Kramer Family

Abe to me: Mommy, go wash your face.

2011-07-10T15:07:00.003-07:00

Today was my last Sunday as a single mother in Sacrament meeting. I know I have been a total martyr about the fact that my husband has worked on Sundays for years but finally there is a glorious light at the end of the kid-wrestling-bread missing-fighting-about-wearing-a-belt-and-tie-tunnel. Even with twice as many adults in the process I don't expect to actually be on time for eight o'clock church, but I do expect to have someone to take turns with to take children to the foyer and threaten physical harm. Today was a particularly difficult sacrament meeting for us. Somehow we scored a small padded row in the actual chapel. If you happened to be in this same meeting I was in then sorry if you got pelted with a flying fruit snack or had to hear Abraham announce at full volume that he has to go poo poo potty and then subsequently inform he entire congregation that it was a false alarm and "just farts". My kids turn into crazed monkeys when they are forced to sit in the same seat quietly for over hour and I turn into an angry prison warden. I'm not sure they even know that there are speakers that they are supposed to be listening to. The only time they acknowledge that someone is speaking at the pulpit is when the speaker cries which inevitably prompts my children to wonder very loudly what in the world is wrong with that person. If nothing else I need to teach them to whisper. This year's shift change is nothing short of a blessed family miracle.

I must admit that there was another reason that I wasn't in the best of moods for church today and it has little to do with my primate children and more to do with a very unfortunate run-in I had this week with a bottle of sunless tanner.

I have always been a very vocal opponent of tans in general but especially the fake variety that inevitably make people look like their liver may be on the brink of failure or one of their parents worked at Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory. As with any bad decision the logic that was used seems hazy to me now but I remember it having something to do with trying to make my freckles blend in to the rest of my complexion and a theory that surely cosmetic chemistry/technology must have advanced enough in the past decade since I originally tried self tanner with yellow streaky results. I mean, now-a-days they can grow human organs in pitri dishes using stem cells. DNA science has become so mainstream that there is a freeway billboard that says "call 1-800-WHO-DA-DAD". You would think that health science in this world had advanced to the point that they could sell a decent sunless tanner that didn't make a person look like a traffic cone. You'd think that perfecting the fake tan would be top on science's list. It is after all a capitalism driven affair and people will pay big money to look sun-kissed with out the wrinkles, freckles, cancer and Snooki jokes. Turns out that today's self tanners are exactly the same as they were 20 years ago, they just smell a little better. The best part is how you don't see the result until it has developed on your skin hours later. Before I put it on I followed all of the instructions and I diligently exfoliated and sloughed and scrubbed every inch of my body and face. Then I applied evenly and awaited my new exotic look. After a couple of hours I was hiding from even my own children and weighing my options for a lawsuit. I looked dirty. Not just dirty, but orange dirty. like I had been working in a rust mine all day. I thought the pigment would make my freckles blend in more but instead it grabbed hold of the freckles and made them dark dark brown and found a few dry patches and made them look like unfortunate birthmarks. picture Gorbachev as an Oompa Loompa with rampant liver spots. The worst part was that since I had so thoroughly exfoliated before I began, it was all live skin cells that were pigmented and the new color couldn't be scrubbed off. I tried applying makeup to blend it but it took so much makeup to do the job it created a whole new undesired look: Tammy Faye Baker (with an orange cast). I'm usually pretty good at laughing at myself and just facing friends and family with a funny explanation, but I couldn't even have a sense of humor about this.

The decision to show up at church like that was true evidence of my faith. All I could do was hide out and apply mass quantities of Prescription Retinol to get the skin to regenerate. Now I am peeling and flaking and look a little bit like I have leprosy but I am more of a normal color. I'd rather be a leper than pumpkin face any day. From now on I am going to stick with the white look. Some people call it pasty, I prefer to call it porcelain or even pale but either way, I have turned in my notice to Willy Wonka and will embrace my un-exotic fair freckled face.

consistency has never been my thing

2011-06-18T07:16:00.003-07:00

I was blogging like crazy there for a while and then the charger on my computer broke and even though the Mac store would replace it for free it still took me three weeks to get over there and make the exchange. It actually involved multiple attempts wherein I dealt with a "genius" named Kenneth who was super helpful and we bonded about my account history and he promised me the free charger if I brought the old one and told me to just come find him because he'd be working every day and if he weren't there you tell them that Kenneth said I could have a free charger if I turned in the old one. So yesterday I did that and as I made the super long walk from the front of the store to the genius bar at the back scanning for my Kenneth and dismissing non-Kenneths, I got all the way back and had to talk to the guy at the counter. "Kenneth said I can have a free charger"

The color drained from the guys face and his smile disappeared. "Kenneth was in a horrible biking accident. He broke his back and he's paralyzed and may not make it. We don't know much but things are bad and he'll never be back here. " then he scrambled to the shelf and got me my charger and sent me on my way. I felt so bad for my poor Mac genius Kenneth. I don't even know him but he was helpful and kind and apparently had a lethal love of BMX. I said a prayer for him and thanked god for my new charger while I was at it because being without my computer has been paralyzing. Okay, not as paralyzing as a spinal cord injury but the whole exchange filled me with a prayerful heart on many levels.

So the point is, I should be blogging some more if all goes according to plan, which of course it always does (just ask Kenneth). Over the past few weeks we have had so much happen. and I plan to go into further explanation about the following recent happenings:

My dad had a "cardiac event" and a couple of heart surgeries which was terrifying on a level I have never felt before. He is doing well and is expected to make a full recovery. The day that happened was actually a kind of hilarious comedy of errors and mishaps but I am so glad that it turned out okay.

A MAJOR problem has come up in regards to my husband's career so I have had more than a few sleepless nights. Probably wont blog about that one but if you want to hear a tale of soul crushing bureaucracy and government in-efficiency just ask me in person. It involves Union Attorneys and Official Meetings and a Wizard behind a Curtain and it will all be over soon, but it has nearly sucked the life out of this family.

We hosted three British Soccer Players in our home for a week and had a blast getting to know them and deciphering the thick Scottish Brogue of one of them. We loved being a host family so much that we are going to do it more and hopefully make it a big part of our family life. We have two more arriving tomorrow.

In other happy news, I discovered a miraculous Laundry service that picks up all of my laundry weekly and returns it the same day sorted, hung, folded, IRONED, and April Fresh for $75 bucks a month which has pretty much changed my life. They even pre-treat stains and match socks. They serve the entire East Valley and everyone should use them because if they ever go out of business and stop doing my laundry My life will be over because they have permanently ruined me as a homemaker. I can never do my own laundry again. never. Sign up at www.laundryloaders.com

Summer is in full swing and cabin fever has set in. Jack and Abe are attending Amber Olsen's weekly summer school which is the first school experience that Abe has had. He loves being a big boy and I gave him a buzz cut so he looks like an eighth grader instead of a three year old over night. He can write his name and draw pictures that don't require explanation and he is officially, completely, irrevocably potty trained. He is even in undies all night long with no accidents and we don't even own a pull up. If you don't understand what a big deal this is then you obviously do not have children.

The Family Bird, Dude, who has resided in my home, my parent's home, and my sister's home suffered a horrible injury when Christopher accidentally dropped a sofa on him in an effort to "save him" after he flew off of the cage and retreated under the couch. The bird was falling off of his perch and unable to use the left side of his body for days. The Gartner's went on vacation the same day it happened so we got the task of nursing / debating on mercy killing him. but the little trooper bounced back. The psychological healing took a few days longer than the physical healing and there was a day or two when I thought he would hate all humans and seek to destroy them with his beak for the rest of his life, but he calmed down and is back to taking abuse from toddlers and cat whistling like a horny construction worker every time he sees me. He is back at Kristen's house which is great because we get all of the perks of having him without the giant mess and 2-3 hours of daily maniacal squawking. He finally found his forever home. It is a forever home that may very well end in a horrible bloody tragedy, but for now everyone is fine.

That last statement applies to everyone around here. John got a shift with Sunday's off and that will start next month, which is a crazy big deal to me. I can't wait to not me a single mother at church and John is looking forward to being apart of the ward again. Studies have shown that kids end up believing what their mom believes but worshipping how their dad worships. Hopefully John has enough seniority to keep a Sunday free schedule for years.

So thats our update we have all had some drama and some close calls but we are all surviving. Thats all I really want.

Forever Family

2011-05-28T10:46:00.002-07:00

If I were to die an early death I would want my husband to remarry. There is a catch though. I have spent literally years training John on how to deal with this worst case scenario. He has specific instructions about how to choose the second wife and I have promised him that I will personally haunt him and make his life miserable if he strays from the plan exactly.

The problem is that John has horrible taste in women. I know that is an odd thing to say since I am the person that he ultimately chose above all other options but when I look at his romantic history before I entered the picture, it is full of crazy bi-polar bitches and lushes and skanks. Not to mention all of his previous girlfriends had been liberal democrats and John didn't even realize that nice single Republican girls who wanted families even existed. Obviously he had not discovered the Mormon Singles Ward where beautiful accomplished educated girls who want to be wives and mothers are a dime a dozen. He didn't even know chicks like me were real. I give him credit for snapping me up but when I think about him as a grieving widowed father, I have a feeling he would end up back in Skankville. Since this person will inevitably have direct influence over my own precious children, I want to hand select her.

So here is the plan: John is to show up at the temple every single week after my death until I personally appear to him in a vision and tell him who to marry. I will pull whatever strings are necessary behind the scenes to make this happen. Submit a post-mortal petition… picket the pearly gates… lobby prophets and saints… whatever. I will make sure it happens. I will find a way to appear to John in the temple. I'll worry about the details of the appearance later. I can get anything done if I want it bad enough. I just have to make sure that John keeps his end of the bargain and shows up faithfully until I can get it all pulled off. He is not to date or flirt or associate with any women until I have told him who the lucky girl is. Even if it takes years, I don't care. Keep going to the temple and awaiting my angelic appearance. I figure he can't get too far off track if he is attending the temple weekly and if I can accomplish the whole vision thing then helping some single Mormon girl be inspired to be into my husband should be a piece of cake.

I realize how controlling this may make me seem but really it is in everyone's best interest. John would not do well as a widower and I can't even think about my kids being exposed to a revolving door of random girlfriends. Of course, If John dies young, we don't have the same agreement. John would get stuck in heavenly red-tape and lose patience with the grueling Heavenly Apparition Approval Process. Plus, there is not a huge chance that I would make a bad selection. I trust my own romantic judgement way over John's. He agrees, by the way.

So every now and then I quiz him. "What do you do if I die and you need to find a mother for the children?"

"Go to the temple every week and await your instructions."

"Good husband."

Educating my child: important stuff

2011-05-22T05:32:00.003-07:00

I recently found my old Ipod from years ago. Its amazing what a difference it makes to have good music playing while you go about the day. My brother is always talking about how he would like to either be on The Hills or to have a similar loosely scripted reality show about his life. He wants it for one reason. He wants his life to have a soundtrack. He is always telling what song would be playing in which scenario and how awesome it would be. I agree. We should all have a life soundtrack. Everything is more dramatic when set to great music.

This morning I had the device set to shuffle all the songs (which can be irritating when you get Mormon Tabernacle Choir followed by Naughty By Nature followed by US Army running cadences followed by Hall and Oates) I was making French toast for breakfast (the least actually French thing I can think of) and grooving to the music and Ray of Light came on by Madonna and I was grooving in my robe and and slippers and I reminisced. "This is a great album."

Jack looked at me strangely and said "Who is this? I have never heard this singer."

Who raised this kid? "Of course you have heard this before. You used to beg for this very song from your car seat in the van as a baby. You know who this is."

Blank stare.

Emma happened to be there waiting for the French Toast and she is a little pop music savant so I knew she would back me up. She was totally stumped. "Common, Em. You can do this. Tell me who this is. "

More Blank Stares. "The Material Girl… Evita…Desperately Seeking Susan….Like a Virgin? MAN you guys are Killing Me! Who raised you? Who provided your music education?

To make a long story short, the next hour was spent educating the kids on why the Immaculate Collection is one of the greatest albums ever made even though Madonna Is a dirty tramp who most likely sold her soul to the devil.

I was raised by a Madonna hater. Every time my mom would hear a Madonna song she would rant about how talentless she was and how sad it is when girls turn slutty to get attention. Madonna was always a cautionary tale in the Haws home.

"Did you know that La Isla Bonita means the Beautiful Island?" and Papa Don't Preach Is about a pregnant teen who doesn't want to give in to her father's demand to put her baby up for adoption. She has had number 1 hits in 4 consecutive decades, people! Love her or hate her, you gotta respect.

Then a Vivid memory flashed back to me. It was the end of August of 2001 and I was living in my little house in Tempe with Tommy my best gay friend (I was a fabulous Fag Hag back in the day). He was bummed out and when I asked him what was wrong he told me a tale of woe about how he had dreamed about going to a Madonna concert since he was a small child and Madonna was coming in concert in September but she was not coming to Phoenix, only to Los Angeles and all of the shows were sold out. His dreams of attending a Madonna concert were crushed.

After I mocked him mercilessly for having such a ridiculously shallow life ambition I went into pep-talk mode "If this is so important to you then we will do whatever it takes to make it happen! I will personally see to it that you dance your tiny gay ass off at that Madonna concert."

