Girls' Camp

I had a recent epiphany which must have stowed away on a journey back from The Magical Land of What in the World - a mysterious place that most of my children's questions and general comments about life come from. There's no rhyme or reason to them, but they come anyway. "Mom, why is Daddy a beautiful pancake?" "Mom, when I was a baby I sprayed poop all over like a skunk!" "Mom, who is the Avengers' dad?"
So my epiphany was like that. I don't know why it came, but it did. And thanks to it, I have finally figured out why as teenagers we are sent to Girls' Camp. I know, I know. I know the reason they say - to give girls a positive experience with each other, to learn new skills, to have time to ponder the beauty of the outdoors. These are all valid reasons, but the real reason, the one they don't tell you, is that Girls' Camp is a rose-colored taste of motherhood. Wrapped in the giggly excitement of being 14 and away from home, all these things seem new and unusual and happy and something to savor in pine-scented memories; however, they are also an opportunity to peek through the shades into the future that awaits you once you become Mommy.
Let us explore some examples:

GC: Sleeping in a tent. Snuggled up next to your girlfriends, whispering and happily complaining about the cold air and the lumpy ground, it's super fun for one day, kind of fun for two days, alright for three, and happy to be headed home by day four.
Motherhood: Sleeping in a recliner, toddler bed, on the floor, or, on a lucky night, your own bed - wherever you give in to the zombiehood and finally pass out. Snuggled up, in sleep, next to the children who are also constantly hanging on you in the daylight hours , it's super sweet for one hour, kind of sweet for two hours, and by years three and four you are tempted to go throw a sleeping bag out in the cold air and on to the lumpy ground just to have a few seconds of sweet sleep alone.

GC: Learning and singing ridiculous songs that make everyone laugh. This is such a fun part of Girls' Camp, learning the songs, singing them to each other at morning get-togethers or around the fire, making up words about your experiences in the woods.
Motherhood: Learning and singing ridiculous songs that help everyone settle down after the family 4 am cry-fest. Remember these songs. You'll need them as well as your ability to improvise lyrics on the spot. When Baby gets up every hour, feeling sad for no indeterminable reason, you'll begin singing these Girls' Camp songs as well as seven variations on their lyrics in an effort to keep you both from crying. It probably won't work, but after crying, you'll feel better enough to keep on singing. And at some point, these crazy words will become the happy lullabies, the loving soundtrack to your children's childhoods.

GC: Helping with chores like cooking dinner and cleaning up. At Girls' Camp, you are given responsibilities that you may not otherwise have at home. I know while I was at Girls' Camp, we prepared a chicken dish for dinner. This was the first time some of the girls had touched raw chicken and while they thought it was yucky, it was also fun and exciting because of the environment and the fun people cheering them on.
Motherhood: You will sell your soul to chores like cooking dinner and cleaning up. Your environment may look more like building block castles and the cheering section will probably sound more like Baby totally freaking out because the moment he MUST be held or die is also always the make-or-break moment in the dinner preparations. The good news is, though, that compared to lots of other jobs that come with mothering, raw chicken doesn't seem nearly so yucky.

GC: Comforting homesick friends who find themselves so sad they cry all night long.
Motherhood: I think we already discussed this. You're going to spend lots of time comforting people who cry all night long. But as we also already discussed, with those silly songs in your toolbox, you'll be prepared!

GC: "Snipe" hunting. I don't know who else was subjected to this, but my first year, the older girls woke me up at some unholy hour and whispered excitedly to me that if we hurried, there was a good chance I would get to see the elusive snipe that haunts the woods around where I grew up. The tale said this creature was a medium-sized black and white bird with huge yellow eyes. So I ran around like a headless goose, while members of the Snipe Committe, all dressed in black, followed me around the woods, making snipe sounds and shining their flashlights through tree leaves, so I would think I had just caught a glimpse of the beast's eyes. It was all very exciting.
Motherhood: "Snipe" hunting. Or monster hunting. Or hunting for the asparagus and/or shark that is digging a hole in the side of the house and keeping the babies wide-eyed with terror way past their bedtime. (True story. Not sure why asparagus and sharks. I presume this also is only explained by The Magical Land of What in the World.) Or hunting for anything that the littles' minds dream up and tell them they should be afraid of. And more often than not, these sojourns through the dark house or bedroom or closet to find the offensive imaginary creature happen way past the witching hour when everything is so dark and creepy that you yourself begin to feel a little frightened of the Asparagus Ghost.

