve. You will often tell me, "Mommy, I love you twelve." And you frequently remark that you have twelve songs in your head.

Your favorite all-time activity is building "houses" around the house. If it were up to you, the house would be strung wall-to-wall with blankets and sheets all the time.

You call Dr. Seuss Dr. Suzie.

A quote: "Mom, I want to go to Auntie Clee's house today because it's cooler than Grandma's house. Do you know what 'cooler' means? 'Cooler' means something has more funner toys and stuff."

You are afraid. Of a lot of things. Automatic toilets. Haircuts. Being alone. Noises at night. Heights. Bees. Dogs. Lawn clippings. Ambulances. Trampolines.

Recently I committed some sort of parenting indiscretion--let you and Liam eat sugar cereal for supper or something--and your papa was calling me on it. "I'm a Bad Mom, all right?" I quipped. To which you immediately responded, "No, Mommy! You're a good mom. You're really nice to kids."

You are not much of a pray-er. When called upon to pray during family prayer times, you usually offer some resistance. Generally I only call on you once a week or so because it's such a battle to get you to do it. But one morning I insisted that you pray. "It doesn't have to be long, honey," I said. "Just say a prayer." So you did:

"Dear Heavenly Father, Please bless that all the shapes will keep all their sides. That squares will have four sides, that triangles will have three sides, and that circles will just have one big side. Name of Jesus Christ, AMEN."

Pretty legit, really. Can you imagine waking up in a world where squares suddenly didn't have four sides?

This is the day before Easter, 2011. You used a sticker to attach a clear plastic sheet to your face. You insisted, however, that it was NOT a beard.

Rare (as in blue moon rare) nap that I just HAD to record for posterity. Rare for you, anyway. Daddy can fall asleep any time, any place.

You brought that paper bag owl home from church and decided that it needed some babies. So we made it some babies.

You helped me make molasses sugar cookies one day but insisted that at least a few be given faces.

Isn't he/she cute?

Love you so.

Mommy

Book Reviews: Or, Why I Haven't Posted in a Long, Long Time

2011-06-18T21:55:00.000-07:00

The Wolfblade Trilogy

by Jennifer Fallon
Fantasy

These books are the primary culprits for my recent long bout of silence on the interwebs. These, combined with regular doses of The Mentalist, have commandeered all my spare time and attention. I'm not much of a fantasy reader, but Abe has been recommending this author to me for a year or more, so I finally broke down and read Wolfblade. It took me a little while to get into it--mostly, I think, because my reading opportunities usually come in five minute spurts of time--but I got hooked pretty quickly and, as you know, invested every single one of my 15 spare minutes a day into the series.

These are the things I liked about the Wolfblade series:

-Complex, multi-faceted characters with realistic psychological make-up.
-An engaging plot.
-A socio-political emphasis in lieu of the usual fantasy quest/dragon-slaying rigamarole.
-Interesting ethical questions raised in a non-polemical way.

These are the things I didn't like about it:

-The lazy editing. Nothing like an occasional typo or a malformed sentence to jerk a person back into reality.
-The ridiculous covers.

Overall they're a worthwhile form of entertainment, though the series does contain some sex and violence that some readers might find objectionable.

Don't Shoot the Dog!

by Karen Pryor

Non-fiction, Pyschology

Applied behaviorism 101.

Karen Pryor was a professional dolphin trainer for many years. As part of her work, she learned--and learned to apply--the basic principles of behaviorism. In spending a lifetime training animals, she discovered that these principles of change could be effectively applied to people as well. Her feeling was that, while a lot had been written about behaviorism, very little had been written about how the principles could be applied in real life. Her goal in writing this book was to fill that gap.

Don't Shoot the Dog! makes an excellent case for the use of reinforcers-- never punishment--to bring about permanent behavior change. It describes many effective ways to bring about meaningful, long-lasting behavior modifications in all sentient beings--from fish to people--without using punishments.

All in all, the book contained some useful ideas and a warm conversational writing style. The only shortcoming is that Pryor used a lot of anecdotes and very little data to back up her material.

Death Match
Lincoln Child
Techno-Thriller

Eden Incorporated is a dating service that stands out from the crowd. It promises a perfect match, guaranteed. Thousands of couples have used the service and found happiness through their flawless compatibility. Years have passed and the business continues to create successful unions.

But then three couples--three Eden couples--are found dead in their homes, presumably murdered, and Christopher Lash, a retired forensic psychologist, is called in by the company to investigate the deaths.

Intriguing premise, addictive plot.

Change Me into Zeus's Daughter
Barbara Robinette Moss
Non-fiction, Memoir

It's kind of hard to review a memoir-- it's like assessing someone's life and the way they feel about it. That said, I did enjoy reading Change Me Into Zeus's Daughter.

Barbara is the third of eight children, growing up in abject poverty in the South in the mid-20th century. Her mother sings and recites poetry. Her father drinks and stomps around abusively. The children run around participating in the sort of antics kids in really big families do.

Change Me Into Zeus's Daughter was well-written and engaging. There was a distracting theme/topic change at the end, but other than that, it was good stuff.

Seven Years (and some news...it's at the bottom if you want to skip the ramblings.)

2011-05-13T17:44:00.000-07:00

On April 23, Abe and I marked our seven year wedding anniversary. This weekend (a week weeks later, so that Abe would be done with school), we're celebrating. We've checked into a fancy hotel on the Idaho Falls greenbelt and I'm sitting on our balcony, watching people and ducks and geese and soaking in as much precious sunshine as I can. It's a beautiful day--one of the first really warm, sunny days this year--and there's a gentle breeze blowing. Life is good. (For me.) (Right now.) (Don't want to undermine the fact that there are people suffering today and that for them, life might be less good.)

But anyway, I've been wanting to post for a while about where we've been in our life together at each of our anniversaries--and what we did to celebrate. So, since I have a long weekend of uninterrupted free time stretched out in front of me, I think I'll finally do it.

April 23, 2004. Honeymoon. We went to the Oregon Coast. We arrived at our rental cabin on the beach after dark but went for a stroll along the surf anyway. Moonlight glowed on the black waves. A fawn darted through the brush. Shooting stars streamed through the sky. We were deliriously happy. The next day we played on the beach like children; that afternoon we realized we were horribly sunburned. We were in pain, and couldn't touch much, but we still had fun-- went to beaches, visited the Redwoods, read books, held hands. We ate roll sandwiches with provolone cheese and pepperoni. Abe read an entire Narnia book out loud to me. The last night of our honeymoon, however, Abe's sunburn took a turn for the worse. Much worse. We ended up taking him to a hospital in the middle of the night and he spent the remainder of the time completely doped up on pain pills and anti-itch medication. I drove all the way from Pendleton, Oregon to Idaho Falls in silence while he slept. He woke only to (1) drunkenly spray gasoline on a gas pump at a service station, (2) advertise how fabulous his meds were and tell me that I really needed to try them, and (3) snarl at me for hiccuping too loudly. So yeah, our honeymoon pretty much summed up what was to come: euphoria, joy, pain, and long-suffering. And books. Lots and lots of books.

April 23, 2005. First Anniversary. We were living in Wymount--affectionately known as The Rabbit Hutches--one of the family housing complexes at BYU-Provo. We were nose-deep in school and work. I was working at the BYU Bookstore Textbook Information Desk, Abe was working at Liberty Square Apartments as a maintenance man. We were shocked at how much fun married life was. We'd expected it to be more work.

Some of Abe's younger siblings were visiting on our anniversary, so we spent the actual day sitting in our apartment while they mumbled to each other, "What do you wanna do?" "I don't know, what do you want to do?" I threw a little fit-- cried, possibly stomped my foot. My brother Scott and I went for a walk so I could vent without harming any Skousens. When the sibs were gone--a week or so later--Abe and I celebrated our year by pushing both our couches together, throwing all our blankets and pillows into the mix, buying honeymoon food, and having a read-in.

April 23, 2006. Second Anniversary. Nausea. I was pregnant. We graduated from college--me with my degree in English, Abe with his in Philosophy--and moved in with my parents in Idaho. I got a job as the Office Manager at the Domestic Violence Intervention Center (DVIC). After ten long months of unemployment, Abe got a job at Barnes and Noble.

April 23, 2007. Third Anniversary. My sweet parents watched little Soren for a few hours while we went on a date. We sat in a cold breeze by the river and ate honeymoon food. I wanted to go to the library and find books about Origami but the library closes early on Saturdays. We went to Barnes and Noble instead but had to go home early so I could nurse the baby. Abe was still working at the bookstore; I was working twelve hours a week doing finances/grant-writing for the DVIC.

April 23, 2008. Fourth Anniversary. Destinations Inn: Arabia Room. It was the first night I'd spent away from Soren since he'd been born. It was so nice to spend a few quiet hours together--and an entire night without waking up with the baby. Abe was working full time with kids at Harbor House, an inpatient drug-and-alcohol treatment program for adolescents. We had bought our house in Shelley. In a couple months, I would be embarking on another nausea-fest.

April 23, 3009. Fifth Anniversary. Primary Children's Hospital. Our two-month-old Liam was sleeping in an incubator, tubes and wires and beeping things sprouting out of his tiny body. Our friends Mark and Rachel took us out for lunch at P.F. Chang's. As I fell asleep that night spooning Abe on a hospital cot, I decided it was a good way to spend an anniversary--a good symbol of our shared journey through thick and thin. When we finally checked out of the hospital with our precious little baby, we went back to jobs at Harbor House--Abe working with the clients, me maintaining order (part time) as the Administrative Assistant. Abe had begun work on his master's degree in Library and Information Science.

April 23, 2010. Sixth Anniversary. Another hotel vacation. This hotel room had stairs, which I thought was pretty sweet. We spent the weekend reading, sleeping, and shopping. We also made a Powerpoint presentation for a group project for one of Abe's classes. My parents and Briar took turns watching the kids during the weekend. During the previous year Harbor House had closed. I had been lucky enough to be offered a full-time position as the Office Manager at a counseling agency, so Abe had taken over the role of stay-and-home parent and increased his graduate course load. We were both worn out from a busy year--the kids were particularly difficult that year--so we were extremely grateful for the two days of bliss provided by a getaway.

April 23, 2011. Seventh Anniversary. Abe finished his final class two weeks ago and the following week the director of the Idaho Falls library offered him a job. He'll start next week, working three ten-hour shifts/week. This means I'll be able to cut back on my hours and spend an extra day at home each week with our chilluns. The library job is temporary--only guaranteed through the end of the summer--but we hope it will blossom into something more permanent. We're excited--and a little anxious/guilty (<----me) --about the changes, though I think it will be a good thing. I'm already planning how I'm going to spend that extra day with the boys: there will be crafts! and baking! and educational activities! and kitchen dancing! and trips to the park! I couldn't ask for anything more: we've got good jobs, a warm home, lots of yummy food, healthy, handsome children, our own health, family, friends, and time to enjoy it all. (I'm knocking on the wooden balcony right now.)
All in all, it's been a good seven years. Not perfect--there have been times when Abe and I have wanted to drown each other like unwanted puppies--but good. I'm looking forward to the next seven.

Mama Mia

2011-05-07T21:04:00.000-07:00

When I grow up, I want to be like my mom.

That's always what I've wanted, really. When I was a little girl, my plan for life after graduation was to do exactly what my mom did: go to Ricks College for two years, then BYU, then live the wild-n-free single life for a while, then get married and have babies. I didn't exactly follow that path (I skipped Ricks and got married before I graduated from the Y), but I'm still trying to do things the way my mom has done them.

Mom has just always seemed so put-together to me (except, maybe, when I was a teen, and then even the way she breathed was wrong and completely humiliating). She's friendly. She's smart. She's fun. She's engaged in life. She's been happily married for over thirty years. She's raised four healthy, kind, intelligent, self-disciplined children. She's comfortable with herself and confident in her choices. Who wouldn't want to follow in her shoes?