The next day I bought a pair of tickets from a scalper for a few hundred bucks. A tiny price to see my best friend happy. This was of course back in the day when I had almost unlimited disposable income, zero expenses, and a totally flexible schedule. I booked us two round trip tickets to L.A., reserved a rental car and booked a fancy hotel room at the W in Beverly Hills. Tommy and I would turn the stereo up so loud that the windows in the house would rattle and we watched Madonna's music video with the hot cowboy line dancers so many times we knew the whole dance exactly. Nothing was going to stop us. NOTHING.

The next day four airliners were hijacked, the twin towers fell, the pentagon burned and Tommy and I cried and sat watching the news for days on end. It was surreal. Nothing could cheer us up. The entire nation reeled and mourned. All flights were grounded and all concerts were cancelled. Every person reading this can recall exactly where they were and how they felt when they saw America brought to its knees. The economy went into a tailspin, commerce instantly froze up, everyone took inventory of their loved ones and we braced for war. I just wanted some kind of distraction. Something happy to look forward to. It felt wrong to turn up fun music and dance in the living room. Then we found out that Madonna rescheduled the show. Our tickets were good for the new date but all flights were still cancelled. Fulfilling Tommy's shallow dream became a symbol of overcoming so much other darkness. I was more hellbent on showing up to that stupid concert than anything else. After all, if we missed this event, then the terrorists win. No way, Osama. So we got into my BMW and drove all night long.

I had been to a lot of concerts before then and I have been to a lot since, but I have never had such a wonderful time in my life. Tommy went out to the Hollywood gay bars with some other friends after the show and I lounged by the pool and mingled with celebrities in the W hotel bar and enjoyed in-room spa treatments. It was the most luxurious experience of my life. We drove home the next day and bragged to all of our envious friends about our insanely indulgent weekend. If there was an award for Fag Hag of The Year, I would have owned that trophy in 2001.

gestating books

2011-05-21T09:25:00.006-07:00

This is the one holy day that I anticipate more than Mother's Day. Father Son Campout. I have two boys and one husband and one glorious night off. I was going to clean or get caught up on laundry but instead I read and laid around and went shopping. Perhaps I don't need a daughter after all.

I have had so much on my mind lately that I really want to write down but of course there is never the time or opportunity to actually get it out. I took a writing class once and at the beginning of the class we all went around and introduced ourselves to the group. Most of the class members said something to the effect of "I just know that there Is a book inside of me and I just have to get it out." I'm fairly certain that I expressed a similar sentiment. Then the instructor told us that everyone in the world has a book in them and wants to get it out and we are not to say that ever again in her class because it is cliche and impotent. So I have never since claimed to have a book in me but these days I don't know how else to say it. sometimes cliches come in handy. Sometimes you want everyone to understand what you mean with one worn phrase.

The problem is, I don't know what kind of book I want to write. My kids give me enough material to write an encyclopedia set on parenting and there is a marked absence of parenting books written by people how are actually in the process of raising children. Most parenting books (I swear I have read close to all of them) come from wise grandparents who remember things pretty rosy. I'm waiting for a chapter on what to do when your seven year old still hollers for you to wipe his butt each and every time he has a bowel movement and then how to respond when he thanks me profusely and tells me that I am the "Queen of butt wiping" and that "no one else can get a butt as clean as you, mom." I haven't read a chapter on what to do when your kid cashes out his lunch card and pays other kids to play with him at recess or accepts money from other kids to play with them. My mom is a doctor and literally an expert in the field of early childhood social development so I could team up with her and make a fabulous parenting book.

I'm also tempted to write a marriage book. The same phenomenon applies to this genre of self help book currently available. Its all old married couples congratulating themselves for being so tolerant and staying married. Most of them are totally useless unless both members are reading and applying the material. Perhaps my marriage book will be interlaced with chapters about how to field strip an M16 rifle and tips for surviving urban combat scenarios. I recently learned that porcupines mate for life and If you ever see porcupine roadkill, you will always find a bewildered mate not to far off. It made me sad but I instantly related to these poor quilled animals. It takes so long for them to learn where every little barb is and they have to be in a very comfortable state to even touch each other, let alone mate. They figure out one another's timing and take turns revealing dangers that may hurt the one they love if not approached just right. By the time they have gotten acquainted enough to get it on, they have invested so much time and energy with each other that of course they will stay together until the day they die. This thought came to mind when I was letting John tweeze stray chin hairs from my neck that I couldn't see in the mirror but was paranoid of leaving behind. Or when John belches and I can tell by the smell if he has taken his medicine. You may call it gross, but I call it investment. I can't even imagine starting over with a different husband and going through the process of educating one another of all of our smells and deadly quills and turn ons and stubborn follicles. I want to read a marriage book about getting through the real life power struggles and fear of getting hit by a Volvo or being impaled by passive aggressive quills.

Missionary Opportunity

2011-05-18T16:08:00.004-07:00

Like any believing Christian, I seek to follow the admonition of The Savior to Peter when He told him to "Feed my Sheep". Missionary work has always been a pleasure to me and I have found that when I sincerely pray for opportunities to bear testimony of His Grace they always come. I'm not saying that I'm always successful in convincing people that Christ lives or that His church has been restored or to repent but I am always uplifted and better off for having the experience even in the face of total rejection. This was a lesson driven home many times during the years I served as a full time missionary in France back in the day. I was statistically more successful than most of the other missionaries I served with but in France that isn't saying much. That just means I was able to see some people I taught choose baptism. More often than not we were either flat out rejected or else knew that our message had hit home but the person was unwilling to act according to what the spirit was telling them. I went on my mission totally convinced that it was all about spreading the word. After all, there are many who are "kept from the truth because they don't know where to find it." right? I felt like I had been so lucky to have been born right into the faith and I just wanted to sound the alarm. Besides I was a natural salesman and I loved talking people into things. I was the number one sales girl at The Gap for like a year straight. If I could talk people into sandblasted easy-fit jeans and wool sweaters in April in Phoenix and grass scented unisex fragrance (do they still have that? I freaking loved that stuff) Then how hard would it be to close the deal on something they actually needed? Truth! Salvation! The Gift of the Holy Ghost! Eternal Families! This was going to be a slam dunk. Every green missionary secretly fantasizes about marching into the mission field like Alma and telling everyone where to line up to be dunked. We imagine making eye-contact with someone on a bus and we instantly have an electric connection that draws us to one another and what do you know? That person just prayed that morning to find the True Church and if you both think about it enough you are sure that you recognize them from the pre-mortal existence. Then you picture them and their family in white at the baptism..no, wait, at the TEMPLE. Making eternal covenants and thanking you for being on the bus that day even though you may have preferred to have been sleeping in or a thousand miles away making out with some guy after a church dance. It sounds a lot like falling In True Love but I'd be willing to bet that every missionary of every faith has had some version of this fantasy. Then you get out there and figure out that they speak an entirely different language in this crazy place and even with the occasional brush with the Gift of Tounges you are pretty much as articulate as a three year old caveman. Once you get over that little obstacle you can get to work convincing French people to not drink wine, smoke cigarettes, engage in premarital sex, have affairs after marriage and to give ten percent of their income to the church and spend three hours of every single Sunday in church. Also, all of your friends and family might disown you, you'll need an entirely different wardrobe and all of your dating options will immediately disappear, and you will be given a volunteer job that is just slightly less time consuming than an American work week with no vacance. Your Father owns a winery? sorry. You pay your rent working as an underwear model? sorry. You are a chainsmoker? sorry. You spent 50 years of your life as a Catholic nun? sorry. You are Muslim and your family might have you killed just for listening to me? sorry. You live with your boyfriend and he pays all the bills but doesn't want to get married? sorry. You are clearly insane with an IQ that hovers just above retarded and you require money, food, friends and regular government imposed psychiatric treatment? PERFECT. Lets set a date for your baptism. To say the least, the culture and the experience and product I was pitching turned out to be totally different than I had expected. After one particularly devastating rejection I cried for days. The thing that freaked me out was that we had taught this girl, Faouzia, and she was golden. She understood every point of doctrine and the spirit bore witness to her heart. She knew that the message we taught was true and she was totally ready to follow. We set a date for her baptism and continued with the scheduled lessons. She was on fire. She was so interested and it all made sense. She happened to be our age so we bonded with her on many levels and developed such a close authentic friendship which was of course magnified by our shared spiritual experiences. Nothing seals a friendship like the Holy Ghost. Of course days before her baptism she realized that she could not demand these new caste standards for their relationship and she was unwilling to choose the church over him. She know the church was true at that point, she just didn’t care that it was true quite enough. I realized that that is exactly the same challenge of all believers. Its pretty simple to decide if you believe or not but giving a crap about it to the point that you will rearrange your life to live it is a whole different ballgame. I felt like we had spent all of this energy converting her and when she was ultimately unable or unwilling to step up and make covenants to seal her testimony, we had done her no favors. Good news is the Church is true. Bad news is now you know. Faouzia tearfully backed away from her baptismal commitment knowing full well what she was turning down and we all grieved for days. It was a major eye opener for me. I knew the church was true but how much did I really care about that fact? Would I pack up and leave a hot sugar daddy with whom I had a fabulous relationship in order to follow found spiritual truth? The days following Faouzia I did a lot of crying and a lot of soul searching. I wanted to be a follower of Christ for the right reasons not because it had been convenient. I also felt guilty for imparting this testimony on Faouzia who would be forever responsible for her choice to follow or not. I felt like maybe she would have been better off in ignorance. I couldn’t bear the thought of damnation. I had to put my faith in the fact that life is long and Faouzia’s story was just beginning. I had done what I had been called to do and that’s all I could do. From that moment on I began assessing my own motivations for keeping the commandments. Was I doing it because It was the thing to do? It pleased my family? It made great stories? Or because I had an honest love of the gospel and wanted to share it with my fellow man. It was a turning point in my life . One day I will write a book about all the ways serving a mission prepares you for the future. Life, Marriage, work, Parentling, Church service, dealing with people…etc. There is no better training ground for life in general.

At one point I had a trainee who was struggling with her mission because of these unmet expectations. She wanted to go home. The problem was that she was just a wee bit umm..how do I say this?…. Crazy. She had heard somewhere that the church would send a sister home from a full time mission no-questions-asked with an "honorable discharge" if the purpose for going home was to get married. Instead of just facing her disappointment she began a letter campaign to every male she had ever known. The letters were full of things like "My mission has filled me with the Spirit and now things that were confusing before are totally clear to me now. I know that we never went on a date but I need to tell you that I love you." These letters went out to the Idaho State Fencing Club, the Pocotello Medieval Reenactment society, The Central Idaho Dungeons and Dragons Fan Club and every dude at the Ricks College Institute. You get the idea. She just needed one taker and she was ready to reveal her true destiny to our Mission President and be on the next plane home. First of all, I have no idea where she got this ridiculous notion of chicks bailing on a very serious commitment without recourse but It started to get old in a hurry. Especially when she started sleeping in and refusing to work and throwing huge tantrums over just about everything. I've lived long enough to know now that she was clearly bi-polar and definitely narcissistic but at the time I just wanted to get the work done instead of constantly trick my comp into working. This is a sample of one of our morning companion prayers. "Heavenly Father. We come to you with confused hearts and seek thy wisdom. We want to be thy servants but how best to do that is unclear. Soeur X feels like she has received direct communication from the Holy Ghost instructing her to have us not get up early but to sleep till our regular time and then go down town because someone there needs our message. As much as I want to help Soeur X to become a missionary leader and eventually a senior companion who could make this kind of decision on behalf of the companionship, I feel confused about weather we should go ahead with the plan that we wrote down and prayed about and felt good about or if we should go with this new plan of Soeur x's. Help us to make a wise decision based on what is thy will and not just what we personally want. I know that I was looking forward to attending the Ward Pic-Nic in the French Countryside where we would be able to introduce Christine to all of the ward members before her upcoming baptism and perhaps create a social foundation for her within the community of members in the area. I was also looking forward to touring medieval castles and seeing renaissance era relics. It is very selfish of me but I wanted to get great pictures of myself clapped in irons in a real dungeon. Also, many of our ward members are bringing non member friends and I would be lying if I said that it wouldn't be personally satisfying to reach all of our goals in one morning hike. Nevertheless, not our will be done, but thine. If someone downtown needs us in a few hours on some random bus or tram, then we will go ahead and flake out on our commitment to attend the Ward Pic-Nic and we will be happy to serve wherever we are needed most. We will do thy will even if we have to miss out on awesome suits of armor and castles with drawbridges and moats. Its not about us, its about the work. And if we miss out on a golden contact on the bus, please put that person in our path another day. Amen"

You get the idea. She hadn't realized the location of the Pic-Nic (its amazing how much French you miss when you insist to everyone that you already speak it fluently because you are a language prodigy and by the way you don't need a "trainer" either because you are already trained.) I wasn't too surprised when she "received revelation" that Plan A was a-okay. She was constantly contacting people on busses (or more likely taking credit for a contact of mine) and then stepping off and bursting into happy tears because she Is just sure that that was the ONE person that she was sent to France to meet and now her work is done. Usually there were tears again when that person would blow us off or hide when we rang the doorbell. Thats the thing with missionary work. It is not about having a series of mind-boggling spiritual experiences and re-uniting with souls you met before this life and promised to find Saturday's Warrior's Style. It is about work. Actual work. They don’t call it missionary work to be poetic. You have to actually work. To be more accurate, it is about working your ass off. every. single. freaking. day. You just work and work and work and if you can get good enough at plugging away at an almost impossible task, unexpected miracles start to happen. Like one day realizing that you care about God's Kingdom more than your own ego. Your clothes get thread-bare, your scalp produces relentless dandruff, your pantyhose get runs, your white garments are closer to charcoal, you have used your last squirt of grass perfume and you wake up with the sound of the alarm every single day and you eventually forget that snooze bar technology even exists because you just want to get your day started and there’s no way you would sacrifice any of your prayer time. Almost without noticing, you become a different person. The huge miracles you had hoped for happen but they are not the dramatic friend-from-the-preexistence kind. And then if you can keep your shoulder to the wheel and keep on keeping on, you will get to look back at the end of the whole thing and realize that you did after all meet dozens of pre-mortal BFFs and you did keep your dramatic Saturday's Warrior style promises. They don't happen until you stop looking for them, and even then, you will not know what it was until you are long done because it will just have felt like work. Missionary Work.