GC: Latrine duty. Although this is also yucky at girls' camp, it makes you feel like a brave adventurer, as you strike off in the twilight, with your friends at each arm, to wipe down the toilet seat and replace the toilet paper. With them by your side, you can do anything.
Motherhood: I don't know if you know this, but in Latin, "mother" literally translates to: "she who spends approximately 85% of her time cleaning up, encouraging, or worrying about bodily fluids." This latrine duty is very good practice, as you will be cleaning lots of toilets in your motherhood career. And with your kids by your side, you'll have to do everything, including use the bathroom. If you don't include them in this activity and try to be sneaky by creeping in and softly shutting the bathroom door, they will hear the minute click from across the house and decide that if they cannot be with you THIS INSTANT all their limbs will probably fall off. And they will shriek accordingly.

GC: Taking time to appreciate beautiful things that you are always grateful for, but don't normally focus on.
Motherhood: Learning to recognize these small beauties is what makes the day-to-day grind of motherhood rewarding. Internalizing and appreciating the glow of understanding in a child's face, their happy giggles when they are supposed to be sleeping, her breathless excitement when a doggie licks her face, his joy at being celebrated on a birthday, and the warm love that flows as they cuddle against you.

Motherhood is awesome. Like at Girls' Camp, there are some days that you just get worn out, but at the end of the week, it's the happy memories and the moments that touch your spirit that keep you coming back next year. Or week. Or day.

Happy camping.

Quiet Books

So...quiet books. If you are unfamiliar with this concept, these are activity books we moms spend an insane amount of time making in a desperate effort to keep our offspring decently quiet at church. I am proud to say that in spite of my creative handicap, I have recently made two. And I've purchased two other super cute ones at the thrift store, so I'm equally proud of those. I was so excited to bring these to church and put them to good use; after all, now that I had these done, my life would be complete, right? My children would be reverent, their hair would stay neatly combed, and they would always eat all their vegetables. Yes!
So we brought them to church to put them to the test, and much to my delight, they appear to be working. Judsen and Felicity are each entertained by one of the thrift store books (Noah's Ark #1 and Noah's Ark #2) and for once, I am sitting peacefully in the meeting, enjoying the reverence and my obvious overwhelming success as a mother.
All of a sudden, a wild rumpus ensues to my right. I look over; Josh has Noah's Ark #1 in his lap and is happily arranging and rearranging the magnetic animals in their little magnetic boat. The look on his face is Christmas-morning delighted, "This is awesome! They have a mom and a dad bear and even a little matching label for each set of animals!"  Felicity is greatly distressed because Daddy has seized control of Noah and his family and is not about to relinquish it, so she starts making a big stink and trying to steal all the animals out of his hands. "No, Daddy! I had these first!!" She's thrashing and hollering and carrying on in the middle of church all over the at-this-point-ironically-named Quiet Book.
Choking back mostly a laugh and a few distressed tears, I look to my left to see the same situation playing out with Judsen and his Uncle Jared. Jared has Noah's Ark #2 in hand and is eagerly supplying felt Noah with his felt food bucket and pairs of felt elephants and gorillas. Judsen has forlornly given up on Uncle Jared letting him look at the pictures and whispers to me, "Mom, he won't let me play."
I guess it's important to point out here that both Josh and Jared are in their 30s; if I would have known these quiet books would have been such a hit with children of all ages, I would have brought more. Or at least fruit snacks for everyone.