When I find myself in a sticky parenting situation, I often ask myself, "What would my mom have done? How would she have handled this?" When a holiday comes around, I try to remember, "What did Mom do that made this holiday special for us? How can I do that?" I cook my kids hot breakfasts most mornings because that's the way Mom did it. I won't cut the crusts off Soren's sandwiches because Mom didn't cut the crusts off my sandwiches. I listen to music with my kids because Mom listened to music with us.

The thing about my mom (as a mom) that is most impressive to me is how good she was at striking balance in her parenting: she was warm and caring but didn't put up with crap, she offered support while encouraging autonomy, she was a parent and a friend, she knew when to say "yes" and when to say "no." She devoted a lot of time to nurturing her children but knew when it was time to stop and nurture herself.

I will forever appreciate the positive support my mom has always given me. I don't recall ever feeling like my mom disapproved of me: she might have disapproved of some of my choices or opinions, but never me. I remember occasionally coming into my bedroom to find the bed unexpectedly made and a treat and a note left on the pillow. It was Mom, of course, expressing her love, giving encouragement, pointing out the good things she saw in me. During times when I've felt particularly frustrated and inadequate, she's always been there to say that she believes in me. I remember losing a writing contest in the fourth grade. She knew how much it had meant to me, how much I wanted to win. I sat on her lap and cried, and she told told me about how all the good authors in the world had drawers full of rejection slips from publishers and that I should just consider this my first rejection slip, a badge of honor, really, for an aspiring young writer. When I didn't make the drill team in High School, she left a bag of chocolate in my car with a note telling me how sorry she was, that it was their loss, and to keep my chin up. I called her one morning recently, crying because I was overwhelmed by my children and feeling inadequate to the task of parenting them. That evening when I got in my car to drive home from work, there was mug of candy and a note from my mom: "Believe in yourself, Tootsie. You're doing great."

During my childhood I learned that life can be a good and a joy-filled thing, that I can cope with challenges, that I am capable of doing things that are difficult, that kindness and service are important, and that I should follow my dreams and become the person I was intended to be. My mom cultivated an environment in her home in which she was able to nurture these beliefs in her children. I am overwhelmed with gratitude for my mom (and dad) for giving me these gifts, and--at this point in my life, particularly--I am endlessly grateful for my mom's beautiful example of motherhood. If I can be even a part of the mom that my mom is, I will consider my endeavor into motherhood to have been a rousing success.

Happy Mother's Day, Mama. I sure love you.

Now we are 28.

2011-04-25T21:26:00.001-07:00

I'd totally decided to be tranquil about my birthday this year. No big deal, just let it be another day, you've had plenty of birthday attention over the years, I told myself. But apparently everyone else must have gotten a different memo, 'cause I was THOROUGHLY spoiled and/or lavished with attention on March 14, 2011. (And before-- and after.) And, let's be honest, I would sell souvenir-sized bits of my dignity on the street corner for a little attention, so I loved every minute of it.

It started out with a girls' weekend getaway trip to beautiful Twin Falls, Idaho! (Say that in a Rod Roddy voice.) My mama and sister and I ran away together for our first-ever girls-only vacation. We went to see Singing in the Rain in the historic Oakley Opera House, we ate delicious Thai food, we swam in the hotel swimming pool, we went to parks, we giggled. It was lovely.

Then, Abe's Nana sent me a butterfly birthday card containing a crisp, shiny $20 bill. I cannot tell you how much I love cash. It's like magic money that I don't have to account for in the budget. If I were Scrooge McDuck, I would make a swimming pool out of cash dollars and swim around in them every day.

But anyway, on the actual big day, my friend Pam showed up at the office with this beautiful bunny cake:

I had mentioned to her-- months earlier--that bunny cakes were something of a birthday tradition for me. And she remembered! And made a whole bunny cake! With butterfly cookies! Isn't it ADORABLE?

(Pam also made me an adorable recipe-holder magnet board thing for my kitchen, which she presented to me when we went out together with our husbands the following weekend.)

And then, flowers arrived!

These were sent by my brother Scott and his wife Amanda. The bouquet lasted for two good weeks.

My co-workers Brandy and Laura bought me this terrific hat. You can't tell, but it lights up. Doesn't get much hotter than that.

My co-workers BJ and Andrea did this to my car. The inside was LITTERED with confetti. Two vacuumings later, I'm still finding shiny little party hats. They did something very similar to me with silly string and confetti when I stood up to make an announcement at a company meeting that evening.

Throughout the day, I received phone calls, texts, and facebook messages. My brother Seth and his wife Karen gave me a gift subscription to a magazine. (It hasn't come yet, so I can't tell you what it is. It's a secret 'til it comes.)

My bosses, Tom and Michelle, gave me a couple of cute decorations for my home/desk and a gift card to Chiles, which Abe and I used to stretch our dating dollars that month.

When I arrived home that evening, Abe and Hillary and Briar presented me with--respectively--a bigger, more magical crockpot, princess fruit snacks, and a new electric hand mixer.

A few weeks later my sister-in-law Lara mailed a gorgeous dress that she had hand-tailored just for me, some fabulous dress gloves she had crafted out of crochet thread and satin, a card her children had made themselves, and a bevy of hand-made winter hats.

A few weeks after that, my mother-in-law found the perfect birthday card (it had a big peacock on the front--is she trying to say something about me?) and mailed it, along with another, blessed twenty dollar bill.

With that much attention to store in my canteen, I suppose I can keep my dignity in tact for at least another year.

Thanks to everyone who made my twenty-eighth birthday such a special and memorable one.

I feel very loved.

Sitting on the Diamond Throne

2011-04-12T20:12:00.000-07:00

Let me tell you a story.

Once upon a time, there was a young Indian prince named Siddhartha. The prince was raised with great pride by his father, a good king and fair ruler, who saw much potential in the boy and wanted him to be his successor. Siddhartha lived a very sheltered existence and grew up enjoying the many comforts and riches afforded to those of his caste. When, at the age of twenty-nine, he traveled unsupervised for the first time among his people, he discovered much sickness, sorrow, death, disease, and suffering in the world beyond the palace grounds. This troubled him immensely, so much that he felt compelled to leave his comfortable life and pursue a path of ascetic self-denial in an attempt to understand and overcome this suffering.

He spent many years studying meditation and engaging in extremely intense fasts. He had brought himself nearly to the point of starvation when he, weakened by hunger, nearly drowned while bathing in a stream. It was then that he realized that the path of strict asceticism would not take him where he wanted to go. And, in the words of the Buddhist monk Paramanda, this is what happened next:

"Once as a young boy he had been seated under a tree, watching his father plow a field, when he quite spontaneously entered into a state of great bliss and contentment. It now occurred to him that such a state might form the basis upon which a higher understanding could arise. So, having eaten, he seated himself under a tree, composed his body and his mind, and brought his powers of concentrated awareness to bear upon his examination of the human predicament.

"It is at this point that, according to Buddhist mythology, there arose a figure called Mara, 'the evil one,' who gathered together all his forces to try to prevent Siddartha from becoming the Buddha...In Buddhist art, Mara's forces are depicted as a vast army of strange and furious beings hurling all kinds of missiles at the prince, while he sits composed and undisturbed. As the rocks and arrows come close to the prince's body they are transformed into beautiful blossoms and fall harmlessly around the majestic figure.

"After the failure of his attack, Mara tried a different approach to turn the prince's mind away from the task it was resolved upon. Mara tried to instill a sense of doubt in his mind by questioning his right to be seated on the "Diamond Throne,' the central point from which the whole universe unfolded...

"In reply the prince extended his right arm and touched the earth with the tips of his fingers.

"What happens next is quite wonderful. The goddess of the earth rises up out of the ground and testifies that the prince is indeed rightfully seated on the Diamond Throne, by virtue of his own great effort. She testifies that she has seen Siddhartha, throughout many lifetimes, develop to the point of perfection all the positive qualities of the human being-- qualities of generosity, patience, energy, kindness, and awareness. At this testimony, Mara is completely undone and flees in dismay."

And Siddhartha, having achieved Nirvana, became the Buddha.

Pretty interesting, eh? I am particularly taken by this story because it so resembles a story from my own (Mormon) religious tradition.

Are you ready for another?

Once upon a time there was a young American farm boy named Joseph. At fourteen years old he became deeply concerned with religion and began a sincere search among the Christian faiths he encountered in Upstate New York. He encountered what he described as a confusing array of conflicting religious ideas and strong feelings from their respective proponents.

In his words:

"At length I came to the conclusion that I must either remain in darkness and confusion, or else I must do as James directs, that is, ask of God. I at length came to the determination to 'ask of God,' concluding that if he gave wisdom to them that lacked wisdom, and would give liberally, and not upbraid, I might venture.

"So, in accordance with this, my determination to ask of God, I retired to the woods to make the attempt. It was on the morning of a beautiful, clear day, early in the spring of eighteen hundred and twenty. It was the first time in my life that I had made such an attempt, for amidst all my anxieties I had never as yet made the attempt to pray vocally.

"After I had retired to the place where I had previously designed to go, having looked around me, and finding myself alone, I kneeled down and began to offer up the desires of my heart to God. I had scarcely done so, when immediately I was seized upon by some power which entirely overcame me, and had such an astonishing influence over me as to bind my tongue so that I could not speak. Thick darkness gathered around me, and it seemed to me for a time as if I were doomed to sudden destruction.

"But, exerting all my powers to call upon God to deliver me out of the power of this enemy which had seized upon me, and at the very moment when I was ready to sink into despair and abandon myself to destruction--not to an imaginary ruin, but to the power of some actual being from the unseen world, who had such marvelous power as I had never before felt in any being--just at this moment of great alarm, I saw a pillar of light exactly over my head, above the brightness of the sun, which descended gradually until it fell upon me.

"It no sooner appeared than I found myself delivered from the enemy which help me bound. When the light rested upon me I saw two Personages, whose brightness and glory defy all description, standing above me in the air."

And Joseph Smith, having had a vision, became the Prophet.

So why am I sharing this with you?

Frankly, I don't know.

My strongest tendency when it comes to religion is to remain completely neutral, acknowledge the validity of all religious (and non-religious) perspectives, and to never, ever, ever express my own religious feelings, beliefs, or ideas. This is partially because I don't want to offend or alienate anyone. It is largely because I don't have very many concrete opinions in such matters. And, honestly, it is also because I don't want to come across as foolish, childish, or naive when it comes to my worldview.

But this shared motif--the dark power unleashing all its furious strength right before a moment of great enlightenment-- speaks to me on a very personal level because I've experienced the darkness; in fact, I experience it nearly every time I kneel down to pray.

I hate to pray. Hate it. There are a million things I would rather do--such as having a tooth extracted or cleaning a subway restroom-- than kneel down and attempt to pray.

But I know I need to, right? I go to church every Sunday, I insist on family prayers morning and night, I pay 10 percent of my income to the church. I do this because there is a part of me, the core part of me, that feels that it is right. That it is good. That, every once in a while, feels bathed in the comfort of God's love and wants to keep moving towards that love, towards the Being from which it comes. Every once in a while I'll be sitting in a sacrament meeting or a Relief Society lesson and I will suddenly be aware of myself as a creature of light, attached to these other humans, these other beings of light. I have a sense that we are all an essential part of something much larger, something that makes so much more sense than this garbled world we live in. I go to church because church helps remind me of this bigger thing, this greater love.