By the way, this "hindsight miracle" system describes Motherhood exactly too. If you want to have amazing family experiences? Do the laundry. Mop the floor. Put your kids in time out when they are sassy. Force them to sit still in Sacrament and throw together FHE at the last minute. Get the groceries, shampoo the carpet, bounce a check, bring cookies to the elderly neighbors, throw a towel over the peed on sheets at 3am, pack those lunches, open that mail, change those diapers, burn the Pancakes, do your calling, fill the dishwasher, go to Chuck E Cheese, scrub the baseboards, clip the coupons, just get to work. The miracles will be obvious later.

I firmly believe that there are seasons of life and we can't do everything at once. Sometimes I miss the days of experiencing missionary work on a daily basis and I know that I could be incorporating more of that into my daily life if I just gave it a little more thought and secreting. but I have also accepted that my main calling at the moment is going to keep me from doing splits with the full time missionaries every week. I am teaching the Gospel every day and bearing testimony but it happens to be to the two little men who used to reside in my womb and not to randoms on the street anymore (although I am not opposed to that kind of thing on occasion) If I can successfully feed these two little lambs I know Christ will accept my offering.

I would stop this little missionary post right here but John and I had a kindof unusual experience this week that is worth writing about. Luckily this person doesn't follow my blog or even know it exists (not unlike the rest of humankind) So I will just tell it how it went.

There is a dispatcher at John's work that John has been friends with since his first day at Gilbert. John knows that a cop's quality of life is totally dependent on how good his relationship is with the women in dispatch and he is no fool. This particular Dispatcher is extremely good at what she does. Thats a job that takes a really quick mind and an even temper and the ability to multi-task to a superhuman degree. The officer's lives' are often in their hands so we always appreciate sharp dispatchers. Plus that whole office upstairs is populated with Alpha Women which leads to lots of cattiness and territorialness and gossip but this particular gal is smart enough to stay above the fray. She invited John and I on a double date with her and her husband years ago when John first started with Gilbert and they have kids that are similar ages to ours so I usually see her at kids birthday parties and things like that. She and John hit it off as friends and because he is so chivalrous he goes out of his way to include me in their friendship. If they are taking luchbreak together, he calls me and invites me, if she calls him at home for some reason he puts it on speaker. John is such a rule keeper. Its cute. Because of this, I have gotten to know her more than any other colleagues’ of John. I like her a lot. She is very different from me. She is kindof a tomboy and she doesn’t often show a lot of emotion. She has a dry sarcastic sense of humor and she is very straight forward. I feel like a giggly flamboyant girly loud mouth around her but I am glad that I have had the chance to really get to know her because she has a beautiful multi-faceted soft feminism about her but she keeps that guarded until she is comfortable. I had no idea of what her religious beliefs were but she seemed to gravitate to all of the LDS cops and in a lot of ways she seems like a Mormon. She is from Gilbert and very family oriented with a very tame lifestyle. Apparently people assume she's LDS a lot. I like her and I always tell John to say hi to her for me. I vaguely knew of some personal struggles she has been facing lately so I have been asking John for reports on how she is coping more regularly.

Then John got a call from her a few weeks ago asking if he would go to lunch with her to discuss the Mormon Church. She has a lot of questions so she decided she would just go to the source and pick the brain of a Mormon she trusts. I think she also selected John because she knows that he whole-heartedly converted to the religion in adulthood and so she felt he may have some insight that others might not. They went to lunch and she was full of questions. The adversity she has been facing in her personal life has caused her to search for deeper meaning in life and her search keeps leading back to the same place. Not an unfamiliar pattern. The issues she was hung up on were actually pretty simple things and John had the chance to tell his story and bear his testimony to her and offer insight. John said that the Spirit was definitely present and there were many points where she teared up when talking about certain things. She was definitely emotional and touched. Also of her questions relate to the treatment of the role of women in the church and while John knew how to answer her he felt like it would be better if she heard it from me, an actual Mormon Woman. That and the fact that John loves to defer to me on just about every topic known to man religious or otherwise. And understandably, he didn't want to make it a habit to start regularly having one on one lunch rendezvous between two people who are married to other people. I have no worries of impropriety but John is the ultimate Gentleman and Insisted that they continue the conversation with me present. In the day leading up to the dinner we had planned she got antsy and started reading anti-mormon websites to find answers to her questions. That is frustrating but totally surmountable. They can make up all the lies they want about us but will get trumped by the truth every time. At least it gave her topics from which to springboard into good gospel centered discussions. There is really no topic that I shy away from. I say bring it all on. Thats the best part of the fullness of Christ's Gospel.. all the answers are there. Plus she is doing the asking so I am just doing the answering and inviting not trying to talk her into being interested the first place. I have been to this rodeo enough times to know that at the very worst, it would be an interesting spiritual discussion and at best it could be life altering. We farmed our kids out to family and went to dinner. On the way over she was texting all of her questions because she was just convinced that she was going to offend me beyond what our friendship could withstand. That amused me. I have had Muslims spit in my mouth and slap me when I declined an offer of marriage and then gracefully thanked him for his interest and encouraged him to read and pray about the Book of Mormon before walking away and puking. It would take more than a little anti-Mormon rhetoric to piss me off.

Her thing is that she is a raging liberal Women's rights activist. Equal Pay for Equal Work, No Glass Ceiling, We can bring home the bacon AND fry it up in a pan etc etc type. Equal treatment for women is a big deal to her. She becomes physically angry at the thought of a woman being treated in any way inferior to a man and she wants to throw punches on behalf of oppressed women everywhere. Women can have it all weather they want it or not, damnit!

The Church has long had a very erroneous reputation among the uninformed about some mythical occurrences of oppressing women. I assume that this comes from the fact that The Priesthood, or authority to lead in the church is reserved for worthy males. Women do not hold the priesthood in the LDS Church and this fact had our friend's hackle's up well before we sat down for dinner. The funny thing is anyone who claims that LDS women are oppressed has clearly never met a real life Mormon Woman. I grew up in this church and the ONLY message I have ever received from the leadership of the church or my fellow members is that womanhood is the highest most noble calling in the universe.

So we got to talking about the whole issue of Women's Right's and I asked " Do you feel like you experience some form of discrimination because you are female? "

"Well not me personally, no. But I know it happens all the time.

"Okay, so you think that some people don't believe that women are capable of doing what a man does? They can't make a living, or own a business, or hold office or whatever? Because they aren't smart enough or good enough or whatever? Or is it that the things that come most naturally to a woman; bearing and nurturing children, teaching, homemaking, comforting, encouraging, making things beautiful, feeding, caring, sheltering etc. are just valued less by our society than traditionally male offerings like providing income?

"Well I never thought about it." So she is a die hard feminist soldier who didn't even know what she was fighting for

"I don't think there is anyone left who really believes that Women are mentally inferior or incapable of anything they want. Its been proven. I'm sure there are dark places in the world where women are treated as property and their opinions don't count and all of those horrible unenlightened things, but here in the free world I have yet to meet someone who questions weather I could do a man's job if I wanted to. Men can be stay at home moms and nurses and teachers and women can be astronauts and lawmakers and CEOs and mechanics. It really isn't up for debate anymore."

"Then why can't a Mormon mother baptize her own child?"

"Do you want to baptize your child?"

"Well, no. I personally don't but if there was a woman who wanted to she should be allowed to."

"Do you know any woman who has wanted to baptize her child?"

"Well, No. But it is possible."

Okay, so I'm totally willing to talk about this but before we move on, lets be clear that we are looking for a solution to a problem that does not exist. It may exist somewhere sometime, but it has never existed in our own experience. Right?" I wasn't condescending or rude but I felt like we should at least identify the scope of the issue

In my opinion it is FAR more offensive to suggest that a woman needs to behave like a man or produce what a man produces in order to be equal to a man. As if it is a given that men are inherently superior and the only way we can reach equality is to prove that we can do what they can do. How bout we back this truck up and look at it a whole different way. How about we value the feminine contribution for what it is: totally different from the male contribution but just as valuable or even more so. The Mormon Church I know puts women on a pedestal so far beyond what the Feminazis ever thought to want. I have always been taught that during the Creation God created man and then as His crowning most glorious cherry on top, he created Woman. Then he commanded Man to till the earth and work his ass off so that Woman could be freed up to do the work that actually matters. The Priesthood is not some kind of self serving prestigious title, it it a tool. and like all tools it is used to accomplish something bigger. Everyone has their role in the Kingdom of God and the job of leading the earthly church fell on the men. I don't need the priesthood to make me feel valid in the work of the Lord, because I already know that the work I produce with my feminine nature is of far greater value. I can create life in partnership with man and God. I can nurture and teach and comfort and care. My role makes this life worth living and every priesthood duty performed is done so that the way is clear for me and my fellow righteous sisters to get down to business. Do I want to baptize my child? No. I want to raise it and teach it and nurture it and instill righteous desires within it and then I want to print the programs and make cheesy potatoes and fruit salad for the post baptism party and then I want to see my studly righteous husband serving our family by performing the baptism and then I want to speak at the program and make a scrapbook page about the big day. I'm not worried about getting left out of the process because we all know that kid wouldn't exist, let alone be there choosing to covenant with God if it weren't for his diligent unwavering righteous mom. Let the men have the priesthood. Here’s a newsflash: Most of them wouldn’t show up if they weren’t in charge or if someone wasn’t counting on them to do something. Faith comes more easily to the feminine mind just as football or hunting come more easily to the male mind. The bottom line is, Women don’t need to be in charge in order to participate. The priesthood is nothing but a means to serve or support others. A man certainly can’t baptize himself. The priesthood gives men the power to lead and serve and heal and ordain so that Women can get down to business with the really important stuff. The argument comes down to how you value the innate nature of each gender. True feminism would glorify my work as a mother. A true feminist should be offended by the suggestion that she should use her talent for something as common as money. You will not attend an LDS meeting that doesn’t involve women teaching or speaking or leading in some way. You will find no other church on earth Christian or otherwise that shows such respect for the divine role of womanhood and enobles its female members. If your issue is outrage over women being treated as inferiors, you have come to the Mecca of Girl Power. People make a lot of lame accusations about Mormons but this is one that I can’t tolerate for even a second. It is pure ignorance and sexism at its very ugliest.

So after I have gone off on this long monolog about how I have attended literally THOUSANDS of LDS meetings including 5 days a week in the early morning all through high school and a 19 month full time mission and watched 68 three day sessions of general conference and read the standard works multiple times and the Book of Mormon dozens of times and been anointed, endowed and sealed in the Temple and held every calling from hymn book gatherer to Relief Society President and have known tens of thousands of Mormons on a very personal level and probably hundreds of thousands on an indirect surface level, if there was a culture of putting women down going on somewhere I probably would have come across it at some point. It just isn’t there. The Church does not oppress women or even tolerate some members oppressing women. I’m not saying that every social group doesn’t have their share of bad apples and I have definitely met some serious losers who claim membership in this church, but even then, you are far less likely to come across them than in any similar group. Yes, the church teaches that women are to be treated not only as equals but with nobility and reverence. If you come across a Mormon man who behaves superior to his female countrpart, it has nothing to do with what he has been taught in church and everything to do with him being an asshole. The church is full of imperfect people trying their best and as with any scenario that involves imperfect human beings, there will be a share of idiots and Satan will be all over that situation blaming one man’s sin on God’s Church. I consider the LDS church to be light years ahead of the rest of the world on this topic. Why don’t they go harass the Muslims or the Catholics or the Hillary Clintons who will put up with any degrading treatment without batting a lash.

The funny thing after this whole discussion which I felt was so well delivered and directy directed the entire issue complete with statements from modern day Prophets and scriptures that back up my point exactly, Her response was not what I expected. Condecending is the only word that I can really think of that comes close. Maybe patronizing or even slightly amused. She expressed to me how nice it must be for me to be so sheltered from reality and didn’t I probably have the nicest parents ever to raise such a positive girl who is so able to stick my head in the sand and ignore injustice and have a positive attitude no matter what. Good for you and your manufactured life experience. I hope that never comes crumbling down on ya. Aren’t you cute.So it turns out that I’m not quite as unoffend-able as I once claimed. I don’t take too kindly to being called naïve or sheltered. In reality, I think she knew that what I was saying was right but for right now she wants to indulge in the feeling of injustice, reality be damned. Oh well, It was still a fun dinner and I do adore her. I think she just has some journeying to do before she is ready to really hear without getting tripped up by all of this prejudice and rhetoric. I respect her for thinking about it in the first place. It will be interesting to see how her spiritual quest goes. I wish her the best. I am actuakly honored to be apart of her contact with the church, Church statisticians have estimated that the common convert has eight positive contacts with members before they are ready for baptism. I am happy to be contact number two or contact number eight as long as she knows what a blessing Jesus and His restored church has meant to me and my family. I know it is true. I know that it is His original church restored in our modern day through a living prophet and through it we can find all of the answers we seek. I know he is mindful of us down to every disappointment and joy. He is the way the truth and the life. The only way back to live eternally in the presence of the Father and have Eternal Progression. Count me in. I want to be with my sweet family through all of eternity. Not just till death separates us. I am so thankful for the plan of happiness and the chance it gives us to be forever families.