I Am A Mom

   So this is the first post for quite some time and a little break from the norm, but I just felt like writing down these fairly personal feelings on motherhood. If you're interested, great. Read on. If not, that's really fine. I have the feeling I''m writing this more for myself than anyone else.
   I am a mom. For this privilege, I am truly and eternally grateful. My heart weeps for those individuals who long for this opportunity and have not been given it. Why me and not them? I have no idea. I know so many who probably deserve it more than I do.
   Regardless, I am a mother and I love my children fiercely. For all I grumble about the chaos of my life, I love these little people wholly, completely. They are what I have chosen to dedicate my eternity to. I have three children now, and although I can hardly explain it even to myself, I would like more. In spite of the poopy underwear and vomity t-shirts and late nights and endless praying, I hope that I am given more precious spirits to take care of. I'm not sure how I'll manage it, but I hope to have the opportunity to learn how.
   The fact is, I am not a mom who has it all together. My house doesn't always, or even usually, look perfect. I would like it to, but my OCD is not so strong that I am not willing to prioritize other things over cleaning. I have laundry on the bathroom floor and usually some dishes in the sink and toys on the couch.
   I am not a mom who always looks perfect. I wear torn basketball shorts and Pep Band t-shirts from high school. I don't wear makeup often. I consider putting on jeans "getting dressed up". Again, I don't always love the way I look, but I often prioritize getting my kids fully clothed and out the door with my sanity in tact above looking beautiful.
   I am not a mom who collects beautiful things. I would like to, but it takes a lot of energy for me to keep them looking beautiful, and I'd rather have people just feel comfortable when they come to my house. I want my home to be a place that gets used and lived in.
And you know what? I guess I'm okay with it. I don't feel like I have the mental or physical energy stores to keep things pristine all the time. To tell the truth, I feel and have always felt intimidated by women who are able to do these things - they have their house nice, they serve dinner right at five, they work out every morning and put on makeup immediately after their morning shower. I don't know why I'm not this person or why my strivings to make myself into this have failed. But it seems I'm just not meant to be this way.
   I am, however, a mom who has spontaneous dance parties with my kids. We crank up the music and when a song comes on that none of us can resist, we all drop everything and dance like crazy people. We sing into our spoons and make up words and tease each other. I stop working or sleeping to come see the "cave" the kids built out of mattresses and comforters. I get into the inflatable pool and join the water fight. I spend a lot of time in the book section of the thrift store so that my babies can have fun things to read. Sometimes we have brownies for dinner. Or breakfast. We bake just for fun, just because we like to do it together. I sit down at the table to be served a plastic fish, a plastic jug of chocolate milk, and a frying pan so my kids will have someone to judge their Iron Chef competition. I read about sharks and bugs and dinosaurs. I read "Bears on Wheels" three times in a row. I sing verse after verse of "The Ants Go Marching". 
   I am a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints and I care very much about teaching my children the gospel. I want them to know God loves them, that He hears and answers their prayers. I want them to know that Jesus Christ atoned for their sins and that He is their best friend. I am not a particularly crafty person, but I spend time laminating religious art and cutting out scripture figures so that my kids will have a fun way to learn the gospel. I spend money on little plastic action figures from the Book of Mormon, so my kids will pay attention to the lessons. I spend lots of time writing in a personal journal, in hopes that they will someday consider it a link to their past and appreciate their family members who came before them.
   There are lots of things I don't do well and sometimes I feel bad for my children that they were not born to a more worthy mother, and for my husband, that he didn't choose someone who was a better home manager. I do try to do what I can, though. I am emotionally, mentally, and physically invested in this job 1000%. And I guess that's the point of this post. To remind myself that, hopefully, that's enough. I'm trying to have faith that "[I] know enough", like Neil L. Andersen said. For whatever reason, this is the person I came down to Earth as; this is the package I was given. And for whatever reason, my children were born to me. I know absolutely that they have a Heavenly Father who loves them and intently watches over them. He's not going to let me botch up their raising too completely; He's going to help me.
   I was touched by a quote from Marjorie Hinckley, "We women have a lot to learn about simplifying our lives. We have to decide what is important and then move along at a pace that is comfortable for us. We have to develop the maturity to stop trying to prove something. We have to learn to be content with what we are."
  I am tired of feeling badly about myself because I can't do what "everyone" else can. I'm tired of it. So from today forward, I vow to try a little harder to remember this quote from dear Sister Hinckley and to learn to be content with what I am. This is what Heavenly Father made me, so He must think it's worth something. I'm working hard to be the best I can and to show Him I'm grateful for what I have. And at the end of the day, I will take the courage to try again tomorrow and pray that what I'm giving is enough.