But I would like to be more connected. I can't base my entire life--particularly the things I teach my children--on something I only half-connect with. I'd like to build my faith, to become more committed, more fully believing. And I realize that the primary way for me to do this is to pray. The foundation of all things religious is that personal connection with Deity, something that must be nurtured through prayer. But I can't pray. There's a block. I utter the first words and am immediately swept away by a sea of uncomfortable emotions and thoughts.

Let me try to explain what it is that is so for me difficult about praying.

We Mormons have a kind of loose prayer template that is outlined in a song I learned as a child:

I kneel to pray, every day
I speak with Heavenly Father
He hears and answers me
When I pray in faith.

I begin by saying, "Our Heavenly Father."
I thank him for blessings he sends.
Then humbly I ask him for things that I need.
In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen

Simple enough, eh?

And if I just push through without thinking about it too hard, I can do it. I can say a prayer just like that. A pretty good one, even. But I can't ever go too long without thinking about it, and that's where I get all jacked up. My prayer thought processes are usually something along these lines:

I begin by saying, "Our Heavenly Father."

Just saying the words makes me feel vulnerable. Partly, I think, because I associate the name "Heavenly Father" with the primary teachers who taught me about the gospel in Primary classes when I was a kid. It makes me feel like a child....trusting, weak, naive.

It's here that I will also occasionally fall into spasms of feminist indignation and start feeling furious about the whole God-as-Man thing, wishing that I could connect with a being who understood the uniqueness of my life as a woman, my experiences as a mother.

I'll push past that, however, and spend some time trying to visualize this Being with whom I am speaking, gain some sort of grasp on His personhood so I can make a viable connection with Him. And I can conjure up all kinds of wonderful images and personalities, but I can't decide if those are real impressions of this Invisible Deity, or if they're just fond wishes of my imaginative heart. My true fear is that, despite my fondest hopes and spiritual experiences, God is the angry controlling manipulator I generally find in the scriptures. And that fear is rather alienating.

I thank him for blessings he sends.

Here I hit another roadblock.

Don't get me wrong: I am keenly aware of the many things in my life that are good, and for which I am deeply grateful. I am happy to list these things and highlight anything special that happened to me during the day that was particularly special. Right now I can tell you how thankful I am for my healthy children, my kind husband, my cozy house, my job. I can tell you that I am thankful to live in a place that is quite safe,where I enjoy many freedoms, in a home that has hot running water and electricity. I am thankful for the family I came from and the family I married into. I am thankful for the bed in which I sleep, for the computer I am writing this on. I am thankful for my health. I am thankful for my mind. And on and on. I really am very grateful for all that I have and realize that I am, in all things that truly matter, rich.

But I'm not so sure these things have come from God. They may have, but they may not have, and I feel silly saying thanks for something God didn't give me. Some might argue that God has given us everything we have. If that is the case, however, then I wonder what it was that motivated God to grant me so much abundance when there are mothers who can't feed afford to feed their own children, when there are fathers who have to leave their families to fight in wars, when there are little ones who are unspeakably abused and heartlessly neglected. To say that God gives us all good things seems to be a slap across these already-bruised faces.

I generally push past this part too, though, by simply stating to God that I am grateful for these things, without"giving thanks" for them, per se.

Then humbly I ask him for things that I need.

There are so many issues with this one I'm not sure when to start.

First, I hate to ask God for anything because I don't want to feel angry if it doesn't come through. When I asked God to please comfort my sick baby, he seemed to sit by in silence. That stung. A lot. And I want to ask God to heal the world, to save all the children from truly horrible things, to feed the hungry. But I've done that before. Lots of people have. And he hasn't.

And then I think about praying for people I know who need things or who are going through a hard time. I want to pray for each of the children I encounter through my job, children who are going through things that no child should have to endure, things I feel powerless to prevent, but I doubt it would do any good. Like, if God doesn't care enough about these children to do something for them without being prompted, why would he suddenly take interest when I request he do so? So I don't. But then I feel angry.

And I realize there's probably some Grand Scheme Reason for God's not responding to these requests, but it does make me wonder why I'm even asking for stuff. If God's going to do whatever He wants to do anyway, why am I even wasting my breath? And if God's not good enough to give these people the things they need without being asked, why am I worshiping Him?

I do recognize that a lot of these issues are perhaps just a lack of understanding on my part. I do. So I'll still continue onward. Usually what I end up doing is simply asking for help in becoming a better person and in finding opportunities to serve others. And it is at this point that I become completely overwhelmed by a keen awareness of all my many weaknesses and faults--and by a terrible fear that God is going to ask me to do more, to give more, to be more. I am already trying my damndest to do my very best, I think, and I can't stand the thought of being asked to do anything else, to try harder, to give more, to become better. I can't carry any more burdens. I can't. So it is at this point that I completely give up in despair, and move quickly on to the closing:

In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.

And there are issues there, too. But the whole Jesus thing is a story for another day.

The point is that I have a bit of a darkness gathered around me, a Mara questioning my right to sit on the Diamond Throne, to kneel in the sacred grove, to call on God. I imagine that there are many other people who do, too. But Siddhartha--by extending his fingers to the earth--and Joseph--by calling out in prayer--were able to summon the powers of goodness to fight off the enemy, to disperse the darkness.

I hope to do the same. With patience, with practice, with persistence, with a calm refusal to submit to the darkness, the light will come. I believe the light will come.

Liam: March 2011

2011-04-03T20:59:00.000-07:00

Sweet William. He's two and still sweet, though he does have a fondness for splashing in toilets, unraveling toilet paper, and throwing things from his high chair.

I brought Liam to the office with me for a few hours last week and he was actually quite a delightful working companion. He watched some Blue's Clues on Briar's laptop, played with toys, opened and closed my office door several dozen times, and toddled up to the front desk, where Linda (secretary extraordinaire) gladly entertained him. He then climbed into my lap with a rice cake and watched me make a spreadsheet. Halfway through the cake--and the spreadsheet--he was asleep. Linda helped me make him a little bed under my desk and he slept there quite peacefully for about an hour.

Now that he's a walking kid, all Liam wants to do is walk. He gets quite outraged when we walk him to the car and strap him into his car seat. (Maybe he's concerned about reducing his carbon footprint?) He particularly likes to walk in shoes because the shoes add exclamation points to his steps, noisily punctuating each one he takes.

When Liam's not walking, he's dancing. The child can bust some serious moves. He'll dance to Schubert, he'll dance to Black Eyed Peas, he'll dance to "Give Said the Little Stream." He turns circles, he does the knee bop, he'll wiggle his bum, he's got a wicked high step. He even does this cool back-and-forth thing with his head sometimes. It brings me such joy to see him dance. It makes me believe that the surgery did its thing-- it gave him better balance, it gave him better hearing--and he's taking the two and going to town.

Liam loves to be my little helper, particularly in the kitchen. He'll stir, he'll pour, he'll dump. One Sunday he carefully loaded potatoes and black beans into the crockpot for me-- then proceeded to take them all back out again. He also very much enjoys scrubbing the toilet. I suspect this is because it so closely resembles splashing in the toilet. He once spent thirty minutes taking each clean dish out of the dishwasher and handing it to me, very pleasantly adding a "There you go!" to each dish.

William has a fantastic disapproving face. He'll flash it (eyebrows down, mouth in a pout) even when he does approve-- just so you'll do it back to him. This makes him smile, but then you'll smile, so he'll switch back to Disapprove. Disapprove. Smile. Disapprove. Smile. It's like he's bipolar. On steroids.

His favorite words right now are "Hi!" "No," "Eye," "Nose," "More," and "Uh-oh." "No" is the answer to every question, ie: "Liam, do you want a cookie?" "No." "Um, okay." (Desperate screaming when cookie isn't given to him.)

So adorable.

QIA: The Good Choice Jar

2011-04-02T18:48:00.000-07:00

Issue to be addressed:
We wanted some of Soren's less-desirable behaviors to change.

Activity:
A while ago Soren mentioned that more than anything in the world he wanted a toy vacuum. "Like Koen's," he said. "But cooler. Let's go to the store and get one." "Well, sweetie," I told him. "We can't just rush out and buy you a toy vacuum. "First of all, we don't have the money. Secondly, I think it would be good for you to earn it, rather than just getting it."

"But how?" he asked.

"I don't know," I told him. "I'll think about it and get back to you."

Abe and I discussed it and decided that rather than having Soren do chores around the house to earn money towards his toy, we would focus on helping him eliminate some of his less-desirable behaviors, particularly (1) hurting his brother and (2) ignoring directions from his parents.

Methodology:

I believe (and studies back me up) that punishment is not an effective way to bring about lasting change in children's behavior. My basic discipline philosophy is that children should be lovingly, firmly, and consistently guided, redirected, trained, and taught to make good choices-- not coerced or frightened into bending to the parental will. Does this mean that I don't ever send Soren to his room for hurting his brother? No. Does he get spankings sometimes? Yes. Do I feel bad about this? Not particularly. But I do try to use more positive techniques than punitive methods to teach my little guy about making good choices.

Which brings me to The Jar.

I borrowed a small jar and a bag of little rocks from my mother and showed them to Soren. I drew a couple of lines on the jar with an erasable marker. I told Soren that every time I caught him making a good choice, I would put a rock in the jar. "When you have rocks up to this bottom line," I told him, "We'll go to King's and get a piece of candy. When you get up to the next line, we'll get you a little toy from Broulim's. And when the rocks fill up the jar, you can have a toy vacuum."

The jar would only be for rewarding good choices-- he couldn't lose rocks for making mistakes. The only exceptions to this rule were (1) if he was caught putting rocks in the jar, we would take out more than he put in, and (2) if he asked for a rock, we would take one out.

Over the next several weeks, every time we saw Soren making a good choice, we would verbally praise him and put a rock in the jar. "Soren! Thanks for sharing your toy with Liam. I'm going to put a rock in your jar." "Soren, I'm glad you put your dishes in the sink without being asked. Now I'll put a rock in your jar." "Soren, I could see that you wanted to hit Liam but you stopped yourself. What a good choice. There's another rock for your jar." "Hey! You picked up your toys the first time I asked. Thank you! I think I'll put a rock in your jar."

I purposely put the first line low on the jar so that he could quickly catch on to the concept of getting rewarded for good behaviors. After the first week, we went to Broulim's and bought him a treat. We actually kind of forgot about the other on-the-way reward because Soren was pretty focused on that vacuum. He dreamed about the vacuum. He talked about the vacuum. He wanted that vacuum and began consciously working towards earning it by making good choices.

After about a month, he earned a vacuum. I saw a small (real) vacuum on sale at ShopKo that looked like it might be just what he wanted, so we went to the store, he picked it out, and we brought it home. He's been a vacuuming fool ever since.

Results:

It wasn't a miraculous overnight change, but I do see an increase in "good" behaviors from Soren. He treats his brother more kindly, usually puts dishes in the sink and clothes in the dirty laundry basket without being prompted, and generally follows directions without too much nagging. More importantly, I think he now thinks of himself as a good kid. We talked to him a lot about how great it was that he was able to make so many good choices, and he had a visual representation of those choices that he could see and understand on a very concrete level.

We don't want Soren to become dependent on rewards for making good choices, but the jar provided opportunities for us to reinforce his positive behaviors and help him get into the habit of choosing the right. We're not using the jar anymore, but we might bring it out again as needed.

(Lord knows there are other behaviors we could work on.)

Soren: March 2011

2011-03-25T21:27:00.000-07:00

I came home from work last Friday very worn out. I was already been sick to begin with and the day....well...let's just say I've had better. Friday is usually the night that Briar makes us pizza (pbuh), but we were out of cheese, so there was no pizza when I got home. I greeted the boys cheerfully, hugged and kissed them both, made them each a slice of toast to stave off starvation, and, in no mood to cook, proposed that we buy ourselves pizza for supper. Everyone was in agreement, so Briar handed us some cash, Abe and I loaded the kids into the car, and we headed into Idaho Falls.