Vote for Ashton

2011-05-01T14:22:00.005-07:00

This is little Ashton Allen who I taught in primary last year. He is the most hilarious precocious kid I have ever met. He wanted to enter the Mix 96.9 Kiddieokee contest to win a trip to Lego Land. This was all his idea and he came up with the song and the moves. I will be surprised if this video doesn't go viral. This is our next Justin Bieber. Take a look, you will love him. Vote for him every day with as many valid email addresses as you have. send the link to everyone you know. When News Channel # was covering the radio contest they showed his video. He has a chance of winning but he needs more votes! You don't have to register to vote and they won't email you anything. It just takes a second. copy and paste the link and send it to your friends. Lets get this kid to Lego Land. Enjoy…

http://www.mix969.com/pages/kiddieokee/vote-entrants.php?ag=4#2

The Royal Wedding

2011-04-29T09:45:00.002-07:00

I am almost embarrassed to admit this but I must. I am obsessed with Will and Kate and the Royal Wedding. I love every second of it. I am watching 24 hours of wedding coverage and I have seen all of the shows detailing their courtship and engagement.

I have been a little startled by my own interest in an event like this because I usually recoil at celebrity gossip and our cultural obsession with wealth and fame. But finally I had to just throw in the towel and admit that I love this couple and I would buy the monogramed dinnerware set. I'm tossing the guilt from my guilty pleasure and will now openly enjoy every one of the wedding shows on my DVR.

The reason I love it so much is that I believe in marriage. This kind of mainstream promotion of holy matrimony is hard to come by these days. I loved the article in last month's Ensign by sister Beck about the family and how we will be called upon to defend marriage and family. The legal definition of marriage is under attack not just in our nation but across the globe and it is our generation's responsibility to solidify the role of man and wife. The family is the basis for civilized life and I love to see a nice couple making a vow to God to be faithful to one another and to stay together no matter what. I love the dress and the bridesmaid and Prince William's uniform. I have always been a history buff and I adore the military uniforms and the medals and the horsemen and the ceremony of it all. I loved speculating about which designer Kate would choose and which uniform the Prince would wear. I love that he wore the Irish Guard red coat. As Americans that red coat uniform is such a symbol of the British. "The Red Coats are coming!" Now everyone knows I love the Mother Land.

An Easter That Will Come Up In Therapy Years From Now

2011-04-25T06:01:00.004-07:00

I have been collecting random stuff for my kids' Easter baskets for months but I hadn't gone and actually picked up baskets and finishing touches. I was going to wait until the kids were in bed and go to the store. Of course, by the time bedtime rolled around I would have rather shoved icepicks under my fingernails than go to the store. I checked next door with the Gartners and they had extra Easter baskets I could borrow and between the stuff I already had and Kristen's stuff I could escape a late night trip to Wal-Mart. Plus if those kids get totally different stuff than my kids we always deal with questions about who the Easter Bunny likes more and why he clearly favored one family over the other. I arranged for Kristen to prepare my baskets along with her own and left the doors unlocked so that she could come put them in the house in the night. I thought it was all taken care of and was impressed with myself for orchestrating such a hassle free plan.

Over the course of the night Jack ended up in my bed with me. I think it was because he was too excited for the Easter Bunny to come. At the crack of dawn I heard him stir and say "Its Easter! I'm going to go see if the Easter Bunny came!" He ran out of the room. He was gone for about two minutes and then I heard him crawl back into bed. I figured that he went down and saw his loot and then decided to sleep in a little longer. I was mostly unconscious anyway so I didn't think about it much more. Until I realized that he was quietly sobbing real tears. "What in the world is wrong?" At first I thought maybe he was disappointed with the basket which was going to annoy me and I was gearing up for a big lecture on gratitude and entitlement.

"The Easter Bunny didn't come. Maybe I was bad. Abe was bad too. There's nothing down there for us." There was real grief and regret going on.

"WHAT?! The freaking Easter Bunny didn't come? Hang on a second. I am going to figure this out. I am sure the Easter Bunny has a great reason for not coming and I'm sure that it has nothing to do with weather you were good or bad."

My plan had a major flaw. I didn't discuss with Kristen what our Easter morning tradition was like. Every year we leave the baskets right at the base of the stairs where they make a big visual impact when the kids come down on Easter Morning. It never occurred to me that Kristen would HIDE the baskets.

There was a few minutes of chaos as we sorted it all out and found the missing baskets and then Jack came down and hunted for them desperately. Finally he claimed his stuff and dried his tears.

This is probably the last Easter we have with this kid believing in Peter Cottontail hopping down the Bunny Trail and I am hoping that he forgets it. In the weeks leading up to Easter we love to threaten that the Easter Bunny won't come if he behaves poorly and the poor kid's nightmare came true… for about ten minutes. We might as well have just filled the baskets with lumps of coal.

The Law of Attraction Proven

2011-04-23T08:56:00.003-07:00

We have all heard of the Law of Attraction. It has become such a commonly experienced phenomenon that it has permeated all of pop culture. The movie "The Secret" turned the word secret from a noun into a verb overnight. At first we were "using the secret" to get things we wanted and now we just say we are "secreting it". Actually, thats one of the things I love about the English language. we can turn anything into an action word and everyone gets it.

The Law of Attraction is basically the concept that we attract into our life that which we think about. Our thoughts have power to draw things and circumstances and experiences into our path. I think this is a concept that is true and that we all kind of intuitively know from the get go. We can attract good things or bad things. The video and book that they produced a few years ago was super cheesy but did a great job of bringing this truth into the mainstream.

I have been working of secreting good health and wellness into my life. I believe that the Law of Attraction mingled with faith in Christ is the most powerful way to bring about our righteous desires. If we meditate or think about how we want our life to be we will eventually bring it about but If we pray to God in the name of Jesus Christ for the good thing we seek and seek to have the will of a loving God in your life, we can bring about any miracle. This is how faith works.

Unfortunately, when we obsess about negative things, we invite that too. It is tempting to wallow in disappointment and then unintentionally bring about more disappointment. For instance, I can get to feeling pretty sorry for myself when I want another baby and my body doesn't cooperate. Instead of thinking about how much it sucks, I am better off thinking about how grateful I am for the children I have and focus on the health that I do have and the things that my body is doing right. I saw a naturopath once who looked at the sores on my hands and said "This is a fabulous sign of health! Your body is putting up a huge fight against something. an unhealthy body could never produce such huge sores. This is a sign of health." Since that day I have seen my autoimmune disorder differently. I cheer my body on in a valiant fight. This, of course, has healed me more than anything.

John has a case of secreting that we could document statistically and prove that worrying about something makes it more likely to happen. Scissors on the couch. Before I met John, I had lived my life totally free of sharp objects and upholstered furniture combined. Now it happens almost daily. When John was a kid, they were on vacation and he jumped onto a couch in the hotel room. There was a pair of scissors hidden between the cushions and when he landed they fully lodged into his butt all the way to the handles. The pierced the flesh and muscle just to the side of his anus and missed tearing his rectum out by millimeters. He was rush the the ER where they removed the scissors and stitched him up and informed him that he came very close to a lifetime of crapping into a bag. This is the day that he developed a serious and well justified phobia of scissors on couches. The phobia extends to sharp pencils on chairs, forks on beds, or letter openers on recliners. You may ask yourself how likely he is to encounter such an obscure threat to personal safety. The answer is ALL THE TIME. It Is like our household seating is magnetically attracted to sharp objects. The kids are possessed with demons that compel them to leave the scissors on the couch. Unless John is not around. Then it never happens. The poor guy vigilantly checks every time he sits down and he shakes out blankets and it feels like more often than not, something deadly is discovered. If we kept track of the numbers, we could prove scientifically that the law of attraction is real. We get what we expect to get.

Four and a half years ago I was working full time, had one child and had been trying to get pregnant for a year. I was six months into fertility treatment and we were deeply in debt even though we had two decent incomes. I wanted lots of things to change in my life but I felt like we were running on a treadmill. I prayed often for what I wanted and tried to visualize it. I have always found writing to be cathartic so one day I decided to write my prayer out in a letter to God. I made a list of what I wanted. I was almost embarrassed when I finished because it seemed so outlandish to ask for all of it. I wanted in one year's time to have another child. Not to just be pregnant, but to have a baby already born and in my arms. I wanted to be able to stay home full time with my kids and not have to work for income at all. I wanted to be out of debt and I wanted to have money in the bank. Amen. It seemed like I was asking for contradictory things. Its not like my husband has a job where he could make more money. He is a cop. His income is totally fixed from here until retirement with very little variation. I decided to stop thinking about how it would happen and just ask nicely that it would. I put the letter away and forgot about it.

A year later I was writing in my journal and leafed through the past year of entries. I came across my letter to God. When I read it I felt light headed. I wouldn't have believed my own story if I didn't have the evidence written in pen by my own hand. As I sat reading it, I was nursing my brand new baby, I was a full time stay at home mom. We had just paid off all of our debt and we had money in the bank. Every single thing I had asked for came true. Every single thing without exception.

Shortly after I had written my list, John was T-boned while he was in his squad car going code 3 to a call. He was pinned in the car and his pelvis was broken in two places. He had been hit by an old lady in a minivan who was well insured. He was totally unhurt besides the broken pelvis and although it was extremely painful, he healed up with no long term damage. There were a few terrifying days in the beginning but in the end we got a very good settlement from the driver's insurance and John was back on duty in a few months. Also It turns out that a broken pelvis isn't nearly as disruptive to one's reproductive life as you might assume. I was knocked up before he was even cleared for patrol.

Its an unbelievable story, right? It sounds like an exaggeration or even a fabrication. I swear on my life it is one hundred percent true. Of course, after that when I knew the power of making lists of demands on God, my lists got much longer and more specific. For a small fee I will be happy to include any of my reader's personal requests on my next list. You might have to suffer a painful injury, but all your dreams can come true. My next list will be sure to include a specific request for all pairs of scissors to be put away safely after use.

Sheriff's Eyebrows: an insight into Abe's mind

2011-04-18T10:43:00.003-07:00

Abe's foray into the world of makeup as encouraged by Ella's never ending industrial strength cosmetics set has been photographically documented and those photos will most likely be shown at his wedding at some future date. We are hoping that will be to a woman in the temple after a mission and that he will be make-up free for the occasion. Yesterday he walked in to the house wearing huge brick red eyebrows. Really heavy and dark and high up on his forehead. I left my camera at my uncle's house this week otherwise I would have captured the moment. John is less amused by his son wearing makeup than I am and he scolded him a little bit when he saw him."Abraham, makeup is for girls. You are not a girl. You are a boy."

The effect of the makeup job was anything but feminine so I suspected that maybe he was going for a Ronald McDonald look rather than a transvestite look. He confirmed my suspicion with his offended response to John "This is not girl make-up! This is Sheriff's Eyebrows. I'm a man Sheriff with big high Sheriff Eyebrows!"

So that explains it. Everyone knows Sheriffs have giant exaggerated eyebrows, right? I don't know where he comes up with this stuff. He was just so sure of his eyebrow concept.

Yesterday to church I dressed him in a cute little suit with a vest and everything. While I was tucking in his little dress shirt and installing his tiny clip-on tie, he looked at himself in the mirror and said "Wow. I am so HANDSOME!" He was right. He was handsome. The only thing that could improve his look was a nice set of Sheriff's eyebrows.

Speaking of Abe's mind, He brought me the paper yesterday from the driveway. He had opened it and zoned in in the weekly CVS ad that is chock full of Easter Eggs and Candy and Peeps and plastic grass. There were tons of plush toys including a rabbit, a chicken wearing a rabbit disguise and a duck wearing a bathrobe and Bunny Slippers. One side of the page was colorful and alluring and the other side advertised regular pharmacy fare. Toothpaste, Pantyhose, Lotions and Perfumes and Huggies Diapers. Abe was all lathered up over the Easter stuff and pointing out what he wanted to buy. I agreed that all of that stuff was awesome and I would like to have it too. But ever the downer, I had to take the chance for a guilt trip. "I wish we had some money to spend on this stuff! I would pick this robed bunny and jelly beans! But unfortunately we don't have any money for this stuff because we have to spend our money on this." Of course, pointing to the Jumbo pack of Diapers on the opposite page.

"Nah, we don't need to buy those. Lets get this stuff!"

"Well, that would only work out if you could go poo poo on the potty every time and wear big boy underwear everywhere we go. Then we could spend all of our diaper money on whatever we want!"

Never one to overcommit himself, he thought about it really hard and sighed. "I'm just not ready yet." with the sincerest little sad face you ever saw. Lets just say we will find some room in the budget for both pages. The kid is good.

Ruining Easter

2011-04-18T08:22:00.004-07:00

My calling in the ward is to teach primary. I have eight little eight year old girls. I don't know why they split the boys and girls up, but I got the girls class, and while there are times I wish that Sunday was a chance to catch up with the grown ups, I have definitely come to love these little girls. They are so pure and sweet and well behaved. Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice. I tend to overestimate their maturity for some reason. I always want to answer every random question because I think they are at a really critical age where they need to know that there are answers to all of their questions. I know that sometimes I go a little bit over their heads and then I will be brought back down to earth when they make totally unrelated statements. For example, I will be bearing down in passionate testimony about some point of doctrine and one of them will raise their hand and say "My dog threw up on the couch this morning". And then all eight arms fly up and they all want a turn to tell a story either about their dog or a time they witnessed vomiting. Still, I press on. They are baptized and accountable and there are moments when the spirit is so strong and I know they get it.