Stories

Motherhood is full of stories - stories about our kids, stories we read to our kids, stories we remember from when we were kids.  I have been entertained lately by my childrens' reactions to stories. Felicity is old enough now to understand more about a story's plot and Judsen does nearly nothing except make up stories about ... well, everything. "And the protoceratops (yes, this is a real dinosaur) whipped the predator with his tail..." and "When I was a baby, I had blood on my toe...", etc, etc, etc.
Recently I was reading to my kids the classic story of The Little Engine that Could. This was a favorite from when I was young and, being the noble mother that I am, I wanted to instill in my kids early the timeless lesson that one should never give up, even when the going gets rough. Plus, the illustrations are fabulous. So we begin to read this tale and quickly reach the part where the tiny engine carrying all the good things to the boys and girls on the other side of the mountain breaks down. She can go no further. We are looking at the picture of the broken engine and how sad all the toys are and talking about how the engine is stuck. I am ready to move on to the next page when Felicity begins to mourn forlornly, "Broke! Broke!" "Yes, honey, it's broken." I turn the page to move on to happier subjects, and she insists on turning it back. "Brooooke! Brooooke!" She nearly has tears in her eyes at this point, staring at the poor little broken engine, as if the desperation on her face can will that little fictional train up the mountain. Since it appears Felicity is a lost cause, I try Judsen. "Look, Jud, the engine can't go anywhere." He stares at the picture for a few seconds; it depicts the little engine and all of her toys piled on the tracks in front of her. Among these toys is a stuffed purple elephant. So Judsen reaches a conclusion; as I tell him the engine can't move, he says frankly, "Because there's an elephant on the track?" So while Felicity howls in despair about the poor, unfortunate engine, Judsen is explaining to me in a teacher-talking-with-a-slow-to-learn-child voice that if they would just move the wretched elephant, all would be well and we could be done with this story. Not sure whether to laugh, cry, or just toss the book across the room, I quickly press forward to the end, doing my best to highlight the little blue engine's triumph and how it's very important in life to just keep trying. I am certain that is not the message either of my offspring received from this novel and I am also certain it will be several years before we try this one again, regardless of what the moral of this story is.
Speaking of stories, we recently watched an animal documentary that featured the story of a man raising two young wolverines. This was interesting and something every mother can relate to. These animals, like children, are intelligent, messy, active and have distinct personalities of their own. It was sweet watching this guy teach these creatures what they need to know, provide for them, patiently clean up after them. They showed scenes of him taking them for walks and playing with them. They'd tumble over each other and climb on him, just one big happy family. How sweet. Warm feelings and memories of special times with my own family rush through me. Then, all of a sudden, there was a scene where the man was with just one of his wolverines. "Oh no!" I think, "Has something happened to one of his poor babies?' Just then the narrator announces that when each animal got to the point where it weighed 40 pounds, the man could only control one at a time and therefore left one at home each time he took the other out. Like a deflating balloon, my respect for this so-called "expert" died. He can only control one 40 pound creature at a time?? Well, so can the rest of us, but that doesn't stop us from taking our multiple wild animals grocery shopping, or to the cell phone shop, or the library, or the gym, or any other of a hundred places that we'd love to have only one living creature running around us while we try to carry on an intelligent conversation. We moms don't lock one kid up at home so our trips out will be more convenient or pleasant, no matter what they weigh (and for the record, I have one that weighs 40 pounds and another close on his heels at 30 pounds. And with the weight I've gained this pregnancy, it appears Baby #3 is already not far behind). Man, this guy is a pansy. If he's an expert, give me a P.h.D.