We got about one block into the drive when a little voice wafted up from the backseat. "Mommy, why are you so grumpy right now?" Caught. I hadn't said a word about my day. I hadn't raised my voice. I hadn't even said anything cranky. But Soren noticed I was sad anyway-- and he was worried about me. I explained to him in very simple words why I was sad and he listened attentively and asked lots of questions.

I thought that was that, but he must have been keeping a pretty close watch on me because a half an hour later he asked, "Mommy? Why are you sucking on your finger?" The dry skin on one of my knuckles had cracked and was bleeding. I explained this to him, and told him it wasn't a big deal, but he persisted in his concern. "Are you just going to drive with one hand?" he asked. "No, sweetie," I told him. "It doesn't really hurt. I'm fine." "But I think it does hurt," said Soren. As soon as we got home he headed to the bathroom, got out the Lubriderm, and brought it to me in the kitchen. "This will make it feel better," he said.

And let me tell you: nothing takes the bad out of a bad day like lotion handed to you by a worried four-year-old.

And oh my goodness, what I wouldn't give to keep him four. So sweet, so small. Little enough to be picked up and cuddled, to put his little hand into mine when we walk, to believe that the solution to all his problems begins with M- and ends with -ommy. But big enough to converse, to tell stories, to sing songs, to express opinions.

One particularly nice thing has been that he and Liam have recently reached a better place in their relationship. They are more friend, less adversary. They were playing around on the recliner one morning when I told Soren it was time for us to go to Grandma's. He looked over at his brother and said, "I want to be with you, Nyeeum, but I have to go now." Then he ruffled Liam's hair, slid out of the chair, and put on his coat all by himself. When Liam started to cry, he told him, "It's okay. Daddy will keep you safe."

A few more highlights from the past couple of months:

-Liam fell asleep while he and Soren were playing together in the living room one afternoon. Abe came upstairs to check on them and Soren said, "Sssshhhhh! Daddy! Liam's asleep!" So Daddy tiptoed back downstairs. Soren then found his green safety scissors and carefully cut off Liam's soft baby locks while he slept. He also cut a patch off the top of his own hair. When Abe came back, Liam was still sound asleep on the carpet, surrounded by a halo of hair.

-Abe got up with Liam one morning so I could sleep in. Then Soren woke up, came out of his room, saw Daddy, and asked, "Where's Mommy?" "Mommy's still in bed. She needs some more sleep," Abe told him. Soren digested this for a moment. He then sighed deeply, turned, wordlessly walked back into his bedroom and closed the door.

-While the boys and I were out running errands on a Saturday morning, I decided to take the car to get washed. Unfortunately, the car wash in Shelley was closed when we arrived. Soren is terrified of car washes and was, therefore, glad to see we wouldn't be going. His comment to me, however, was very diplomatic: "Sorry, lovey. Looks like you'll have to wash the car another day."

-Soren is fascinated by the days of the week. Every day he wants to know WHAT day it is. And he'll say funny things like, "I only like Liam on Fridays and Tuesdays" or "I only eat good food on Mondays and Sometimedays."

-For several weeks he was doing this weird thing that he refers to as "going peepee after I go peepee." What this means is that he was having to pee every three minutes or so. It was very strange and quite disconcerting. We took him to the doc, who gave him a UA, said everything looked fine, suggesting that he maybe just had an undersized urethra opening. Abe found information on the internet that described this sort of case in children and said it was probably psychological. Whatever the cause, it finally got to the point where we'd put him in a pull-up every time we went somewhere. Then we just had him in pull-ups all the time. This caused me all kinds of motherly panic and after a couple of weeks I finally insisted that he begin wearing underwear again. This caused massive tantrum throwing, wild running about, and general mayhem related to what appeared to be his soul leaving his body, but he's doing much better now. He'll pull out the "I need to go peepee after I go peepee" schtick at least once a day still, but I just tell him he'll have to put it in the potty, and he seems to be urinating on a much more regular schedule again. More than ya'll wanted to know, probably, but oh wells.

-Probably our biggest behavioral concern with Soren right now is his complete lack of deference for anything of a religious/spiritual nature. He refuses to sit quietly during prayers. He refuses to even say prayers. Sacrament meetings with him are a bit of a nightmare/wrestling match. I had always thought kids were naturally kind of religious, but Soren turns that theory right onto its head.

-If there's anything that delights Soren, it's making mommy laugh. If he pulls a silly face and I laugh, he'll pull three dozen more and do a couple of crazy flip-flops around the room for good measure.

-Soren loves, loves, loves The Magic School Bus series. (Or, as he calls them, "Scoobus Books.") We always have to have a handful of Scoobus Books checked out from the library at any given time. They are excellent reading, I must admit, though I always try to avoid them at bedtime because it takes FOREVER to get through even one with all his questions.

With an owl he made out of playdough. It's one of those newfangled modern art owls.

With one of his myriad Duplos creations.

This is the tickle ball. It's invisible, but if you touch it you'll get tickled.

The child has fashion sense up to here.

These two photos are what he refers to as "dressing silly." He loves to see how many ways he can put on clothes incorrectly. (Or should I say unconventionally?) And yes, I let him go out like this. But only to Grandma's. Or Auntie Clee's.

Trying to look innocent. What Daddy? I haven't seen a Daddy. I certainly didn't use my mad kung-fu skillz to flatten a Daddy. Why do you ask?

In the house he built out of books and drawers.

Soren promises me that even when he's great big he'll still be my little boy.

The Gospel of the Green Smoothie

2011-03-08T19:50:00.000-08:00

So it all started a couple of months ago when I noticed some talk among my Facebook friends about a mysterious thing they called a "green smoothie."

"My kids think that it's not a smoothie unless it has spinach in it," one of them remarked.

Spinach? In a smoothie? Kids? Drinking it? How could such an thing be possible? Was this green smoothie the secret entrance to nutritional nirvana?

My interest was piqued.

I googled "Green Smoothie."

During slow moments in meetings at work, I started peeking at websites about Green Smoothies. I read recipes. I memorized the health benefits. I mulled it over the possibility of making one of my own. For weeks, I let the idea simmer in my mind. I told my family and friends, "I've been thinking a lot about green smoothies."

It sounded like a great idea. Green smoothie advocates say that they find that this is the best way to get your green leafy vegetables in every day, partially because it beats chomping down a plateful of salad, but particularly because the blending breaks the cellulose down somewhat, making it easier for you to digest the plant and absorb the maximum amount of nutrients from its leafy goodness. The leafies also help slow your body's processing of the sugars from the fruits, so you feel fuller, longer, with steadier blood sugar levels after drinking the smoothie. It sounded like a good deal to me.

But I was afraid.

All the recipes I had found online called for fruit, water, and some sort of leafy green vegetable. This did not sound good to me. The people kept claiming it was good, but people also claim that trout is good, so I do not believe people and their culinary lies. I was afraid I would ruin a whole blenderful of precious fruit with the addition of a bunch of leafy greens.

So I finally asked my friend Becca, who has three small children and was involved in the Facebook conversation that triggered my obsession, about how she made hers. And she told me basically everything I'd already read on the internets, except that she said she added orange juice to the mix! The ingenuity! Juice! Not water, your raw-food eating fools! Juice!

So, a few more weeks of mulling, and I finally bought a bag of spinach and a bunch of frozen berries, along with my usual array of snack fruits. And I made my first green smoothie.

It consisted of the following:

5 strawberries
1 cup of frozen blueberries
1 banana
2 cups of spinach
1/4 cup orange juice concentrate
3/4 cup water

And....it was fabulous! Because of the blueberries, it was actually a lovely dark purple hue. And it was delicious-- even the kids liked it. LOVED it, even. I asked Soren if he wanted some and he, having watched with interest while I assembled it, declined. "No, not with that salad in it," he said. But I talked him into a tiny taste...and a tiny taste turned into a cup. And then another cup. So it was like I fed my kids a spinach/fruit salad for breakfast. And they were begging for more!

I pretty much skipped around the rest of the day, buzzing from the burst of nutrition, singing little songs to myself about antioxidants and iron and fiber.

And so I wish to share it with you, my fair readers. Come, come, and partake of the joy of green smoothie goodness, for it is worthwhile and wholesome and will make you so healthy.

(Purple green smoothie-faced baby.)

Ode to Spring, by Laura

2011-03-03T11:15:00.000-08:00

Morning sunshine!

So far so good! My heart is fluttering! I can see sidewalk! IT IS A MIRACLE!

I love SPRING!
I love warmth!

I love sunshine!

I love cool breezes coming through open windows!

I love RAIN THAT MELTS SNOW!

I love street sweepers that brush away the yucky rocks that give us traction in the winter.

I love windex that cleans the filth off of nasty winter windows.

I love dogs that can go distances to poop in someone else's yard 'cause there is no snow!

I love little birdies that I play chicken with on county line road!

I love slushies!

I love sand on the shores of lakes that boat in!

I love water warm enough to dip your feetsies in!

Are you picking up what I am layin' down?

I think I have the FEVER!

I may not be a church goer but I have FAITH in springtime!

I am Mother Sunshine! I love everything sunshine!

This was taken from an online chat with my friend Laura this morning. She was feeling a wee bit excited by the possibility that spring might be on its way. She rhapsodized for quite some time, despite the fact that I was trying to grumble about outsourced phone support. It pleased me so. I just put her parts in 'cause they're the cute ones and my portions might be construed as xenophobic.

Liam's Second Birthday

2011-02-28T20:58:00.000-08:00

'Twas a grim affair.

First, Liam announced he had crowned himself dictator of the world and that he would personally see to it that baby bottle production increased 1000% by 2012

He then proceeded to unveil a secret torture device he planned to use on anyone who tried to stop his nefarious plan from unfolding according to plan.

Briar then revealed her role as Liam's primary advisor, announcing wildly to the room: "I'll get you, my pretties. And your little dogs too." She added that some of Liam's bottle factory profits would be used for candy purchases to help feed her insatiable sweet tooth.

The crowd listened in silence, overwhelmed by hopeless despair.

One young woman fought back tears as she contemplated spending the rest of her once-promising life fitting rubber nipples onto bottles in a dark factory. She had once dreamed of becoming a fashion designer.

In a desperate attempt to save her from a lifetime of bottle-factory slavery, Tessa, age 8, attempted to suffocate her older sister, Arielle, in a pile of birthday balloons. The bright colors provided a cruel foil to the darkness of the day's events.

Or, maybe Liam was happy and sweet and adorable (though a bit overtired) and received many lovely gifts from his adoring family members. Soren might have also received a few consolation gifts from his Auntie Collette and Grandma Hanson. And we perhaps all enjoyed cake and ice cream afterward. Liam may or may not have wrapped up the festivities by watching Adele's Rolling in the Deep with his mommy right before drifting off into a sugar-induced coma....er....afternoon nap.

Maybe.

But you might want to watch out for burly bottle factory recruiters. Just in case.

Nerd Love

2011-02-28T20:45:00.000-08:00

Like my new shirt? I bought it for two reasons: one, it was on clearance for $4.00. Two? Well, allow me to share a text exchange I recently had with my husband:

Rachel: Sure love you and like you.

Abe: Thank you. I value your psychological and economic contributions to our species unit as well.

Hallmark couldn't have said it better.

The Awareness Diet

2011-02-24T19:27:00.000-08:00

So in an earlier post I mentioned that I was not a big fan of dieting.

But I also mentioned that I'd like to lose about ten pounds and described how I wanted to gently, over time, introduce positive changes into my everyday eating habits. The goal for October was to focus on hunger/fullness. So the question is: did I do it? And the answer is: no.