Yesterday the lesson was of course the lesson leading up to Easter so we learned about the miracle of raising Lazarus from the dead. They were totally enraptured as I told the story of Lazarus falling ill and Mary and Martha just knew that Jesus could heal him because they had seen him heal people. They had seen him turn water into wine. They knew he could walk on water. But when Jesus was sent for he didn't come right away. He took his sweet time and Lazarus died. By the time Jesus got there he wasn't just dead he was stinking and rotting and entombed. Everyone was ticked. If Jesus would have hurried he could have saved him.

You could have heard a pin drop. These girls had never heard this story and and they were gripped. I asked "What were these people missing?"

"He could bring him back to life." There is one girl in the class that is about twice as smart as all of the others put together. She runs circles around everyone else and she makes it a sport. She is a handful but I can always count on her to get the real message.

I testified that Jesus has power over death and he demonstrated this power by bringing Lazarus back. But he wasn't done showing his power over death. He was preparing to perform another miracle that was infinitely more important that would change the mortality of every single person who had ever lived or ever would live. He was preparing to bring himself back from death. Not just alive but perfect and immortal, paving the way for all of us to live forever. This is why we celebrate Easter. This is the greatest thing that has ever happened in the history of the universe. This is the greatest miracle that has ever been conceived.

The spirit was so strong. It was so satisfying to feel the message hit home to these little eight year old hearts. This moment was worth every dog vomit story I had ever heard from them. Then I said "How do you feel RIGHT NOW? Excited, worried? scared? pleasure? or peace?" They all agreed they felt so peaceful it was warm in their chests. One of them told me that it made her want to cry but not a sad cry, just a happy cry."

"Girls, for the rest of your lives I want you to remember this moment. Whenever you want to know if anything is true I wasn't you to think back to when you were eight and learned about Lazarus and the Resurrection and remember how you felt. If it is not just like this, it is not true. Satan can make any feeling but he cant make this. This feeling is peace and it is telling us that Jesus us real." I was barely able to speak by the end because I was so choked up with emotion. I felt the spirit of the lesson so strongly and I felt these girls feeling it too. It was a powerful moment.

Then Miss Smarty Pants realizes that she has a golden opportunity to demonstrate her superior knowledge over the rest of the class and to nail the teacher to the wall. She couldn't resist. "So where does the Easter Bunny fit in to all of this?" I have no doubt that she knew full well what the Easter Bunny has to do with the real Easter and she had me pinned. She was very curious to see if I would come clean in front of everyone.

I explained that people have always enjoyed celebrating springtime and that as is often the case in human history people ended up mixing the celebration of spring and Easter. We are lucky enough to know the real meaning of Easter.

So She looks me in the eye with a smirk on her face and said "So are you saying that the Easter Bunny is NOT REAL?" She had gone all Katie Couric on me and she was not going to back off until she got a full confession.

At that moment and under those circumstances, it would have been morally wrong to dodge the question or to leave any doubt on the table about the existence of the Easter Bunny. "The Easter Bunny is not real. Jesus is real. I know it because I have prayed about it and I have felt the Holy Ghost confirm to my heart that Jesus is real."

I was a little worried that some of them would e crushed. I could tell from the looks on their faces that this Easter Bunny thing was totally new information. I was imagining irate parents calling and complaining. I felt just a little bit like the Grinch but I knew that ultimately I was doing them a favor by being truthful. How can we expect these kids to have authentic faith in Christ and also promote mythical Easter Eggs and Rabbits who can get into your house and leave candy? These kids end up with more tangible proof of Santa and the Tooth Fairy than they do of the Savior. I had to set the record straight. The thing is, not only did I have the comfort of knowing I was magnifying my calling, but I sensed a great feeling of relief from the girls. It all made much more sense and the Spirit was making it all make sense.

Then I very hypocritically passed out Peeps and Cadbury Eggs and we all basked in Truth and Sugar. A perfect Easter high.

Marathon Morning

2011-04-17T12:07:00.003-07:00

Why do I feel compelled to archive the hell of sabbath morning to blogworld every single week? I guess its therapy. I feel like I just got done with a three hour marathon. Every week I get a little better. We are a little more well groomed and we get there a little earlier and we are to the point now that we hear the opening prayer and get all of the sacrament and we appear to be just like any normal LDS family without a dad which is how I was raised and which I subconsciously recreated in my own family. Not that John wouldn't be there with us if he could. He loves it when we get to go together as a family but he will work this shift that includes Sundays for probably years. I would probably be wise to stop feeling sorry for myself and suck it up. This morning we had to choose between consuming food or getting there on time and I would starve a hundred babies rather than be late to sacrament again. I stuffed my bag full of cheese sticks and granola bars and candy and capri suns and we were seated before the opening prayer was said. At this rate of improvement we will be translated before a more humane start time is restored. As trials of faith go I am a pretty major wuss because I seem to have a massive existential crisis every single sunday. The important thing is not how much I don't want to go, the important thing is that I do in fact go every week and I have faith that it will be a blessing to me and that it will eventually get easier. Sometimes obedience is all I have to offer. Today was a minefield of challenges. The kids slept in their church clothes which woud have put us ahead except that Jack decided to pick up a game of old school Mario while he waited for everyone else. By the time we needed to depart he was in full blown psychotic episode mode kicking and screaming and wailing over some stupid level that he just couldn't beat. Yes, this game just earned a one way ticket out of our house forever. I know it was the low blood sugar and the lack of sleep and the stress of the rush but the kid needed a straight jacket over a pesky flying fish that would come out of nowhere and destroy him every single time it was irritating but his reaction was so ridiculously out of proportion. Finally I got everyone hauled into the car and headed to the church, I passed out all of the snacks and in typical martyr mom style I got nothing which was a bad idea because I could feel my blood sugar dipping and it felt stuffy and I was woozy. I had to keep getting up and leaving the meeting just to keep from passing out and ended up in the restroom a lot. I felt like I had already been through three hours by the time sacrament was over but I had to press on and teach my primary girls. The lesson went well and I felt the spirit but I couldn't shake the feeling like I was going to pass out or something. We went to sharing time and I pretty much ditched so I could walk around and get fresh air but they had just fertilized all of the outdoor lawns so it smelled so strong of rotting manner or something equally vomit inducing. There was no where to escape. Then everyone I passed in the halls made comments like "wow your skin is so fair!" or "I never knew how porcelain your complexion is." which is polite for "dang girl, you look like a ghost." I had driven Rob's car to church and by the time it was all over with I just wanted to get home in record time. It was hot my then and I didn't know that Rob's car doesn't have air conditioning. I honestly don't know how I pulled it together to drive home without puking all over the front of myself. I think the fact that I had nothing to puke was a blessing in disguise. When I got home I just wanted to veg out on the couch and get a hold of myself. Of course the kids were begging for an elaborately cooked dinner and would not stop with the begging. Then Kristen came over and wanted to talk about her plans for next year which would require her going to school three days a week and would require me to raise her kids those three days on a volunteer basis. It was more than I could take in. I was just not in a mental place to make commitments or take on more responsibility. We postponed the conversation to think about it some more and just when I got settled in to read some scriptures and wind down I heard a funny noise. It sounded almost like trickling water. no, make that gushing water. No make that a full on House flood coming from a tub left on by Abe hours ago. The entire upstairs carpets and cabinets and walls and the ceiling downstairs and the AC ducts and the light fixtures…all of them gushing water everywhere. all over papers and pictures and electronics. The best part was that I received an email yesterday saying that when our home loan was sold a few months back there was some confusion about the transfer of the homeowners insurance policy and so the house was currently uninsured and the matter would need to be tended to first thing monday morning. It only stands to reason that the house would flood on the sunday before this error was corrected. I think everything will be fine but it did all happen a half hour before the wedding of one of my dearest friends. Her name is Chaunte and she was my little sister through Big Brothers Big Sisters years ago. We have always kept in touch and I have loved seeing what a wonderful responsible adult she has blossomed into. Not in my wildest dream would I miss her wedding and there I was on my hands and knees with a shop vac in hand salvaging all of my earthly possessions. I hope I can make it up to her. A healthy check is already in the mail. Isn't it amazing how like knows just how to kick your ass when you are down? Its a phenomenon that amazes me. I guess I need a major overhaul on my Sunday attitude or else I am doomed to Snafus like this every single week. Heaven help me.

my fertility

2011-04-16T14:55:00.002-07:00

A very personal title for a very personal topic. Wow. I never knew how fraught this kind of this would be for me. I was one of those girls with the super human ovulation timer that never failed. Never a minute late, never a day off and never a case of PMS. Not to mention the totally painless deliveries and supernatural recoveries. I was the woman who was put on earth for the sole purpose of birthing children. I am tempted to write it on personal profiles and get to know you questionnaires "I crank out perfect children after perfect pregnancies and then they sleep and nurse and do long division right on schedule without so much as a menstrual cramp.

That was then. Now is a different story. Now the story is about betrayal and a stubborn defiant ovaries who have ganged up against me and decided that I shall have no say in the reproductive future of my nether regions. This act of war was responded to swiftly in the form of high doses of Provera a treatment of progesterone that should make Al Pachino sprout a vagina and bleed. No dice. You're supposed to take the progesterone to force the bleed so that you have a day to start counting from and then on day four you start taking the pills that force your ovaries to attention and make em kick out a perfect ripe egg or two. My body is in full mutiny. It will not respond to any of it. Not that we needed to check John but we did anyway just to have that special feeling of utter mortification when you leave your deposit and walk out avoiding eye contact with all humans. John's count was high and that just confirmed what I already knew. My womb is a rocky place where his seed can find no purchase. It only makes me sad when I think about the fat faced baby girl who will never inherit my eyelashes or call me every day when her kids are driving her crazy. I just want my Friend For Life. Weather we acknowledge it or not, we live in an extremely matriarchal society. A daughterless mother becomes an over-involved mother in law. Our boys are bound to marry and join their wives families because thats the way it goes.

The worst part of late infertility is that I don't get the luxury of complaining about it. I have two healthy perfect children born of my own body. How dare I feel sorry for myself that I didn't get more? I want to feel grateful for what I have and focus on what is. What is is blessings so great that they can't be spoken. Children so precious and of infinite worth that I have no business associating with let alone raise and teach and let them call me mother. I'm too blessed to ask for more but in the very moment of humble gratitude a little riot breaks out in my chest and screams JUST ONE MORE! ILL DO ANYTHING FOR JUST ONE MORE!

I guess if I were really serious about getting another kid cooking I would start making all kinds of invasive appointments and loading up on hormones and supplements. Perhaps the fact that that sounds too exhausting to bear is a good indicator that maybe a newborn isn't the best answer at the moment. No amount of sound logic can calm the heart of a baby hungry woman.

embracing his feminine side

2011-04-12T11:14:00.003-07:00

This was the handiwork of Ella. She dressed Abe up in a dress and a wig and applied her signature make up look "Two Dollar Hooker".

Our living arrangement with the two households connected results in lots of random strangers visiting. The just appear in the back yard and often wander in uninvited. John and I both thought this was another random kid overflowing from Kristen's house. It took a minute to realize that this was our own child…in drag. He makes a pretty cute girl and Ella was thrilled to showcase her styling skills but he only put up with it for a few minutes before announcing that he was a boy and he was all done with his stint in cross dressing. I would be worried but this kid is all boy.

Life is a bowl of Eagle's Eyes

2011-04-08T13:18:00.005-07:00

My kids love maraschino cherries. When we go to sonic we order extra cherries on the side. They are floored by my ability to tie the stem in a knot with my tongue.

I saw them at the grocery store and decided to buy a jar of them knowing that I was risking starting a major addiction especially with Abraham.

When I unpacked all of the groceries I made sure to put the cherries away in a place that wasn't super obvious. I buried them in the back behind jars of pickles and sauce and other uninteresting items. We had been home and had everything put away for maybe ten minutes when Jack opened the fridge to browse and Abe walked in from the back door at the same moment. From across the room his eyes honed in on the one unfamiliar object. He didn't even know what it was but all of his kid instincts were abuzz. "red. I want that. Its red."

I knew what he was asking for without even looking. He is a heat seeking missile when It comes to finding sweets. He has always had an unparalleled ability to find candy "You have Eagle Eyes!"

Still pointing and closing in on the fridge he continued "I want the red. I want the eagle eyes."

No amount of explaining would convince him that this delicious new delicacy was anything but actual eagle eyes. Telling him that they are cherries is clearly just another deception to throw him off the trail. He wont be fooled. He wants Eagle Eyes every day now. He offers them to visitors. When I make smoothies he begs "With an Eagle Eye on top!"

I have a feeling that this title is going to stick. Years from now we will be ordering sundaes with Eagle Eyes. We are omnivores but we try to stay away from the endangered species list.

Swearing at church: not recommended

2011-03-27T13:49:00.005-07:00

Today we got to church in time to partake of half of the sacrament. As I posted before, I have been feeling sorry for myself recently because I don't have a spouse to help me on Sunday mornings and eight o'clock church is killing me. I begged John to take the day off so that we could have a nice Sunday together as a family. John doesn't exactly have to be begged to take a day off. Vacation time burns a hole in his pocket. He can barely stand to let more than a few days accumulate. He sent a text message to his boss to let him know that he wasn't going to come in.