Backyard Fun

So, it's been a while since I've regaled y'all with tales from our lair. It's been a full few months, including such adventures as finding out we are expecting another wiggly little Jelly Bean in December, moving 600 miles to another state, purchasing a dental practice, making a trip to visit family over 700 miles away, and beginning plans to build a home. Whew!, you say. Whew! is right. It has been full, but that doesn't mean the fun has stopped. Of course it hasn't. And so, without further ado, here is the kind of story that is the reason you read this blog.
Since we've moved in (just over a month now), I have felt very much like a pregnant mom, in other words, I've felt like a pot-bellied slug with a bowl of melted cheese for a brain. (No offense to any other pregnant moms out there. I wish I was one of those high-functioning, "glowing" pregos that is a blessing to everyone around her. I'm grateful for the ability to have children, but those 9 months don't seem to suit me well.)  On one particularly pregnant afternoon, I let the kids have yogurt and in a rare brain-functioning moment, sent them to the backyard to do so, so that we could prevent the inevitable yogurt-finger-painting of the table surface. Shortly after I'd begun enjoying the peace in the house, Judsen walks in and tells me he's done with his yogurt. I go outside to check, and no, he's got quite a bit left. I ask him to finish, compliment Felicity on doing a good job eating hers, and go back inside. All is well.
This time they're gone for quite some time and I'm reading my book, thinking how glad I am that they're having fun together. Yea for childhood.
I'm just about ready to get up and look for a snack myself when suddenly, a Creature from the Purple, Sticky, Gloppy, Berry-Speckled Lagoon appears in the doorway, hollering delightedly, "Mom! I'm a mess!!" (four words that send shivers down a mother's spine) I walk outside and onto the scene of a horror film. There is yogurt EVERYWHERE!! It's smeared on the patio furniture, on the sidewalks, the sides of our house, and fully caking both my children. Baby Swamp Creature is also covered in purple yogurt and is making handprints on every surface she can find. How can 8 innocent ounces do all this??
At this point I order them into my bathroom to get clean, knowing somewhere in the back of my now-less-than-functioning brain that this is probably a bad idea. However, I need them contained somewhere else so I can clean the patio and prevent more desert creepy-crawlies than normal from visiting us. I scrub down the chairs as best I can and return to the bathroom to find a still-dairy-encrusted child sitting on top of each bathroom counter at a sink, with their hands cupped around the faucet to turn it into a high-powered water gun, the water running full blast and them spraying each other across the bathroom! Now there is water everywhere, they are both still disgusting, and Mama is mad! (Although at this point, a portion of the anger is directed at myself, because as I mentioned before, I really did know this was a distinct possibility if I sent them into the bathroom alone.)
I pick them both up by the scruff of the neck, haul them to their bathroom, and leave them to bathe while I clean up Disaster #2.
Josh gets home about this time and wanders into their bathroom to check on them. He starts hollering expletives and I run in to see what the problem is now. I don't make it to the bathroom before the flood from Noah's ark greets me in the hall. The kids have turned the water in the bathtub back on (which they know is forbidden), fully flooded their bathroom, and have gotten a good start on the rest of the house. It took us 7 bath towels to even begin controlling all the water. Unfortunately we don't seem to own enough bath towels to begin controlling our offspring.
Yogurt fights are not the only fun that begins in our backyard. We have roadrunners that frequent our bushes. Felicity calls them "ro-ro". It's really cute. We also have all kinds of ants, centipedes, cockroaches, and an occasional scorpion to gawk at. There's rocks to throw and a back wall to climb, although we would never have thought our children could scale it until one evening when they were playing outside and we were inside talking to a couple guys from church. All of a sudden we hear Felicity crying and Judsen shouting for us, with an unusual desperate tone to his voice. We hurry out to find him on the opposite side of the wall, with one leg on top and his arms full to the brim with rocks. He is also barefoot and shirtless. Felicity is barefoot, standing on the xeriscaped stretch next to the fence. It's all pointy rocks, but there she was, trying to scale the fence and crying not because Judsen was gone, but because she couldn't go with him. After rescuing Judsen and scolding them both about climbing the fence, he told us calmly, "But these are dinosaur teeth. I had to go get them." He had scaled the fence that is taller than he is, with no shoes or shirt, climbed down the 8-foot rock wall behind our house, gathered rocks or "dinosaur teeth" from the empty desert, climbed back up with his arms totally full and then almost made it back over the fence without being caught. And all in the name of science. If it's good enough for those paleontologists on the National Geographic shows we watch, surely it's a good idea for 3-year old Judsen, who in spite of the firm talking-to we had about how dangerous it is to go wandering through the desert alone, gave us quite a lecture on the "teeth" he found, what dinosaurs they were from and how many millions of years old they were.
Yikes. If anyone asks me, I'd say have stupid kids. Your life will be far less entertaining, but a heck of a lot easier. Also, don't have a backyard. It appears that will make life easier, too.