(This failure to follow through with a goal might remind some of my more faithful readers that I also did not complete another goal I set a while ago. All I've got to say about that is that Abe got me hooked on watching old episodes of Star Trek: The Next Generation and all my good intentions went out the window. Oh, how I love you, William T. Riker.)

But anyway, needless to say, I still have fatty hips. Which honestly isn't a big deal, but I have noticed that sometime between my early twenties and my late twenties I have switched from intuitive eating (eating what I'm hungry for when I'm hungry) to the see-food diet (eating whatever I see whenever I see it). And that's no good.

So I've been contemplating how to change this without switching into a freaky diet mentality that will send me spiraling into a dark vortex of dieting/binging, and I've identified that the primary problem is that I'm eating mindlessly, without considering whether I'm actually hungry or whether I really want the food. I think that simply becoming aware of what I'm eating will enable me to cut out my excess calorie intake and lose a few pounds. Enter The Awareness Diet.

The Awareness Diet is very simple. For a minimum of three weeks (the amount of time it's supposed to take to ingrain a habit), I'll write down everything I eat--before I eat it. I'll also record the reason I'm eating it ("hungry," "anxious," "kid left it on his plate," "thought it looked yummy," "avoiding work," "bored," "afraid I won't see another one for a while," "afraid someone else will eat it before I can," etc). I'm totally allowed to eat whatever I want, whenever I want, for whatever reason I want. I just have to take fifteen seconds to stop and think before I stuff my face.

I've created an awareness diet log that I'm going to use to track my eating for three or four weeks--just until I feel like I've recreated a habit of awareness regarding the food that goes into my mouth. (Feel free to use it if you want to play, too!)

And, for accountability, I'll give you a quick update every Thursday about whether I've actually been following through with my goal and if it seems to be helping.

QIA: Family Home Evening Chart

2011-02-23T20:56:00.000-08:00

Issue to be addressed:
Family Home Evenings at our house were going something like this: It's Monday night. We've just eaten dinner. Mommy remembers we need to have family home evening. She herds the family into the front room, dictates the song, calls on someone to say the prayer, teaches a lesson from the nursery manual, comes up with an activity, and scrounges up a treat. The children run around and squawk at each other.

And, you know-- at least we were having FHE, right? But I felt that a little more family participation would be warranted to make Family Home Evening more meaningful for everyone.

Activity:
I thought that a visual reminder of everyone's Family Home Evening responsibilities would help resolve the problem. I planned to make some sort of construction paper-and-crayons responsibility chart. If I was feeling really fancy, I might have even covered it all in contact paper.

Methodology:
Pam to the rescue! My friend Pam, who is all crafty-n-stuff, volunteered to make an FHE board for us (above). Isn't it adorable? It makes me feel like I have a grown-up house, with a real vinyl craft on the wall. Every Sunday night I make sure that everyone's clear on their responsibilities and we move forward from there.

Results:
I still have a tendency to sort of bulldoze my way through FHE, picking songs and treats and calling on people to pray without remembering to consult the board and let everyone follow through with their responsibilities. But I'm trying to remember. And this week, Briar was in charge of treats. She introduced me and the boys to Zebra Cakes. Can we say delicious? The Zebra Cakes alone might make the FHE QIA a rousing success.

Liam's Surgery

2011-02-16T20:46:00.000-08:00

We took Liam to see Dr. Terry Baker, an ear-nose-throat specialist who sat and listened patiently while I rattled off our child's lengthy medical history: jaundice, reflux, pneumonia, delayed speech, delayed gross motor skills, frequent ear infections, chronic fluid in his ears. He looked--not surprisingly-- at Liam's ears, nose, and throat, and determined that it was time for surgery. "Particularly with a language delay," he said, "I suggest we do something to get that fluid out of his ears so he can start hearing better. Let's remove his adenoids and insert tympanostomy tubes into each of his ears. This will allow for the draining and aeration of the eustachian tubes. Once that excess fluid is out, his hearing and balance should improve." Abe and I, relieved that we were finally going to do something, scheduled Liam for the earliest slot we could get--Thursday morning, just three days later. I felt great.

A few hours later, I felt terrible. I was anxious about the whole thing: What if Liam had a bad reaction to the anesthesia? What if the surgery ruptured his ear drum? What if his immune system was compromised by the loss of the lymphoid tissue? Was this really what we should be doing? Shouldn't the doctor have taken a CT? Would just ear tubes be enough? Would just adenoids be enough? Should we really do both?

The day of the surgery arrived and I woke Liam at 5:00 AM so we could make it to the hospital by 5:30 am to begin prepping for his 7:00 AM surgery. I thought he would be pissed off about the disruption in his routine: an early morning waking, no Wiggles You Tube videos, no breakfast, a car ride through the dark morning, a strange new place full of strange new people....but, on the contrary, he seemed quite pleased with the whole event. He babbled excitedly all the way there, toddled happily through hallways with me while we waited for the surgery, made a little friend, and only panicked a little when the anesthesiologist and nurse came to take him away.

Afterward he was a little sleepy and a little grumpy, but Gatorade in a Baba made things a whole lot better. That afternoon he was playing normally. The next day you never would have known he'd had a surgery.

In the days that have followed, I have observed him balancing better and acting a little more cheerful. I recognize that these might be normal improvements that may have happened without the surgery. There is one thing, however, that has changed for sure. It's the trains.

Trains periodically pass through the little town where we live. They're too far away for us to see from our house, but we can definitely hear them when they chug through. A few days after Liam's surgery, a train whistle started to blow off in the distance. Liam looked up from his oatmeal and began babbling, looking around for the source of the sound. The whistle blew again: "Uh oh!" he said, "Uh oh!"

I watched him searching for the train and realized I had never seen him react to the sound before. But now, a few days after his surgery, he could hear it: the rumbling of heavy cars on metal tracks, the long, lonely whistle of the engine. "Uh oh!" he said, one last time, before the sound faded out of range, and that's when I knew we had done the right thing.

He can hear the trains.

The Physical Effects of Motherhood

2011-02-16T20:35:00.000-08:00

Besides widening my hips, my four plus years of mothering have brought a couple of unexpected changes to my body.

First, my fabulous biceps:

I got these babies from carrying my 30+ pound toddler/infant everywhere he wants to go. Also from hauling Soren off to his bedroom for frequent time-outs.

And this, my latest addition: a white hair. I'm actually quite enamored with the thing. It's almost like a prize...something to show for all my stress and middle-of-the-nights and worrying. I think it might be almost as awesome as my biceps.

I find myself showing these things to anyone I think might bear even a semblance of caring about them ("Hello, Elderly Man in the Checkout Line! Would you like to see my white hair and my biceps?"), so I figured hey, why not share them with the internets? So here you go, internets: a little gift from me to you. Enjoy.

Happy Valentine's Day!

2011-02-16T20:27:00.000-08:00

Book Reviews

2011-02-10T20:41:00.000-08:00

The Hunger Games Trilogy
By Suzanne Collins

I know these books are all the rage these days, but I have to admit: they're good. I heard someone describe the series as being something along the line of Ender's Game meets The Giver and I would agree. It's about Panem, a country formed in North America some time in the future. It's about children forced to participate in a very twisted version of Survivor, a reality TV show in which the participants fight each other to the death. It's about the unstable political structure of the country in which the "Games" take place. And it's about how one girl finds herself thrust involuntarily into the thick of both. Loved the story, loved the imagination behind the setting, loved the characters. It's a series that uses powerful images to draw up important questions about human nature and what it means to be human.

Two thumbs up.

The Host
By Stephanie Meyer

Not gonna lie: I liked it. Quite a bit.

The Host is written by Stephanie Meyer, of Twilight fame, so I was a bit leery of the book and found myself feeling mildly nauseated at some of the early romantic bits. However, if you can push past the initial sappiness, you've got yourself a quality novel. Like Hunger Games, The Host is a book that addresses some important questions: questions about human nature, ethics, and free will.

It's about a race of aliens--called "Souls"--who live their lives through the bodies of other species. The Souls choose a planet to occupy and very benignly move into the bodies of the native inhabitants, taking over their minds and lives. When the Souls move to earth, however, they encounter a new thing: resistance. The Host tells the story of how one Soul, named Wanderer, encounters just this resistance in her own Earth Host, a young woman who refuses to fully submit to the Soul's occupation in her body.

Never Too Late
By John Holt

This is the musical autobiography of John Holt (an important voice in educational theory and thinking) who, at age 50, decided to learn to play the cello. It's a lovely, joyful story about a lifetime of musical connection and growth, told in Holt's very gentle, personable narrative style.

Crucial Conversations
By Patterson, Grenny, McMillan, Switzer

I liked this book so much I've decided to make a PowerPoint and do a training about it at work-- partially so that, in teaching, I can internalize the principles a little more for myself, and partially because I think everyone can benefit from understanding and implementing these concepts in every aspect of their interpersonal lives. Basically, Crucial Conversations is about how to truly open up dialogue with other people: how to discuss import things in a way that is honest, respectful, straightforward, and non-manipulative. I was impressed with both the content and the way in which it was presented. Very accessible.

Soren: January 2011

2011-01-30T20:36:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I start these posts weeks before I actually publish them, jotting down notes so I don't forget things before I get around to the actual writing process. This month, when I opened the draft of Soren's "update" post, I found the following list:

Soren's basic life premises:

1) Mommy can only love one person at a time. I must be that person. If Mommy loves anyone else, I will wish them dead.

2) If Liam has it, I want it, I will take it, and then I will hurt him for having it.

3) (As a corollary to the above) If I can't have it, I will surely die.

4) Sleep is a parental conspiracy to cause me only misery. I must resist it at all cost. I don't need sleep to go on; if I get too tired, my body will continue onward in "auto-defy" mode, effectively resisting all parental requests without my conscious guidance.

5) Food that doesn't contain sugar is bad. Sometimes fat-based foods like peanut butter and Doritos are acceptable, but sugar foods are the preferred source of energy. Fruit is an occasionally acceptable source of sugar.

5) (As a corollary to the above) If it's for dinner, I hate it. I don't care if I've never tried it. I don't care that I ate it before and liked it. I don't care if it's made out of ingredients I generally accept. It's yucky and I won't eat it.

7) Liam's eyes shoot secret laser darts that destroy my belongings and wound my soul. If he looks at me, I must counterattack by yelling at him. Hitting or shoving might also be appropriate, depending on the intensity of the laser eye assault.

Someone must have said that I loved them. My little Oedipus.

But I wrote all that when he was three.

Turning four has made a new child out of Soren. Okay, so not quite, but he does seem to have made significant strides in the right direction since his birthday. Some of the lessons we've been teaching him are finally sinking in and his logic/processing/forward thinking skills are slowly beginning to develop. It's been, to say the least, a joyful thing.

Soren himself is aware of the transition he's been undergoing.

"I'm changing, Grandma," he recently told my mother.

"Oh yeah?" asked Grandma. "What are you changing?"

"I'm nicer to Nyeeum. I let him come to my room sometimes and we share toys with each other."

And it's true! They've been spending more time with each other, engaged in mutually satisfying playtime activities. Soren's become increasingly willing to share. And when he gets angry at Liam and wants to hurt him, he's learning to stop himself and run to another room instead. He's not perfect, but he is getting better.

And he's becoming increasingly open to following directions from Mommy and Daddy as well. Just last week I went to his room, stuck my head in, and, finding him playing happily with duplos, said, "Soren? You left your clothes and wet pull-up on the floor out here. Would you please come take care of them?" And do you know what he did? He got up, picked up his clothes, and put them in the laundry basket. He picked up his pull-up and threw it away. Then he went back to playing. There was no whining, there was no "why?", there was no defiance....there was only cheerful obedience. It was a miracle!

In other news...