I made the boys sleep in their church clothes and I set out all of my clothes and made sure John had crisp ironed shirts. I even stashed my church bag full of granola bars and fruit roll ups and apples so that I could avoid the usual low blood sugar meltdown. Turns out I should have made John sleep in his church clothes too because when eight o'clock rolled around we were all ready to go and he was totally undressed and unshowered and insisting that he didn't own even one pair of pants that fit. At about the same time he got a return text message from his boss telling him that he could not take the day off because they were already short handed. His shift starts at five so he was already three hours late and I know he was a little relieved to dodge his tight pants appearance. He drove us to the church and dropped us off at the door. We rushed inside in a chaotic flurry. "Have they passed the sacrament yet?"

"Yes."

"Damnit."

Then I apologized profusely to all of the families in the foyer who very clearly did not expect to hear the d-word while they were waiting for the deacons to pass the blessed water. Not my finest moment. Luckily I was able to repent and renew one half of my baptismal covenant thirty seconds later. I'm hoping thats enough to get by. The boys were unusually well behaved today and I actually had a very satisfying Sunday. I had expected to teach Primary but I have a teaching partner who also thought she was teaching. I let her take it and enjoyed church with the grown ups.

A friend of mine in the ward just gave birth to her seventh child in seven years. Her baby came early just in time for two weeks of spring break. Her mom was going to come help her for a while but was unable to come. Her husband couldn't get any time off of work either and he has been in and out of the hospital with blood pressure problems. So she was there at eight o'clock with two children not old enough to be in nursery and she clearly hasn't rested for an insane length of time. She also told me that she has been struggling with a bit of postpartum depression and feels like her emotions are out of control. I wondered if anyone could have a stable mood all alone every day with that many kids. I got to hold her baby and I wanted to put him in my purse and take him home. During class I sat by another friend who just lost her first child during childbirth. This happened after a long battle with infertility and I could barely look at her without bursting out crying. I got to thinking about these two women with their totally different trials and decided that I am thankful for my small bag of problems.

Salad Dressing

2011-03-26T18:47:00.002-07:00

I have never been a huge fan of corporeal punishment as a method of disciplining kids but I can't claim that I have not administered many many spankings in my career as a mother. I think that there are very few children who get swatted and think "Oh, I get it, when I do something bad, I get spanked" . Most kids think, "Oh, I get it, when someone upsets you, you hit them." With that said, I have to confess that it is sometimes very satisfying to paddle a rear end. I'm a fan of the Love and Logic method where consequences make sense.

When my niece Emma was a baby she went through long difficult bout of biting people. Poor Kristen was literally dumped by dozens of friends who told her that they couldn't let Emma near their children because it was too dangerous. They tried everything they could think of to stop her from biting. She even bit people's pets and babies. She would bite so hard that she would draw blood and it was usually totally unprovoked and unpredictable. Finally they came up with one consequence that seemed to deter her. Vinegar. When she would bite someone they would put a few drops of vinegar in her mouth and she would freak out. She bit so often that Rob started carrying vinegar in a little vial on his keychain and when they thought she might bite they would just jingle their keys and she would recoil. Eventually she stopped biting and eventually they made new friends who weren't afraid of their toddler.

The vinegar punishment has become a popular alternative to spanking in our family. Its great because kids HATE it but it is totally harmless. I have some guilt issues with it because it doesn't always fit the love and logic pattern or else you have to get really complex in explaining vinegar in the mouth as a natural consequence of anything other than eating pickles, but the kids aren't being spanked and I say we applaud progress wherever we find it. On a side note, My husband was disciplined with tobasco sauce on his tongue for spitting as a child and thats just plain cruel if you ask me, but he does love spicy food now so maybe it was just exposure therapy more than abuse. No method is perfect because they are all being used by imperfect parents just trying their best on kids who drive them crazy every single day.

So I know it sounds like this is my story for this post but actually I was going to tell a different story about something that happened this week. Because of the aforementioned vinegar wars that have occurred in the past, we have stored vinegar in a number of convenient locations around the house. If anyone bites or spits or uses bad language you gotta have your vinegar within arm's reach. I have a little squeeze bottle of it in the kitchen and another in my bed side table. Incidentally, these squeeze bottles resemble the bottles that you buy oil in for consecrating for priesthood use. It is just olive oil but it is set apart for the healing of the sick and afflicted. A priesthood holder administering a blessing would drop a few drops of the already set-apart oil and then lay hands on the head of the person receiving the blessing and anoint their head with oil and then in a second blessing seal the anointing and offer inspired words of counsel or comfort or instruction or whatever. I have many experiences where I have seen the power of the priesthood heal people of deadly disease or given relevant counsel that could have come from no other source than the inspiration of the Holy Ghost. I have a deep and abiding testimony of the priesthood in general and specifically to how it is used to lead God's church and bless the faithful. The other night I had such a bad flare up in my joints that it was impossible to sleep just from the pain. I was on every narcotic you can think of (legally prescribed and obtained. I'm not a junkie) and they weren't even scratching the surface. I was in bed sobbing out of pure pain. I asked John to get up and give me a blessing which he was more than happy to do because it is hard for him to feel helpless when I hurt and he was glad to have something that he could do for me. I just wanted him to bless me with sleep for that night. I wasn't going after any huge miracles, just let the ambien be more potent than the pain. So we were preparing for the little private blessing and I realized that I knew exactly where our bottle of consecrated oil is. I found it in two seconds and handed it off and John did his manly thing. We had a very spiritual experience as he told me of God's love for me and gave me council and blessed me that my pain would subside enough to sleep. It worked like magic, or more accurately, it worked like the power of God. Way better than magic. I fell right to sleep. But then something kept waking me up. A smell. Id drift off and then there it was again. I couldn't put my finger on it. It was sour and sharp and kindof food-ish. Finally it dawned on me and I rolled over and looked at the bottle of consecrated oil that John had used. It was vinegar. No wonder I felt it trickle fast and cold down the back of my head when he anointed me. no wonder it looked oddly clear. I had assumed it was super fancy extra virgin cold pressed oil or something. Nope it was vinegar. The great news is these blessings are according to the faith of those involved and I know that John's blessing council was inspired by god no matter what he just put on my head. I did wasn't to be anointed again just to be sure and I found the identical bottle of oil but that was actually clearly marked as such. So John anointed me again and then my hair was basically a very tasty salad dressing or even a dip for breads. The next morning my pillowcase needed to be bleached in boiling water to purge the Holy Vinagrette and I just chucked the pillow (gotta love Ikea and the disposable lifestyle it provides) I will say that It was one of the best nights of sleep I've had in a long time and one of the best blessings I have ever had. The pain left me and my mind and body truly rested… or marinated. Depending on how you look at it.

Glorious Sabbath

2011-03-24T07:25:00.007-07:00

I just read the blog of a good friend of mine who posted a long ode to eight o'clock church. If only I were that spiritual. Here it is posted publicly: I detest eight o'clock church. like when they announced that it was switching from glorious 11 to 8, I pretty much said a little prayer that went like this. "Heavenly Father, Thanks for blessing me with membership in thy church. As much as I love partaking of the sacrament, it will have to wait for next year when we return to a schedule that I am capable of attending. Until then, I will see ya around nine. That will be me wrestling the disheveled children in the lobby and whispering threats of violence into their ears just loud enough to frighten the other lobby families but somehow not loud enough to produce any actual fear from said disheveled boys. Father, your gonna have to cut me some slack on this one. Perhaps you could check out the insane quantity of wheat in my storage closet or give me bonus points on how well I keep my journal (does it count if I burn it when it is full?) and we can call it even. Amen"

I think it would be easier if I wasn't a single mother on Sundays. John has worked weekend mornings for years and he will for years to come, so the whole routine is up to me. Sometimes I get motivated and iron everyone's clothes on Saturday night and lay everything out down to the sock. If I don't think of every detail, I guarantee we will be late. Then I had the genius idea to make the boys get dressed in their church clothes before bed and sleep in them. That week we were on time but nobody got breakfast.

Reading this you would think I think that the root of the problem is that I am not a morning person. Oddly, I totally am a morning person. I'm just not a morning mom . I always prided myself on the fact that my babies were awesome sleepers. I was a hard core user of the Babywise technique for getting babies to sleep and between that and a dose of really good luck, we all slept well from the time the babies were about 6 weeks old. Even before that I could squeeze five hours out of them. The point is, I am hardwired with the concept that one should let a sleeping baby lie. Always. It is so counterintuitive to me to wake a baby. Even if that baby happens to be a seven year old on his twelfth hour of sleep. I can't bring myself to do it. Plus all three males in the family have throat/sinus/apnea problems so I just encourage unconsciousness as much as possible. I am, of course, a terrible insomniac so its ironic that I spend half of my life coddling the sleep of the rest of the household.

Speaking of sleep, My husband is a diagnosed hypersomniac. That means he can sleep anywhere anytime and he does. He also has terrible sleep apnea so when he sleeps his body stops breathing for little chunks of time (32 times per hour, to be exact, according to the sleep studies he has undergone) We thought it had to do with his tonsils and a crooked septum and an abnormally low palette but then he had surgery to correct all of that and the apnea stayed exactly the same. If you are even interested in seeing a throat without an uvula hanging down, have John say AHHHH for you. Its a little freaky. So his only option to get decent sleep is to wear what I lovingly refer to as "the fighter pilot mask" It is a full face mask that covers his mouth and nose and anchors to his forehead with two sets of velcro straps and a big flexible tube piping in pressurized air. It makes him sound like Darth Vader or waves crashing on a beach depending on who you ask. Once its on his head, he can't talk or hear anything much so he doesn't know that I call him Maverick when I say good night. I used to have a problem with grinding my teeth at night and my dentist made me a device that fit on to my two front teeth which made it impossible to clamp my jaw all the way down and gave me a duckbill. There's nothing sexier than the two of us before bed. I'm sure you can imagine.

John loves his CPAP because he loves his sleep. The problem for a confirmed hypersomniac with sleep apnea is that as much as you want to catch a few winks on a road trip or on the couch in front of the TV on a lazy weekend, you have to go get the gear and find a plug and do the whole production or else it is completely pointless. Sometimes he tries to sneak a nap without his headgear on and I catch him every time because as soon as he falls asleep he starts twitching and kicking and chomping his teeth. Because it is such a hassle to move his sleeping set-up, he often ends up sleeping in random places in the house for days at a time. He tends to favor one blanket too so you can always spot a John nest: The machine, the mask, the blankie, and a bottle of Tums. He is a lot of things but unpredictable is not one of them.

So back to my unrighteous complaining about eight o'clock church. I thought this was one of the perks of being a Mormon. Sleeping in on Sunday. There are people in our ward who say they love that when they get home from church it is still morning and then they get the whole day. Call me a pessimist, but after getting up at the crack and wrestling two kids through sacrament and then teaching primary and going to relief society, I feel like my day should be at least mostly over with. No, I get to come home and make a big meal because there is no chance anyone got breakfast and then clean up and then find something that will fend off the repeated "I'm Bored" argument. And then I have to feel guilty if I let them watch TV or run around irreverently or go somewhere and inadvertently cause someone else to work. Then John gets home from work and I get to create and serve and clean up after another meal. I get it that it's supposed to be a day of rest, but any mom can tell you that resting has immediate negative consequences. This may look like a regular middle class house in the suburbs, but it is really a giant treadmill of housework that will throw you off if you even think about slowing down. A Sunday of rest is guaranteed to equal a Monday of hard manual labor and might possibly get you featured on an episode of Hoarders. "We used to be able to see the floor in this room, but then I decided to take a nap after church and spend some time in prayer and when I came out, the camera crew was here."

Actually, Hoarders is my favorite show. John hates it. I like anything that makes me look extremely sane and tidy. I get my kicks wherever I can find 'em. There was an episode where they found THREE dead cats in a woman's living room in various stages of decomposition. No matter how messy this house gets I love being able to say, "Well at least there is no rotting flesh in here."

Okay, so back to Sundays. When I was a missionary in France we would always snicker when the sacrament bread was warm from the oven of the local bakery. Even the bishop insisted that it was okay to buy bread on the sabbath. Once we were teaching a girl named Lucille in Metz and when we got to the discussion about keeping the sabbath day holy and not working if possible. Lucille replied, "But what if you are a police officer or an emergency room doctor or a bread baker?" I love that baking bread is considered vital to civilized life. I'm starting to wish I was French.