A Day in the Life...

I guess my life isn't so different from other moms'.  My kids wake up waaaay before I'm ready for them to and holler, "Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Moooom. MOOOOOOM!" until I stumble to their bedroom, hoist them out of bed and then stagger blindly down the hall to the living room, where I dole out whatever edible thing finds its way into my hands first, wait the interminable minutes while the computer loads so I can turn on a show at least 45 minutes long, and then slog back down the hall to drop onto my pillow while the kids enjoy their only-at-7 am-freedom to eat in front of the TV (in our case, the computer). I know the show is over when they come back down the hall hollering, "Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Moooom. MOOOOOOM!" and my day has to officially begin.
Thus started my day, the other day, and continued with a muffin-making fest (wherein we open a package that reads "just add milk", dump it in a bowl, have a fight over who gets to stir, slosh the batter into muffin tins, and slide the pan into the oven, in just under 45 minutes! I don't know how on Earth this possibly takes so long, but I have decided that the rule to determine a recipe's actual prep time when cooking with children is: figure out how many kids you have, add to this number each of their ages, then multiply the total by the prep minutes listed in the recipe. And then add 15 minutes for the requisite tastings, food fights, and subsequent time-outs. This is how long it will actually take you to prepare this dish.). So anyway, we made muffins. And then we got dressed (refer to a previous posting on how this goes daily), we listened to Judsen give his hourly animal lecture ("A butterfly is like a stegosaurus." "It is?" "No. It's not. A stegosaurus is a plant-eater. And Tyrannosaurus rex is a meat eater. And he is a predator. And giraffes eat leaves." He impersonates a giraffe eating leaves. "And a great white shark!"), and we once again got after Felicity for standing on top of the table scavenging the remains of her brother's breakfast. (It's not so much the scavenging that bothers me, it's the fact that she will attempt to get herself off the table by stepping into her booster seat, dancing wildly  while holding to the top of the seat like she's a trick pony rider, and then sliding herself off the seat backwards letting her legs dangle into the great beyond. If she's lucky, there will be a chair that she can ease herself onto and from there to the floor. More often than not, the chairs are missing because she has pushed them to random locales around the house and she has to flop onto the tile and hope for the best.)
Finally it was nap time, and in my house, that means for all of us, Mom included. Felicity went down like a child with a mother as good as me should :) and being the nice mom I am, I told Judsen he could have a nap in my bed with me. This is a rare treat, and I was feeling generous. After all the events of the morning I was feeling quite tired and was eager for this respite. We laid there quietly for a moment and just as I was slipping into sleep, I hear Judsen begin whispering what sounds like every word he knows. Why the dictionary recitation has to happen right now, I have no idea and quickly ask him to stop. "I'm not saying bad words, Mom. I'm saying 'brains'. 'Brains' isn't a bad word," he reassures me. "Okay, you're right. 'Brains' is not a bad word. But right now it's time to go to sleep." "Okay." Aaaaah. Once again, silence. The sleep sea is licking my toes with its waves when all of a sudden, pinch. Pinch. PINCH. Judsen is grabbing my nose and giggling to himself. This is a horrible game Josh and Judsen play, where they hold me down and try to pinch my nose, which I HATE. I play along like a good sport, you know, all in the name of family fun, and Judsen has decided that right now would be a great time to give it a go. "Judsen! Please go to sleep! And don't touch my nose!" "Okay." (naughty little giggle) A third time I am almost relaxed, when a bullet shoots through my back. Judsen has stretched himself horizontally across our queen-sized bed and is using my spine as target practice for his high kicks. Needless to say, he got banished from my bed and sent to the guest room.