Soren's been very interested in phonics as of late. He loves to learn about the sounds the letters make and find words that begin with the letters. "O is for 'on' and 'off,' Mommy," he'll tell me. "'C' is for cookie and for 'cool.'" There's one letter that gives him a bit of a problem, however: the letter "L." One day, quite out of the blue, he remarked to me, "I need to learn how to say the letter 'L.' L says wuh. Wuh, wuh, wuv. Wuh, wuh, witto. Wuh, wuh, Weeum. Wuh, wuh, Wook." I tried to show him how to put his tongue on the roof of his mouth to make the "l" sound, but it didn't make any sense to him. He continued saying "L says wuh." To which I say: no big deal. Nothing makes me happier than hearing him exclaim excitedly, "Oh, I wuv it! I WUV IT!"

Sledding trip! Sliding down the hill at top speeds motivates him to say, "I wuv it! I WUV IT!"

Soren also pronounces other words adorably: two that come to mind are "mikemoremave" (for microwave) and "pajick" for "package."

Our four-year-old is growing increasingly independent and capable. For instance, one day while I was at work, he decided he wanted a little snack. So he went to the pantry, found a package of mikemoremavable popcorn, got out his safety scissors, cut open the plastic, dragged his Lightning McQueen chair over to the microwave, climbed up, put the package in, closed the door, and turned on the microwave, cooking the popcorn for just the right amount of time. Abe didn't know anything about it until he heard a "ding" in the kitchen and a little voice asking, "Daddy? Would you help me get this bag open?"

Soren's interest in imaginary play has increased exponentially during the last couple of months. He turned a box in his room into a magical door that could take you anywhere you wanted to go. He used a laundry basket as a "two-er machine" to replicate things. He makes everything from spoons to toy trucks talk to each other. I explained to him recently that he was once in my belly, so sometimes he likes to climb up in my robe and pretend to be in my belly. Then he'll be "born" and crawl around talking like a baby.

Soren's early experiments with installation art. I think he has a promising artistic future.

Soren playing "Three Blind Mice" on Grandma's piano. Maybe he'll be a musician.

But anyway. It's been a pleasure to observe Soren, offering guidance, direction, and spankings here and there, as he makes this transition from babyhood to childhood. He's such a strong little person. I love him so.

QIA: Enslaving the toddler

2011-01-29T21:31:00.000-08:00

Issue to be addressed: Liam seemed to be a drag on the family economy. We were concerned he wasn't pulling his own weight.

Activity: Forcing him into slavery.

Methodology: Oh, you know, the usual...coercion, severe punishments, ropes, whips, that kind of thing.

Results: Successful. See for yourself!

The slave whipping up a batch of pancakes for the family.

Scrubbing the toilet. Scrub faster, boy!

(Dear CPS, I'm totally kidding. The above activities were completely voluntary; in fact, they were performed without any outside prompting.)

QIA: Toys/Clothes Organization

2011-01-29T21:12:00.000-08:00

Issue to be addressed: We had been keeping the bulk our toys in a single large toy box in the front room. It was crammed to the brim with all sorts of toys and when the boys wanted to play with their toys, everything would get strewn across the room and nothing ever really got played with. I also wanted the kids to start understanding and actively implementing the concept of having a place for everything and keeping everything in its place.

Activity: I organized the toys.

Methodology: I sorted all of the toys in the house, ensuring that every type of toy had its own container for storage. (Some toys defy categorization, so there is a "miscellaneous toys" bin I keep behind the couch.) I then found clip-art that matched each item, printed the pictures off, and laminated them. I used them to label each of the containers so that even our little pre-literates can easily determine what goes in which containers.

Results: So far, so good! The principle of entropy ensures that the organization sort of falls apart over a period of days, so each Saturday the kids and I (mostly I) re-sort everything. I've been trying to implement a rule that we play with one toy at a time: get one down, play with it, pick it up, put it away, and then get another toy out. This has had the unexpected benefit of increasing the amount of actual playing that goes on, rather than gratuitous toy scattering. Soren seems interested in the concept of organization. One day he even piled everything he could find on our couch, explaining, "I'm organizing, Mommy!"

A sampling of labeled containers in Soren's closet.

Our changing table has found a new lease on life as a toy truck parking garage

I figured it couldn't hurt to label Soren's clothes, too.

Evidence

2011-01-29T21:10:00.000-08:00

Somebody got into the powdered milk. I've preserved the evidence for the investigation.

Shopping List

2011-01-29T21:07:00.000-08:00

Abe added a few essential items.

Liam: January 2011

2011-01-27T21:30:00.001-08:00

On January 13, 2011, at 11:15 AM, Liam took his first independent steps. I was at work and Abe was in Billings for his Master's program, so the witnesses were my sister, Collette, and his physical therapist, Lindsey, neither of whom knew he was walking by himself for the first time. Lindsey called me afterward and remarked, "Liam has made a ton of progress! I had no idea he was taking steps on his own!" "Neither did I!" I replied. I was sad to have missed this monumental occasion, but a few days later, at Grandma Hanson's house, he took a few steps for me too. It was beautiful to behold. Even Soren was excited.

Two weeks later he's continuing to perfect the art of walking. He'll hold little practice sessions with himself, pulling himself up to the arm of the loveseat and then walking as far as he can into the family room. He's learning how to stop and stabilize when he starts to lose his balance. He's getting good at moving into a standing position without holding onto anything. He'll be walking like a champ by his second birthday, for sure.

Linguistically, he continues to babble very expressively but doesn't form a lot of recognizable words. He says, as you all know, "Thank you" and "There you go." He also says "There you are!" "Hey!" "Hi!" and "Bye." Grandpa tells me he once heard him say "I did it." Just this evening I realized that his saying "Aaahhheeee" might mean "Mommy." But it's hard to say for sure.

To me his delayed motor and language development point to a probable fluid build-up behind his ears, which would cause both balance and hearing problems, but the wheels of modern medicine turn very slowly and it seems his doctors will never decide. I feel so frustrated and powerless when it comes to Liam's issues. I know something's not quite right, and I feel fairly confident there's a solution, but the answers are not forthcoming and don't know where to look to find them for myself. Which book, which specialist, which website will tell me what I need to know to help my son? We've got another appointment with another ENT, but I worry the outcome of the appointment will be the same: "Hmm. Looks like he's got fluid behind his ears. Spray this nasal steroid up his little nostrils every night and check back with us in six weeks." Or maybe they'll suggest surgery: putting tubes in his ears, removing his adenoids, or both. But will surgery really help? Will it truly be beneficial? Will the benefits outweigh the risks? Would waiting a little longer allow him to grow out of his problems without surgery? Or should we do something now, before he passes a critical point in his language development only half-hearing?
But anyway, Liam's hit this really awkward stage where he still seems totally like a baby but has simultaneously copped a rotten two-year-old toddler 'tude. He throws tantrums, hurls food off his high chair tray, squawks when he doesn't get things he wants fast enough, whacks people just for fun. He recently threw all his bath toys into the toilet. (Soren stomped into the bathroom, said, "NO, LIAM! I'M MAD AT YOU!", fished the toys out of the potty, and washed them off in the sink himself.) I'm so used to thinking of him as an infant whose crying needs to be instantly responded to that I'm having to consciously train myself to not pick him up every time he wants me to (It's starting to cause me a little back pain! Did I mention he weighed in at 33 pounds last month?) and letting him cry when he's mad about not getting his own way. He contines to be my shnuggly wuggly buggly little boy, though, and spends plenty of time riding around on my hip while I cook, dancing with me cheek-to-cheek in the kitchen, and cuddling and rocking with me in the Lazy Boy recliner.

Liam's current favorite hobby is getting into the powdered milk tub in our pantry and very quietly spreading it around, using the powder to create rough mosaics on the kitchen floor until Mommy catches him and cruelly wipes it all away. Collette has referred to his ransacking style as being "gentle," and she's right. He's Liam, and so is inherently sweet, which means even his troublemaking seems a little softer, quieter, even gentler than others'.

It's hard to find Liam in this picture but he's there, sound asleep. I had heard that kids did this sort of thing--falling asleep while playing-- but after Soren I didn't think one of mine ever would. (Look how cute his little bum is!)

Here's another passed-out-on-while-playing moment.

Isn't he a tender little lovey?

Soren's 4th Birthday

2011-01-11T20:51:00.001-08:00

My little boy is growing up on me. On January 1st, 2011, he turned four years old. We had our usual family shindig to celebrate. Grandma and Grandpa Hanson, the Smiths ("Clee, Marty, and The Kids"), Uncle Quentin ("Nano"), and Haunties Briar and Merritt came to celebrate.

I know it's hard to believe that I have such mad artistic skillz, but I actually made this poster myself. Freehand.

Soren wanted a "Max" cake. Auntie Merritt did the drawing and I added the worms myself. Freehand.

The thing Soren was looking forward to the most on his birthday this year was the cake candles. He got them out early in the day and spent a good amount of time making them walk around and talk to each other. He inserted them into the unfrosted cake, he pushed them into the frosted-but-undecorated cake, and--at long last--he was able to place them in the finished product.

Auntie Briar lit the candles and everybody sang.

The Birthday Boy blew out the candles while we were singing, so we had to re-light them and try again.

There were balloons everywhere, courtesy of Soren's daddy, who used his manly lung capacity to blow up about thirty of them. Liam LOVED the balloons.

Just thought this pic of Collette, Marty, and Tessa was cute.

Arielle took most of the pictures. She and Abraham decided to put together an avant-garde shot of the streamers. I feel that this shot says a lot about the increasing isolation of the modern man.
(Streamers twisted and strung by Auntie Briar and Uncle Quentin.)

For gifts, Soren pretty much received trucks from everyone. He was delighted. (A little too delighted-- he got a pretty insane during the gift opening and started throwing boxes and gifts around like a rabid monkey.) Cousin Marty--his idol and favorite playmate--gave him one of his own trucks and a toy gun. (Funny story about the gun: Marty called me that morning to ask if it was okay if he gave Soren the gun--isn't that sweet?-- but I thought he said "gum," and so I was like, "Oh yeah! sure! That's great!" But then it was a gun, which I was fairly tranquil about, until Soren started talking about killing people with it. He seemed pretty confused when we tried to talk to him about why that wasn't okay, so we decided to put it away until he can more easily grasp basic moral principles.)

Grandma and Grandpa also gave him a cool rug for his bedroom with streets on it for his trucks to drive on. He's taken to locking himself in his bedroom for long periods of time to play with all his trucks on his new rug.

All in all, it was a pretty happy birthday.

Sometimes I'm kinda gross

2011-01-09T20:04:00.000-08:00

Soren had his head on my lap in church today when I noticed that his outer ear was shamefully waxy. All logical thought processes were immediately replaced with Mothering Program 5.67, which runs the following persistent message: "Must. Remove. Smudge. With. Spit." So I licked my finger, stuck it in Soren's ear, and rubbed it around. It was only after the poor kid sat up, grabbing at his ear, looking at me as though I had lost my mind, that I realized what I had done: I had given my own child a wet willy. During sacrament meeting.

But at least his ear got clean.

Puff the Magic Dragon Finds a Friend

2011-01-03T21:18:00.000-08:00

For Christmas this year my mother gave Soren a book/CD combo entitled "Down By the Bay."
The book illustrates the words to the children's song by the same name. I don't know if ya'll have ever heard this song, but it was a new one for me, and I gotta say, I find the lyrics intriguing. They go like this:

Down by the bay,
Where the watermelons grow,
Back to my home
I dare not go.
For if I do, my mother will say,
"Have you ever seen a snake baking a cake down by the bay?"