When my dad was a kid they used to go to a restaurant for dinner specifically in effort of keeping the sabbath day holy. They reasoned that going out to eat would be restful. This was a generally accepted practice in the church until later when church leaders began to recommend not causing others to work. My mom hates to be teased about this, but when I was a kid it was a weekly tradition that if we could tell my mom what our lesson was about in the car on the way home from church she would stop at Circle K and let us get a Thirstbuster as a reward. To her credit, she dragged four kids to church every week without the help of a churchgoing husband so who could begrudge her a Diet Coke? Not to use my blog to spew unrighteous sentiment, but lets all admit that sometimes it is hard to do what we know is right. Our testimonies, our attitudes and behaviors are constantly evolving. I'm sure that one day my testimony of the sabbath will be right up there with Joseph Smith and forever families, but for now it is hovering right above Boy Scouts and Kolob.

confession

2011-03-22T16:48:00.002-07:00

I try to be a perfect mom, but I have to admit one of my major failings. Pop music. When were driving in the car it is next to impossible to ensure that they don't hear inappropriate lyrics. There are some things that I'm good at staying vigilant about but I too am a sucker for a good beat. Once when Jack was three he announced to his sunbeam class that he was "bringing sexy back" around the same time I heard him absent-mindedly singing "If you like it then you should have put a ring on it. Uh oh uh oh uh oh…"When he could barely talk he would cry in the car and beg for "Wock" We knew that this meant he was requesting Def Leopard. Specifically, Pour Some Sugar on Me. There was nothing cuter than his little fat babyface singing earnestly, "Do you take sugar? ONE LUMP OR TWO? Pour some sugar on me…In the name of love" etc. etc. I have to say that as hilarious as those gems were, my all time favorite is still when he was getting down to Kanye West (Yes, I told you I'm a bad mom) and he sang the lyrics to "Stronger" and afterwards required an explanation of the words "Since Prince was on Appalonia, Since OJ had Isotoners" Not the most simple task to bring a preschooler up to speed on the history of the artist formerly known as Prince and his revolving door of muses AND The history of OJ Simpson before he became an aquitted murderer and was hawking leather gloves that may or may not have been used in said murder. I'm always guilty of over-explaining things to my kids and I could see them glaze over before I even got to the part about the white bronco. By the way, I give mad props to Kanye for such a hilariously obscure and bold rhyme as Appolonia and Isoton-ah. Genius.

Pink has some catchy tunes out on the radio these days but she has to add things like "Its just you and your hand tonight" or "I wanna get in trouble I wanna start a fight".

I should probably be a good Mormon mom and play the primary program CD that they pass out on Sunday but honestly, I think I would have a mutiny. They were raised by Dr. Dre and Aerosmith and Black Eyed Peas. I try to keep a parent ear alert but I know there have been slips. It was bad when I heard something from the backseat about "lovely lady lumps" Also I didn't quite know how to answer the inquiry as to why Katy Perry had indeed kissed a girl. The best I could come up with: "Maybe she's a little retarded. how sad."

So I have a new clean music policy that lets just say is evolving. I thought I was doing well by putting in my 80s music CDs but then I heard "Who do you want me to be to make you sleep with me? and realized I need to go back a few more decades or perhaps spend some time creating kid friendly playlists. Now I'm seeing the goldmine that is KidsBob although I would rather listen to liberal talk radio than those obnoxious kids slaughtering pop songs. Either way my ears will bleed and no one will be happy.

Speaking of the media that our kids are exposed to, I am ready to permanently remove Nickelodeon and Disney from our Lineup. Every single show has the same theme: Hooking up. I can't believe the pressure they put on kids to date and "make out" and "hook up" and also everyone is famous or magical. No normal people allowed. You have to be a wizard or a webshow star or a rich kid raised on a cruise ship, or an incognito popstar, or the teenaged CEO of a huge company. What ever happened to 8 is enough or Different strokes or Facts of Life? Damn, I sound old. Just let the kids be kids!

Let's just say… I have a type

2011-03-18T07:26:00.002-07:00

John and I went out last night to dinner and a movie. We saw Battle: Los Angeles Its basically an alien invasion movie that follows a group of marines from before contact till they defeat the ETs. When I heard about it I knew that I would end up seeing it. not because this genre holds any intreats for me but because my cute little husband's love language is movie attending. Yes, thats right, there is a sixth love language and it involves watching other people shoot guns and pretend to die.

I don't usually write movie reviews on here but, damn. It was great. So great that by the time I left the theatre I was just so happy that we weren't running from scary aliens. It was like Independence day but without the Hollywood-ness (or the stripper) and it was like Cloverfield but less home movie-ish. It was just intensely real. My husband is the kind of person who has no problem with a movie where the trees come to life and save the cornered good guys. But if he's watching a movie with any police or military action in it he will lose his mind over something like "that guy just shot 31 rounds out of a 20 round magazine. I can't watch this crap." or "So how is a German soldier in 1944 carrying a rifle that wouldn't be manufactured in Czechoslovakia until 1945? this movie is lame." Nothing gets past John as far as military accuracy and he loved it so much that he saw it twice in two days. Everyone should go see it. theres no sex, no swearing (maybe a word or two) and it will keep you engaged the entire time. The cast consists almost entirely of men. Marines. Later on there is one woman for a little while and a couple of kids but for the most part it is pure military men. They didn't cast it with anyone you'd know. They all just look like regular guys. No moviestars. I sat there marveling at how damn attractive they all are. And as I snuggled my husband in the movie theatre I was so glad I had a hot military police man of my very own to take home with me. The reason I say this is not because I'm confessing that I was turned on by the manly men in the movie but it was the first time I realized that it is not a coincidence that I married a man in uniform. Maybe because opposites attract and if I were invaded by bad aliens I would just try to hide where as my husband would be on the front line. John's ability to protect our family is extremely hot. John is the quintessential good guy. When I met him I said "You look just like Buzz Lightyear!" Incidently, he does look just like Buzz lightyear and Dudley Doright and just about every other hero character they have ever invented. He is all about fighting for the greater good and helping people and saving the day so I'm glad people like John exist especially if aliens ever attempt to colonize our planet.

4:21

2011-02-26T04:48:00.003-07:00

This morning I woke up early for no reason. Wide awake, I rolled over and looked at the alarm clock. It was 4:20. I waited for it to turn to 4:21 and thought about what I was doing seven years ago to the second. I was giving birth to my first born child on the third floor of St. Vincent's hospital in Portland, OR. A picture perfect delivery of an even more perfect baby boy. I was tempted to sneak into his room and wake him up for the occasion but decided that I would use the moment instead to get on my knees and thank God for this child who turned me into a mommy. Even now as I type this I cry thinking about the moment I met Jack.

He came three and a half weeks early but was over 7 pounds. Since we lived away from all of our family It was just me and John and the hospital staff. I wanted to show him to the world. I wanted every human being on earth to see my perfect baby. It still blows my mind that billions and billions of people have had this experience and yet it is just as miraculous and awe inspiring every time.

Jack was delivered upon my first practice push and I literally didn't have even one sensation of pain throughout the entire experience (not counting the level four tear that I was unaware of initially.) He cried for a few seconds, they put him on my chest and he just looked deep into my eyes and nursed. From the beginning, he always seemed to make deliberate and soulful eye-contact. He was beautiful. The easy labor and delivery left him unswollen and unblemished with a perfect round head of sandy hair.

The first thing I said was "John! He looks like you!" John said, "But he has lips!" This is a perfect conversation to start out this kid's life because over the seven years I see so many ways that he got the best of each of his parents. I love that kid. I love both of my kids. I feel equal intensity of emotion for each of them but there is something about that first born baby that makes an impression on a mother's heart like nothing else. Happy Birthday, Jack.

Payday Doesn't Always Come On Friday

2011-02-24T06:10:00.007-07:00

Yesterday Jack stayed home sick and I was down and out with my stupid mystery disease. This time it hit my feet bad and I couldn't walk. My health has made great progress this year. I don't look like a holocaust victim anymore but I still get occasional joint flare ups and the horrible disfiguring sores. Enough about that. It stresses me out and I can already feel my mom's heart racing sixty miles away as she reads this. The point is Jack and I got to lay around all day long doing nothing and just bonding. Kristen took Abe for a large chunk of the day so Jack and I just chilled. I know it stresses his little six year old soul when he sees his mommy hurting and sometimes I think its best to hide It from him as much as I can but sometimes I need to get real and tell him I'm hurting. We were laying in my bed and I showed him my sores and swollen crippled feet. He said "Mom, I don't want to see them anymore. It makes me too sad. Also it makes me confused."

Why is that buddy? is it because you can't predict when I will feel good and when I wont?"

"No, it just makes me pray to Heavenly Father and ask him why he had to create stupid germs and diseases. And why does he have to let my mommy hurt? Then I think about It and I realize that its the whole point of life. God sent us here to be tested and if things were always easy there would be no purpose to life. If things were always easy, we wouldn't even know they were easy."

Holy crap. I spend a lot of worry on wondering if these kids are getting the gospel of Christ. In that moment, I realized that I would go through every bit of suffering that I have to hear my son explain this concept to me in such an eloquent way. He gets it. The spirit was unbelievably strong. He went on to tell me this long comparison between life and video games and how its so frustrating to get killed over and over but every time you play you get a little bit farther and you find the places to get your life recharged and you figure out how to avoid the bad things and you get to the next level and eventually you beat the game and you wonder why you ever thought it was so hard. He told me that its just like life. We just have to keep trying and when we beat the game we will have eternal life and live with Heavenly Father and Jesus forever. It will all be worth it.

I cried and I pulled out the Book of Mormon and read 2 Nephi 2 to him and briefly explained the concept of opposition in all things. I love that that chapter is addressed to Lehi's "first-born in the wilderness of affliction" If father Lehi had had an X-box I'm sure that Jack's Allegory of the Video Game would have been included. I have always been totally anti-video game and if I didn't have to compromise with three males on it, one of whom is the breadwinner and secret video game buyer and holder of a bizarre opinion about the merits of video games as they relate to one's ability to survive a possible Town of Gilbert urban combat scenario, I would ban the machine from the household. (longest run-on sentence ever) But I must admit that as I listened to Jack's hard earned wisdom the statement that continually repeated in my head was "All things testify of Christ" There are lessons to be learned everywhere. Smart kid going for my Achille's Heel and combining the Gospel and Halo.

Once when I was in my early twenties I was asked to speak at Stake Conference. I didn't want any of my family coming to watch because I was afraid that it would make me nervous. Of course my parents showed up anyway. When I introduced them to my stake president I rolled my eyes and joked that they were conference crashers that were there uninvited. He looked at me and said "One day you will understand that payday doesn't always come on Friday."

After our talk I suggested that Jack give the Family Home Evening lesson and I got some great Flip video footage of his passionate little gaming testimony. One day I will learn how to actually post those videos. When I do, you will see a chicken laying an egg in my living room, Jack break dancing at the state fair when he thought no one was looking, Joselyn Orrell's birth, Abraham defeating three pantry locking devices within 30 seconds, a tortoise chasing a chihuahua and winning, incriminating video of Clark Gartner stealing the device and throwing it in the mud, John falling asleep while snuggling an assault rifle, and that famous drill sergeant guy, The Gunny (R. Lee Ermey) looking straight at the camera and saying "John Kramer? That's my best friend, ya Jackwagon. Hoorah, Semper-fi," Yes, the day I learn how to post video will be fabulous. For now I'm still searching for a reasonable way to right-click on a mac with one hand and I'm taking my paydays whenever and however they come.

Bargain

2011-02-23T11:55:00.003-07:00

Jack told me this morning that he has made a "little bargain" with our dog Lala. He rubs her under the chin and she licks him on the hand.

"Do you think it's a good deal?" I personally hate being licked by the dogs so I was curious how this deal came about.

He looked at me like I am crazy and said "YEAH. Its a good deal for me. I wouldn't lick someone for a scratch."

So thats a relief, I guess.

My Birthday

2011-02-12T08:51:00.004-07:00

For the first time since I have known him, my sweet husband pulled off a birthday surprise for me. He bought tickets to Sarah McLachlan and told me about it hours before the concert started. We had a romantic evening last night with no kids and amazing music.

Spontaneity really doesn't come easily to John so I was so impressed that he was able to pull it off babysitter and all so that I could have a romantic night out for my birthday and Valentine's Day. (It better be both because we spent a small fortune)

Sarah is amazing. It was at the Comerica Theatre which used to be called Dodge theatre which is an amazing venue (yes, this is where I attended a concert in a wheelchair to get front row seats for a Coldplay concert. I will have to tell that story one day)

Other than the Chatty Drunk Lesbians in front of us who "whispered" i.e. shouted into one another's ear the entire time to the point that it was hard to hear the music, it was an incredible musical feast. Sarah did a lot of her old favorites and deep cuts that I thought I was the only one that loved them, and she answered questions from the audience which made it really intimate and entertaining. Her voice is absolutely flawless. She sounds every bit as good live as she does on the albums. Few artists can really pull that off. I have seen her in concert many times back in the day before I had kids. Sarah took a ten year hiatus to be a mom too so it really felt like connecting with an old friend. She is very authentic on stage and her songs are so relevant and powerful. She has one of those voices that just instantly soothes. John loves her too so we both had a great time. Whenever I see live music like that I think "I gotta do this more often" It made me feel like Staci. Not mom, or wifey, or Sister Kramer…Staci. I think "Oh yeah, I forgot that I love music. Oh yeah, I'm fun! I'm an individual outside of all of the roles I fill at home." Not that I don't love filling those roles, but it is easy to get out of touch with who I am as a person. For that reason John's gift to me was genius. He even leaned forward and asked those drunk lesbians to shut up during my favorite song.

One of my favorite moments of the night was signing up for a program called World Vision. It is one of those programs where you sponsor a child living in poverty. They had a table set up at the concert with all of the available kids for sponsor. It was heartbreaking. I of course saw the face of Jack or Abe in every one of them and I couldn't imagine one of them getting their picture taken and then waiting for word that they had been selected. I plan on corresponding with the child so I was looking for one that is Jack's age so that he will get into it. I was scanning for a boy born in 2004 and then I found Nara. He is a Cambodian boy born in 2004 and his birthday is today. Of course I felt a connection to him since we share a birthday and I thought it would be a lovely birthday present for both of us. I cried when I thought of him finding out he had been sponsored. He is so cute. There is a picture and a little profile about the kid's situation and personality. His parents are farmers and he has tons of siblings and his favorite thing is spelling. I love him already.

rant

2011-02-08T14:51:00.005-07:00

I rarely get on here and just rant and rave. Actually, I do rant and rave and then refrain from publishing the post and it gets out of my system and no one has to read my negative outbursts.