I would love to say the story ends there, but I was interrupted a fourth time by my little imp sneaking into my room and turning on his toy drill full blast, 6 centimeters from my head. With threats of death, I send him back to the guest room. The fifth and final straw comes when I hear a giant THUMP! Judsen starts crying, as does Felicity. Judsen has pulled something over in his room and has hurt himself and awoken his sister in the process. I believe the phrase that came out of my mouth at this point was something like: "@#$%!! &*#$@!!!"
Since we're all awake now, we decide a little lunch would be in order. This is a good thing, since we have an appointment we need to make it to in just a little while. So, being Efficient Mom, I decide to let the kids eat while I erase the un-sleep from my eyes and put myself together. I put them in their chairs and their lunch on the table, and head towards the bathroom. And then the giggling begins. And goes. And goes. And goes. I know there is way too much laughing going on for them to be eating a single particle, but decide to have a little faith in my kids and finish getting ready, since we are now down to about 15 minutes until we need to leave. I'm almost done when Judsen comes in so covered in milk its practically seeping from his pores. "I'm wet," he says. Yes. I see that. In horror, I imagine what the kitchen must look like for him to be this soggy. I run in there to find Felicity doing her dismount from her high chair (which we've already discussed), but otherwise conditions are not as bad as I feared. I strip Judsen to his undies, instruct him to clean up his mess and go to get Felicity re-dressed, which requires also stripping her, since she is smothered in red velvet cookie, macaroni & cheese, her brother's milk, and several other nameless substances. While I am scrubbing and dressing her, Judsen wanders in and I ask him to get dressed. You know how this part goes. He doesn't. I ask. He doesn't. I finally break down and yell (not my best moment) and he still doesn't. Finally we are two minutes past appointment time and I march him out to the car and strap him in his carseat, stark naked except for those Finding Nemo underpants. "Fine, Judsen. If you won't get dressed, then your friends can just see you naked. Do you want your friends to see you naked?" At first this seems like a novel idea, and he nods. I take my shoe-less but fully clothed daughter and my shoe-less and fully un-clothed son and drive to meet the ladies we are supposed to meet. As I'm driving through the streets with a naked child in the back, I am certain I am going to get pulled over. And how do I explain? (Although, after that morning, I'm sure there's not a man on the planet that would want to tangle with me.)  We arrive and I open the car door. Judsen begins to watch his friends pile out of their car and reality finally sets in. Oh, man. My friends. My friends are here. My friends are here and my clothes aren't. My friends really might see me naked. This might be wrong, but after all we had been through, it was somewhat satisfying to see the look that crossed his face as he thought this through. His arms come down over his body to cover himself and he says quietly and somewhat frantically, "I will get dressed now. I am listening." I tried to keep my smile to myself as I helped him get dressed. Score one for Mom.
The good thing about motherhood, though, is that even if your day starts like this one, it doesn't guarantee it will end that way. After a nice visit with our friends, we had a spontaneous picnic. We grabbed $4 worth of food from the Chick-fil-A drive-thru, pulled up in the Michael's parking lot, threw open the back of our van, and enjoyed the beautiful afternoon together. We even visited Michael's in an uncharacteristically uneventful fashion and I found the little candle holders I was looking for. All in all, it was a good day. A memorable day. A day that I will remember a little bit for the grief of the morning, but mostly because I was blessed enough to enjoy a gorgeous day with the sweet spirits I have been given stewardship over. I am a lucky lady.