The verses repeat pretty much the same (Downbythebaywherethewatermelonsgrowbacktomyhomeidarenotgoforifidomymotherwillsay....), except each time the mother asks a different question. She inquires, for instance, if the singer has seen a cat wearing a hat, a frog walking his dog, a mouse painting his house, and a cow saying bow-wow...all down by the bay.

At first I was quite perplexed by the whole scenario and was slightly annoyed at the fact that "Down by the Bay" seemed to be one of those irritating children's books that was created merely for the loping rhythm and gratuitous rhyme. But the song was catchy, and it got stuck in my head, and one thing led to another and I started to wonder: Why exactly was this mother asking these strange questions? And why is the singer afraid to go home and face her inquiries?

For quite a while I was convinced that the mother had perhaps slipped into madness, and the singer was reluctant to return home and listen to her mother's lunatic ravings. But that still left some unanswered questions, for instance: What does this all have to do with watermelons? And why the word "dare"? What is the singer afraid of?

And then it occurred to me: the song is about drug abuse. Clearly the singer is a rebellious teen spending lots of time down by the bay where the "watermelons" (read: "hallucinogenic mushrooms") grow. She's afraid to go home because her mother, a recovered addict herself, senses something is wrong, and will ask the right questions to unmask her daughter's illicit drug abuse.

Pretty serious stuff for a light-hearted children's song, eh?

P.S. I really wanted to work the phrase "the dark underbelly of children's folk music" into this post somehow, but got tired of trying to wedge it in and decided just to post. I couldn't, however, just let it disappear forever, so there you have it.

P.P.S. Further evidence: The song was popularized in the 1970s by a man named Raffi. Need I say more?

QIA: Kid-level Coat Hanger

2011-01-03T21:16:00.000-08:00

I wanted Soren to get into the habit of hanging up his own coat when he comes home from places, so Abe hung this up for us in the hallway at Soren's level. Soren immediately tried it out. Success! Now for the follow-through....

Possible QIAs

2011-01-02T22:10:00.000-08:00

So last night after I posted about doing Quality Improvement Activities in the home, my mind went wildly aswirl with ideas for possible ways to make our home life better. I obviously couldn't sleep until every last idea had been written down, so I popped back out of bed, grabbed the laptop, and made a quick list. And here it is, in no particular order-- the things I'd like to do this year:

1) Create an actual Family Home Evening chart to remind everyone of their weekly assignments.
2) Make an updated chore chart with Soren with two types of chores: expectations and extras. Implement a weekly visit to King's where he can spend earnings from these extra chores on tooth-rotting, immune-suppressing candy.
3) Establish a regular family routine of giving back to the community. Perhaps begin a tradition of shopping for and donating food to the food bank. Possibly talk about giving nice toys to children living in a shelter, etc.
4)Expand our musical repertoire by listening to a variety of music in the morning....explore different genres while we eat breakfast: bluegrass, celtic, spiritual, classical, musicals, jazz, folk, etc.
5) Research charter and private schools in the area to fully understand educational options for the boys.
6) Consistently follow up on Soren's interests (Where do the pipes go? How does grass eat fertilizer? Who makes playdough?) with library visits and youtube videos.
7) Create a chore chart in order to divide the responsibility for a nice, clean home among the four healthy adults and two healthy children who live here.
8) Plan menus every two weeks, file them in a binder for future reference. Make a section in the binder for special holiday treats/meals.
9) Buy a shoe organizer for the front hall.
10) Organize Abe's and my closet.
11) Figure out a good system for organizing the toys and keeping them organized, rather than strewn across the house.
12) Do more crafting/artistic projects with the boys.
13) Establish regular mommy/son dates with each boy.
14) Deal with Soren's eating habits.
15) Get mornings running more smoothly (ie, no more"you'd better get on your coat now, i'm leaving now, i really am, you'd better hurry, here i go, out the door, you'd better come or you'll get left behind, i'm on my way out right now....")
16) Become more organized at creating and maintaining food storage.
17) Establish morning family prayer and scripture study.
18) Buy a little broom for Soren....teach him how to really sweep.
19) Put cute blue-checkered curtains up on the kitchen windows.
20) Look into the whole Green Smoothie situation.

So, yeah, clearly we're in need of a lot of quality improvement.

2011 New Year's Resolutions

2011-01-02T21:02:00.001-08:00

This year I've decided I want to focus on two things: my spirituality and my homemaking skills.

I'm super private and protective of my spiritual life, so I think I'll keep the details of that one to myself.

The homemaking skills, on the other hand, I think I'll share with you.

So I'm the office manager at a mental health agency. I love, love, love my job. One of my favorite parts of the position is Quality Assurance. This basically means assessing the way that things are being done, identifying things that need to improve, and finding ways to improve them. Each quarter I gather data from the preceding three months and assess it, looking for ways that we can make everything work better in order to ensure that we're delivering the best services possible to our clients. I also record Quality Improvement Activities (QIAs) that have occurred during that time period.

That's sort of the process I would like to implement with the running of my household. I'm going to periodically assess problems that need to be addressed and find ways to address them. This will be in everything from improving the eating habits of the family to reorganizing the way we do something to implementing a new family tradition to finding solutions to the boys' behavior problems.

And I'll report my activities here. First, I'll report the problem. Then I'll identify possible solutions and implement them. I'll follow-up periodically to let ya'll know how it's going.

(So I kind of cheated and jumped ahead on this one and have already completed a homemaking QIA, which I will post in just a minute. The problem is that my closets and kitchen areas were super cluttered and it was driving me nuts on both a functional and an aesthetic level.)

QIA: Reorganization

2011-01-02T21:01:00.000-08:00

This picture doesn't really do it justice, but I must say that I am passionately in love with my newly organized linen closet. There's a clearly labeled container for everything! I've asked Abraham to lead me to the closet and open the door for therapy whenever I seem stressed out or depressed.

I really wish I'd taken a "before" picture of the top of the refrigerator but, alas, I did not. It was probably too shameful anyway. Anyhow, this is the top of the fridge. On the left is a container for my organizing binders. On the right is a container for tape, scissors, and other things that I need regularly but don't necessarily want the boys playing with. In the middle is our battery organizer. AAAs in the top, AAs in the middle, and bigger batteries in the bottom.

When we moved into our house, my dream was to make the under-the-stairs closet into a play area for our kids. This dream was shot down by loads of crap that got shoved under the stairs instead. However, I was able to get rid of some stuff and rearrange other things in order to make it possible to at least walk into the closet. We've even got a spare blanket and pillow down there for the boys to use in their imaginative games.

I organized a couple of other things as well, and all in all was able to fill an entire trunk of the car with DI donations and two garbage bags with junk that could go take up space in a landfill.

Getting rid of extra things is one of my favorite activities.

My next several QIAs are to organize the children's toys, acquire a shoe organizer for our main closet, hang up a coat hook at Soren's level so he can hang up his own coat, and to purchase a binder for storing and organizing menus.

This is going to be the BEST HOMEMAKING YEAR EVER!

Unclad Children

2011-01-02T20:54:00.000-08:00

It took me a while to settle on a title for this post that wouldn't promote creeper hits. It is my hope that most pedophilic perverts don't use the word "clad" on a regular basis.

Anyway, I just wanted to say that in reviewing these Christmas pictures, I've realized that it probably looks like I never dress my kids.

Maybe I don't, but it seems like they're usually dressed. I'm pretty sure they wear clothes. At least, it seems like I'm forever washing, folding, and putting away little boy clothes.

But anyway, just wanted to say that they do have clothes. And they do wear them sometimes. Pants, shirts, socks, shoes: the whole kit and caboodle.

Christmas 2010

2011-01-02T20:12:00.001-08:00

It all began on November 26th, when Mommy pulled out the Christmas tree and decorations. The boys were relatively unenthused about actually adorning the tree, but thought that the new box of colorful toys was pretty awesome.

That poor tree endured a lot of tugging, rearranging, and even one toppling during the ensuring weeks; ornaments I had imagined to be unbreakable met an untimely demise.

A week before Christmas, Soren and I spent a day making holiday goodies, then dragged Daddy and Liam along with us while we delivered them to a few friends.

I would have taken more pictures of the baking and resulting tastiness, but I managed to coat a few of my fingers with some molten jello (for the popcorn balls) and had to keep one hand in a bowl of cold water for the duration of the cooking/baking event.

Recipes may follow.

Our friend Pam gave the boys a couple of cute Christmas craft kits, so we began Christmas Eve making picture frames for Grandma and Grandpa.

Soren took his crafting quite seriously.

Liam used the frame for a hat and threw the other bits on the floor.

Soren's gift for Grandma and Grandpa Hanson!

Later that afternoon we went sledding, in the proud tradition of Hanson Family Christmas Eves. This is my brother Scott with his one-year-old daughter Charlotte.

Soren and I had LOTS of fun going down the hill at Freeman Park. I'm hoping to take him again sometime before the winter's over.

Liam, a creature of comfort, was NOT pleased with the event. He didn't like the cold and he most certainly did not like riding on the sled. One short trip with Daddy was enough to convince him he didn't want anything at all to do with that orange plastic thing.

Being all chubby and cute.

And then--at last!--Christmas morning.

Which began, of course, with Soren screaming at Liam for looking at his stocking.

And Liam crying after Soren pushed him over.

Things did go uphill from there. Soren looked at his stocking.

As did Liam.

And then it was on to the presents. All Soren wanted was a remote control car. Santa Claus called him two days before Christmas and told him that he'd been a good boy and would probably get a remote control car for Christmas, so Soren was totally primed to get one.
In fact, when he saw all the presents under the tree he got a little distressed: "I don't want for there to be so many presents! I just want my remote control car!"

Fortunately, Mommy was able to pick out the package pretty quickly.

The remote control car was made by very cheap (possibly outsourced) elves, however, and it broke down on Christmas Day.

Nano (Soren's name for Quentin) got some weird computer thing. Maybe a hard drive or something.

Liam got some sweet bathtime fish.

Quentin gave Hillary loads of socks-- and I bought her a princess coloring book, with which she was quite pleased.

Abe got his usual year's supply of Smooth n Melties.

And Briar, the family darling, was showered with presents from all quarters.

My momma gave me a beautiful coat from Old Navy that I'd fallen in love with MONTHS ago but then couldn't find again on subsequent visits. It was a Christmas Miracle!

We spent the rest of the day enjoying our gifts and visiting with my family. All of my siblings were home for Christmas and it was really, really nice to be able to spend time with them, their lovely spouses, and their beautiful children.

It was a merry Christmas.

The Mr. Jones Workout

2010-12-29T20:43:00.000-08:00

Mr. Jones is a retired Army Sergeant. He loves music, he loves food, he talks tough, and he has a heart of gold. He speaks with a slight southern accent, wears a full gray beard, owns Sarah Palin's autobiography, and has a thousand stories to tell about his adventures in the military. Abe and I met him at Harbor House, where he was merrily passing his work hours subjecting the residents (teens who were there for inpatient drug and alcohol rehabilitation) to various wholesome tortures (mostly things that would make the politically correct sector bite their nails, and so which I will keep to myself), but among the tamer of these ordeals were his infamous military-style workouts. Last winter, about this time, I was starting to feel a little out of shape. I emailed Mr. Jones to get the scoop on his workout. "Abe says the girls could do 50 push-ups," I wrote. "Could you tell me what you did to make that happen?"

His response:

"Yes the girls could do 50 push-ups & run 2 miles. You will need to get some moderate & fast paced rock music. About 45 minutes worth. I'll fix you up a disc with the tunes we used.

1. 5 minutes to stretch out & limber up.

2. Start with Ozzy Ozborns' Crazy Train & do 50 4 count jumping jacks.

3. Without stopping; run in place for 2 minutes. When 2 minutes is up; drop & do 5 male push-ups.

4. Return to running in place for 2 minutes. After 2 minutes; 5 male push-ups.

5. Roll over & do 25 sit-ups; military type. Knees bent, hands locked behind head.

6. Run in place for 2 minutes. Immediately do 25 deep knee bends..

7. Do 1 more deep knee bend; go to male push-up position & do 5 push-ups.

8. Return to Running for 2 minutes. After 2 minutes do 25 regular count jumping jacks.

9. Now do 25 sit-ups. Remember, there is no breaks during the entire workout.

10.Laying flat do 4 count leg lifts; 25 repetitions.

11.Return to running in place for 2 minutes. Pace all of the running & other exercises with the beat of the music.

12. Quickly get down & do 5 male push-ups.Return to running in place. Every 30 seconds start slowing down your pace. Keep moving around.

I would end the session with 5 Ranger Push Ups. This is a 4 count, over time exercise. The kids hated this exercise with a passion.

Do this for 5 days in a row. No exercise for 2 days."

He did make me a workout CD, which he brought when he and his lovely wife, Bonnie, came over to our place for dinner one evening. I did it for a few months and then, as I always do with exercise, got bored and found something else to do. I've started thinking about it again lately, though, because I've once again reached that part of winter where I'm really needing an extra endorphin boost.

I started it again tonight and plan to keep using it until the roads are safe for running on again. I like this workout because it usually only takes about thirty minutes from start to finish but leaves me feeling like I've exercised. I'm too wussy to do 5 days in a row, but I do plan to shoot for three days a week.

Product Recommendation

2010-12-27T20:56:00.000-08:00

Santa brought Liam a Zhu Zhu pet for Christmas. It is fantastic. Everyone should own one.

My brain disorder.

2010-12-26T21:12:00.000-08:00

I came home from church today, threw the diaper bag on the floor, curled up in my bed, and sobbed like an overwrought teenager.

Why? Because a lady at church told me I had a tag stuck to my coat.

Yep. That's it. A lady at church told me I had a tag stuck to my coat. And my perfectly reasonable response? Collapsing into a steamy tangle of sheets and hyperventilation.

But let me try to explain. It was one of those perfectly done up women, perfect makeup, perfect hair. I didn't even know the woman, had never seen her before. She made a special graceful trip down the corridor in her perfectly shiny five-inch heels just to pat me on the arm, smile radiantly, and remarked, "You've got a tag under your sleeve. New Christmas coat, huh?"

So of course I went home and cried!

And at this point most of my male readers are all scratching their heads and saying, "Huh?" And most of my female readers are too. (Though I hope there are a few of you out there who understand.)

So let me try to explain a little bit better. I have a special psychological disorder, as yet unrecognized in the DSM. It's called Sabbath-Induced Social Phobia. I start noticing the symptoms Saturday night. It starts with a little finger of dread stroking at the back of my mind. I start to realize that in just a few hours I will have to go to That Place again--that Church Place where there are People Who Might Judge Me. The finger moves to my brain, which immediately releases a flood of chemicals that make me feel overwhelmingly exhausted. I am too tired, I think, to possibly be able to attend church tomorrow. I start to think of ways to get out of my church responsibilities, consider calling people and asking them to substitute. This puts me in a dark spot, however, because calling people and asking them to substitute would involve calling people and asking them for something. Church people, no less. The scariest people on earth.

So obviously calling people is out of the question, which leaves me in a panicked state on Saturday night with two choices: go to church and face the Possibly Judgmental Church People, or flake out of my responsibilities and surely be judged harshly for my irresponsibility. I put off the final decision for as long as possible, often deferring until Sunday morning, telling myself I might be able to magically conjure up the courage to ask someone to substitute for me by then. This never happens, of course, so we all end up at church, usually about fifteen minutes late, and usually with Soren throwing some sort of tantrum as we make our way down the mostly empty hallway towards the chapel.

And that's when the disorder completely seizes my brain and robs me of all reason.

We sit down on the back row and I become keenly aware of the fact that Soren, despite coaching and teaching and prompting and encouragement and sometimes even threatening, still refuses to sit still and fold his arms during prayers. I notice that my children look somewhat disheveled, that I forgot to smooth down Liam's wild crib head, that Soren's vest has some loose threads hanging off it. I become aware of the pieces of lint stuck to Abe's suit. I remember that I wore the same dress last week. I notice that all the other women have perfectly styled hair and fashionable outfits, observe their neatly groomed and reverent children. As I am marveling at the fact that one woman could produce four perfect hairstyles in a single morning, Soren hits his brother, and people turn to look as Liam begins wailing loudly. We do our best to control our children but Liam starts to arch his back and holler while Soren insists on telling me in his loudest voice that he does NOT want to think about Jesus. And truth be told, I don't really want to think about Jesus either (though that's a WHOLE other bag of chips), which is another thing that makes me completely insufficient in that room packed with perfectly attractive devout believers who are capable of keeping their children under control.

So by the time Sacrament Meeting ends, I can barely stand to look anybody in the eye. I have become fully convinced that I am ugly, a horrible mother, irritating, inappropriate, awkward, and completely unlikable. That no one at church likes me, that they are all wishing they could take Soren and train him the way he should be trained, and that, worst of all, they think I smell weird.

I've been working in the nursery for the past year, which is both good and bad for my psychological freakiness. Good because I love little people and enjoy interacting with them. Also good because I know they don't care if I stink. Bad because I only interact with three other adults the entire rest of church, which means that I don't have a chance to interact with the other people and remember that they are neither as superior nor as judgmental as my brain has made them seem. Also bad because Soren is a wretched little brat during nursery. He clings to my legs while I'm leading music, he throws massive fits when I don't let him have his way, he clobbers other kids with toys, he refuses to share. I deal with this the best I can, but all of my own insecurities about my parenting are immediately projected onto the other nursery leaders (lovely, kind women), who must surely be convinced that I'm doing everything wrong. I tell myself that they understand, that they're not judging, that even if they are judging it's okay, no big deal, but the more visceral part of myself wants to throw my body at their feet and beg for mercy, sobbing and telling them that I promise I'm trying my very hardest, that I work really hard at guiding and teaching and disciplining my child, that he's difficult, and maybe someone else could do better, but I really am trying, so to please, please, please, please, please not judge me. Please.

So anyway, it was in this frame of mind that I wandered out into the church corridors, three-year-old in tow, toddler following behind in his uncle's arms, searching for my husband. I had just put on my brand new coat, a beautiful coat that my mom gave me for Christmas, and was feeling some consolation in the fact that, even if I sucked in every other way, at least I was wearing a pretty coat. It was like a shield, protecting me against the judgments of the Church People. It was the only thing keeping me safe while I roamed through halls literally crawling with them.

It was the only thing keeping me safe until The Beautiful Woman came.

But with her single remark, she was able to shatter my shield and leave me completely vulnerable. And it was more than I could take.

So I went home and cried.

Ketchup on his hands.

2010-12-25T19:50:00.000-08:00

A month or two ago, Abraham ran downstairs for perhaps five minutes while watching the children. When he left, they were peacefully eating lunch. When he returned, this is what he found.

Soren had pushed Liam's high chair over to the refrigerator, used it to prop the refrigerator door open, and proceeded to smear condiments all over the kitchen, himself, and his brother with all the speed and fury of a hurricane.

When Abe returned, Soren blamed it all on Liam. He was, after all, the one in the refrigerator, covered with condiments.

Thanksgiving 2010

2010-12-24T19:51:00.000-08:00

We had an exceptionally nice Thanksgiving this year.

Because Mom's kitchen was under construction (they've been remodeling) and my house is too small to comfortably accommodate a large herd of hungry people, the obvious alternative was to have Thanksgiving dinner at my sister's house this year.

It was lovely!

The food was, of course, fabulous. And there was lots of pie, which never made an occasion worse. The real joy of the occasion, however, was the company. Everybody stayed at the Smith's for hours after the meal was finished, playing games, visiting, and generally enjoying being together.

Some highlights:

There were some intense water noodle/light saber fights going on across the house. Here, Tessa battles against Little Marty.

The Skousens did their usual lounging/cell phone mumbling thing.

Abraham introduced the kiddos to the Skousen family-invented version of the game "Rotten Egg," in which one player (here, it's Calysta) dresses up like a store customer and selects an egg from the bunch (l-r, Soren, Briar, and Marty). The egg then undergoes rigorous "testing" from the store patron and the store owner (played by Abraham). Bad eggs are thrown into the dumpster; good eggs go into the customer's basket. It was a hoot.

The boys did their usual skirmishing over their most prized possession--Mommy. (And here I thought we'd moved away from the objectification of women.) They also played with their cousins and Liam went on a wild rolling-around-on-the-ground spree.

My Mom relived her glory days as Miss America.

Abraham and Hillary played in a snowdrift without footwear.
(They were raised in the backwoods and couldn't afford shoes but when their Pa was able to shoot a bear and tan the leather to take to the shoemaker in the neighboring town. This only happened once a year or so and with eleven children in need of shoes, the kids just learned to do without.)

Hillary and Collette washed dishes. Other people did too, I think, but I was busy being wallowed on and pulled at, so I didn't assist.

Arielle and Grandpa snuck off to the basement to clean Arielle's gun. I like the juxtaposition of Arielle's fashion accessories (scarf, earrings) with the firearm.

There was also sledding and Pictionary. And possibly a movie.

It was a lovely occasion in which we were able to celebrate the things for which we are most grateful: the gift of family, the joy of health, an abundance of food, safety and freedom in which to enjoy these gifts.

That evening at Family Song/Prayer, I had everyone say something they were thankful for. When it was Soren's turn he was ready. Without hesitation, he said: "I'm thankful for snow and....Scrisscruss (Christmas)!"

And with that we moved into the Christmas season. It was a good beginning.

A Prayer, by Abraham

2010-12-22T20:20:00.000-08:00

As Abe was walking out the door just a few minutes ago to pick up a few essentials at the grocery store, he shared with me the following spontaneous rhyming prayer:

If I should die before I return
I pray that my soul will not burn.
In the deepest, darkest recesses of hell,
I do not think I'd fare very well.

Then he kissed me and left.

I'd be quite sad if my poet-in-residence didn't return.

Quiet Contemplation

2010-12-21T19:33:00.000-08:00

So I was running around last night, quickly accomplishing as many housekeeping tasks as I could in the one hour window I have between getting Soren tucked in for the night and collapsing into bed myself, when Abe asked me, "When did you get so work-addicted? Have you always been this way?"

I defended myself by grumbling something about how it would be a lot nicer around this place if certain other unnamed individuals were a little more work-addicted themselves.

"There will always be housework, honey," Abe reminded me. "What about time for quiet contemplation?"

Quiet whosiewhata?

I do have a tendency to be task-oriented. I like to be a be able to look back over a day and rattle off a list of things I accomplished. I think it's because measurable productivity helps me feel that my existence has been justified. However, at the end of my life, I don't think I'm going to look back and say, "Well, it looks like I've completed 20,800 loads of laundry, cooked 65,500 meals, picked up 11,902,997,999 toys, played with my children for 10,450 hours, and always paid my bills on time. Life well spent!"

Which isn't to say that these activities aren't worthy....keeping the house clean, cooking meals, paying bills, and playing with the little ones are part of creating a home in which healthy, happy people can grow together, spend time together, and love one another. I want my home to be a place where people want to be, a safe haven. And cleanliness and food are an important part of that whole thing.

But it's also important to make sure that The Accomplishment of Tasks isn't overshadowing the purpose behind the tasks.

The purpose being something that I will address tomorrow. When my brain isn't so sleepy.

A Goal

2010-12-21T19:31:00.000-08:00

Thirty posts in thirty days.

Starting date: December 21st.

End date: January 20th.

Go.