Happy Valentine's Day

So we took a little trip over the weekend to visit Marble Falls, a beautiful little town about four hours from where we live. (Before you start guffawing with remembrance about your own family trips and thinking, "Ha ha! Suckers! They sabotaged their own Valentine's Day weekend with a kids-included hotel stay," let me say this: our kids are pretty good road-trippers. They enjoy adventures and we don't have more than our fair share of Sesame Street DVD marathons, chicken nugget fights, and Houdini-esque attempts to escape from carseat bondage.) We went to Marble Falls to meet a potential business associate, whom we had only spoken to by phone and were eager to meet. We make the drive and arrive at his office looking predictably rumpled and fast food-stained, but still passable. We meet this lovely man and walk into his lovelier office; the doctor, being the gentleman that he is, asks if any of us need to use the bathroom. We accept. (Yes, this is another bathroom story.) As he is pointing me through the lobby to the restroom, Judsen grabs his shorts and announces, "I have to pee." I look down to see the legs of his jeans are soaked. Apparently he's telling the truth. So I smile, grab Judsen's hand, and rush him into the bathroom. Per mine and Josh's decision to not harass Judsen about potty mistakes (described in the previous post), I calmly start to get him cleaned up. While I am doing so, I realize that somehow he has also managed to drench his shirt. "Judsen, is this wet because of pee?" "Yep." (Don't ask me how this happened. You'd think that the laws of physics would prevent bodily fluids, like water in the natural world, from flowing upstream, but clearly, as mothers know, this is never the case.) So I open the bathroom door, return to the lobby, and explain to Josh that I will be running to the car to get Judsen some new clothes. I gather the new outfit, head back into the office and much to my horror, discover a large puddle in the lobby where Judsen had been standing when he announced he had to urinate. At this point, Judsen is still wet and awaiting me in the bathroom, Felicity is upset because I have left the building without her and her own diaper is so soggy it's grazing her knees, Josh and the doc are in the middle of an important discussion that I should really be paying attention to, and now a small tributary of the Thames is running through the doctor's beautiful Texas tile lobby; we have been in the building and in company of the good doctor for less than five minutes. Thankfully (aren't I good for finding something to be thankful for under these circumstances?!) it appeared that Josh and the doc hadn't noticed the urine on the floor. So, I grabbed Felicity and ran for the bathroom, praying that the guys would continue not to notice. We got Judsen dressed and Felicity changed and headed nonchalantly for the lobby. As we arrived, I apologized for the running around and the doctor good-naturedly said it was no big deal, he had three kids and completely understood. The docs go back to their conversation, so moving as discreetly as I can, I bend over and begin to sop up the puddle with an army of baby wipes; of course, Josh decides that this would be a good time for all of us to take a tour of the office and all the attention turns toward me to see if I accept. So I stand up, scoop the baby wipes, hopefully the last of the pee, and my remaining scraps of dignity off the floor, and decide not to say anything further about the incident if they don't.  We complete the tour, which consists of the men walking briskly in front, nodding approvingly at things, and me scrambling to keep the kids together and discourage them from picking up numerous unidentifiable, but important-looking metal objects from each of the doctor's operatories (the room in which he works on patients). Judsen (holding up something):"Mom, can I have this? What is it?" Felicity (holding up something else): "Ba!!" (meaning, "Mom, can I have this? What is it?") Me: Gasp. "No! What is that? Where did you even find it?? Please put it down and don't touch anything else." As the tour ends, we adults all sit on comfortable couches to discuss business, and the kids proceed to run back and forth across the lobby, shrieking like Apache warriors. After a patient moment, I try gently explaining to them that I need them to be a bit quieter. This was as successful as if I'd done the same with actual Apache warriors. So finally the kids and I leave the building and leave Josh and the doc to discuss business. As we get outside and the kids run around in the parking lot, I mentally review the last 20 minutes, from the wet-shorts initial meeting to the Red Sea episode to our loud exit from the building, and decide that if this business relationship gets off the ground, it will truly be a miracle.
But, maybe Josh was able to repair the quick and dirty damage we inflicted. We'll see. He's a smooth talker, at least smooth enough to convince me to marry him. I'm glad he talked me into it and that he's been my valentine for the last seven years. Happy Valentine's Day to us and to you.