John as not been picking up any extra-duty work at the department so he has been home a lot more than we are all used to. He has been on a tear of getting stuff done around the house so I'm secretly hoping his fever lingers a while longer. He has turned into Laundry Man, which is a side I have never witnessed and that incidentally turns out to be very sexy. I also liked last week's super hero alter ego which was Carpet Shampooing Man. He has also discovered a humble little tool out of my scrap booking box that has sealed the super-hero thing up for the boys. Wielding a glue gun he is Toy Fixing Man. I am personally curious to see if the illusive Yard Maintenance Man will make any appearances.

Abe hasn't been sleeping well lately. He's in the very predictable ditch-the-nap phase of toddlerhood. He has been drinking chocolate milk before naps and bedtime lately and I just realized that maybe it has caffeine in it. So I looked at the box and in bold print it says right across the top "CAFFEINE FREE!". Oh good, I haven't been caffienating my three year old. I'm not a dumbass after all. Then I looked closer and saw the tiny type above the caffiene free claim. 99 percent. So an entire percent of this kids drink is pure caffiene, yet they feel justified putting Caffiene Free! in huge letters all over the box as long as each one is preceded by a teeny tiny 99%. Yes this reminds me of last year's otter pop debacle wherein they print on the box "One Hundred Percent Pure Fruit Juice" followed by "and other ingredients" Which other ingredients happened to total three percent upon a closer look. I don't know why I'm complaining about this. I need to let it go.

But while we are on the subject of really annoying things, lets talk about when you call a business and they put you into a computer queue and tell you over and over how important your call is. Not important enough to actually answer, but still very important. Or worse, when you just have to call the doctors office but before you can even hear the options you have to get a lecture about how if you are calling with a life threatening emergency you really shouldn't be calling but instead you should hang up and dial 911. Usually by this point I am saying into the phone NO SHIT, SHERLOCK, WHAT DO I PRESS TO GET TO A PERSON? (don't judge me, I know you've all done the same thing) Then I get to hear the long winded lecture again... en espanol. I probably shouldn't get so irritated by the ever encroaching mexican culture, but if you don't speak enough english to navigate the dentist's answering machine maybe its time to think long and hard about which country you really want to be living in. If you don't have any interest in learning a country's language, that country is probably not for you.

Speaking of our immigrant friends, I had an unexpected knock at my door that turned out to be the mailman with a letter I needed to sign for. We have had the same mailman for four years and he's great. I bake him cookies for holidays and we shoot the breeze when we get the chance. He has been sporting a big Steelers coat for the past month so when I saw him through my peephole I was ready to offer condolences on his team loosing. Instead of Robert, there was a new guy. A mexican who didn't speak even a word of english besides "sign?" Believe me I tried. I launched into a big explanation about how Robert loves the Steelers and they lost and blah blah, but the new guy was a deer caught in the headlights. He was literally at a loss for words. It was awkward. So I guess even the Federal government is giving jobs to illegal aliens. Or perhaps this man was legal to work, but just lacks the drive to learn how to communicate in America. Either way, I know ten people who would line up for that job and our country is passing them out to dudes with no english and no social skills. Annoyed really doesn't describe my feeling for the current global events. Terrified is closer to the mark.

Also, let me take a minute to complain about my washing machine. It is an early model front loader and it has caught a disease. Every load comes out smelling like mildew even if they don't sit in there at all between finishing the wash cycle and being moved to the dryer. There is some major design flaw going on that I think is worthy of a total product recall. Now I'm noticing a new breed of laundry product that cleans the washing machine. I find it ironic that you need to spend money to clean the inside of your washing machine. Not to mention that these products don't work. Clothes go in with regular spots and wear and they come out infused with the aroma of a moldy basement. I have tried running cycles with pure bleach and still every load smells like it sat for days. What I don't understand is why we still even have the washer dryer system in this day and age. In Europe we always had one machine that did everything. We didn't have to switch wet clothes. After the wash cycle completes, it drains and then starts drying. You put dirty clothes in, you get clean dry clothes out. Why hasn't America adopted this clearly superior method? The europeans do it because they don't have the space for two machines. They don't usually even have laundry rooms. This wonder machine is usually tucked in the kitchen or bathroom. If I could get a hold of these euro machines, I would buy two and then run two loads at a time. They can't be too expensive, we had them in our missionary apartments after all.

Yes, I put a lot of emotional energy into laundry. I fantasize about having a housekeeper who does nothing but laundry and dishes. Why can't my washer and dryer be more like my dishwasher. My million dollar idea for Whirlpool or Kenmore or whoever wants all the marbles: go to Europe and take notes. This includes the fact that Europeans don't use liquid bleach that spills and ruins everything. It comes in little solid tablets that dissolve in water. It makes so much more sense.

Inspiration

2011-01-25T08:59:00.006-07:00

My dad is always hassling me to blog. No one in the world gets more pleasure out of seeing his kids post pics and stories about his grandkids. He lives for it. I would love to post more often but I am a fickle writer. I can't just sit down any time and crank out a post. I have to be inspired. This month was Abraham's third birthday and of course I feel guilty that I didn't do some sort of cute little birthday write up for him for the sake of posterity. Believe me< class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; ">

Ham is the light of my life. In the past few years my health has been horrible and I have faced a number of adversities that I didn't expect. They say that when God closes a door he opens a window. Ham is my window. I can barely look at him because he is so stinking cute. There's nothing better than his chunky soft thighs. He has an uncanny ability to exclaim "What the HECK?!" at just the right moment. He is sharp witted and kind hearted and he makes a wonderful barefoot, one-eyed, diapered, superhero on a scooter.

Abe is three years old now and SO independent. I don't know if its a birth-order thing or a random personality thing but he wants to do everything by himself and he has no concept of limitations. He is happy and fun and always in search of a way to make us laugh.

I can't believe it's been three years since this masked man entered our life. Ham, You make every day fun.

Nothing is Free

2010-12-18T13:51:00.003-07:00

Its always amazing how creative companies get to lure you in. We ive in an age when even your contact information is bought and sold. Normally I am not the conspiracy theorist type, and I will go ahead and enter my name in a raffle knowing full well that what they really want is my age, demographic and phone number. I have worked in Marketing and I know the value of owning up-to-date lists and a big group of potential leads. What gets me though is how hard they go after kids. When I was a kid, if a cereal box said that they were holding a contest and any box could win, it was pretty straight forward. You open the box, it says Sorry you are not a winner. Play again. End of game. Now the cereal boxes lure you in and then printed inside is a code that you can enter on their website and view lots of other special offers and you cant find out if your box of cereal was a winner until you have completed registration and created a password and agreed to a huge legal document of disclaimers. I love hearing the commercials say "Kids! Ask your parents before logging on!"

I had an uncle growing up who prided himself on the fact that he never lied to his children. From birth his children were told that Santa was a generous person who lived many years ago, and we have continued the tradition that he started by putting presents under the tree on Christmas eve. Really its the child's parents who do this etc. etc. This particular couple felt like it was better to never willfully deceive their children and spare them the let down when they would inevitably find out the truth. I always thought he was just a big scrooge and I also noted with joy when his kids were little that they did believe in Santa, no matter how rationally it was explained to them. There was one unfortunate instance when someone questioned the oldest child Andrea about Santa and she replied "My dad told me all about Santa. Santa is dead." I imagine that incident earned them fewer holiday party invitations.

As a mother of a 6 year old and a 2 year old, I'm just now starting to come around to Uncle Mark's philosophy. The other day I over heard a conversation between Jack and the ever clever Isaac Sly. Isaac is a year older than Jack and has two older siblings who have clearly set him straight, although he is obviously still figuring out where he stands in the Santa debate. Jack mentioned something about Santa and Isaac cut him off. "Dude. You know that there's no such thing as santa, right?

Jack looked at him like he was nuts. "Yes there is. He brings me Christmas presents every year. duh."

"No, Dude. Its your parents. They buy the presents and put them under the tree and then tell you it was santa."

At this point I almost burst in to the interaction to change the subject and protect Jack from the hard truth. Then I realized that the kid is almost 7 and that this is part of the cycle of growing up. I could tell that Jack was deep in thought about it all too so I just let it lay. Eventually Jack came up to me and said Isaac says theres no such thing as Santa. Is he right? Luckily I am a genius of avoidance. "Did Isaac tell you why he doesn't believe?"

"No he says Cameron told him."

"What do you think, Jack?"

"Santa has always brought me presents. Maybe Isaac is on the naughty list."

"Maybe. If I were you I would just worry about your own list status."

Mom, how come if I tell you I want something from Santa that is really expensive you say that it costs too much. Why do you care how much money Santa spends?

I would hate to see Santa go bankrupt because of greedy kids. I think we do him a favor by keeping our Christmas gift requests modest. Plus, I know he tries to keep it pretty fair. That gets difficult when one kid starts asking for extravagant gifts. I'm just trying to help him out. He gave me a lot of great Christmases and He deserves some payback. I like to help make his life easier. Sounds like you have a lot of thinking to do. Try not to worry. I'm sure Christmas will be fabulous no matter what.

Then today he recieved his monthly issue of Highlight's magazine. They were running a promotion where you could match three (very obvious stars) and affix them to a card and mail it off. If you do that then they send you a poster map of a state with an accompanying book. The first one is free. No obligation. Totally yours forever. Then they send you another state every month for 6 bucks plus undisclosed shipping and handling. This will continue until you return one of their packages within 10 days of the original shipment date with a signed letter specifically requesting termination of one's club membership. Here in my reality, this translates into our mailbox being over run by unwanted maps and book with accompanying invoices that either add to the clutter of the house and create more tasks and eventually the company turns us over to collections and our wages get garnished for a stack of maps that we never wanted and somehow always missed the ten day window. I tried explaining this to Jack because he was all excited to send away for his free "no obligation" gift.

"Mom, it is free. Look. Right here. It says FREE. "

I countered by reading the small print on the back of the card about implied consent and how shipping and handling would be determined at the sole discretion of Highlights magazine and would be due and payable immediately upon receipt.

But I thought I won something for free.

Son, I have bad news for you. Nothing is free. Anything that sounds too good to be true, is too good to be true. Highlights wants to give you those free things so that they can screw you over later. Nothing is free. If you ever think something is, you have to look harder. TV? The network gets money for running ads. If they make more popular shows, more people watch and then they can charge more money to run ads. We watch the ads and then buy their stuff. No body does something for nothing.

What about Santa? What does he get out of it?

He gets the good feeling that comes with giving and he gets to do his favorite hobby and he gets to see happy children and know that he is reminding us of Jesus when he gives us presents."

"Well What about Jesus? What does Jesus get out of it? Why does he care what we do?

"Because Jesus is our brother and he is doing the work of our father and it makes both of them happy to see us succeed and to have meaningful lives."

This has started as a typical never ending why why why conversation that usually goes around in circles but when I answered his question about what motivates Jesus to bless us, I could feel the Holy Ghost rush in and confirm every word. It left me emotional and almost unable to speak. "Do you know how much Jesus loves you, Jack? So much that he died so that you can have a chance. He is your Brother and He loves you so much He gave up His life for you.

Then my little Jack says "I get it. I would give my life for Abe if I had to, Mom. He's my brother and I love him."

I was speechless. I am not a perfect mother but that doesn't mean there are no paydays. My Jack could understand a bit of Christ's love for us through the love he feels for his earthly brother. I couldn't have taught it better if I tried.

"How do you feel right now while we are talking about this?"

"I feel warm and nice".

"Do you feel like getting in fights or doing bad things?"

"No I just want to do nice things and hug and stuff."

"That is the Holy Ghost, Jack. He is giving you peace so that you will know that these things we are talking about are true. I know Christ lives and he is the Savior of the World and I know by the power of the Holy Ghost who has blessed me with this feeling when I have asked. He is also answering your prayers too. "

"It feels the same as when we sing Christmas songs or go to the temple."

These are the moments that make the hustle of Christmas worthwhile. These are the moments I hope he will remember when his faith is tested. When the stakes are much higher than the existence of Santa. Santa worries him and his heart can't quite find peace with it. The concept of Christ gives his heart comfort and calms him. Its these small moments that I think will ultimately shape him. I'm seeing every day the advantages of the tell no lies, take no prisoners approach to Santa clause that my Uncle Mark took. I always worry that asking him to believe in a being that can deliver presents to a planet of children in one day is about like asking him to believe in a man who took upon himself all sin and pain that ever was or ever will be and then offers the reward to us. I see now that kids aren't dumb. Sure its a process, but the Holy Ghost is there to help us sort it all out. We can know the counterfeit from the real thing. The joy from the pleasure, the lust from the love, The glass from the diamonds, the mythical from the Messianic. I'm so glad I'm not in this alone.

To spank or not to spank?

2010-12-14T14:50:00.002-07:00

A couple of posts ago, I mentioned that Jack wanted me to spank Ham's butt in response to being bitten. I am one of those people who let anyone on the planet comment on my blog without jumping through hoops and there have been a few times I have gotten odd responses from random people (probably machines). This one was from someone promoting a method of child discipline that is totally free of hitting of any kind and I'm sure they just periodically google search any family blog with the word spank on it and crank out a link to their anti-spanking literature. Which is actually fine with me. Any blogger lives for comments and I get very few so I'll take even hostile robotically generated ones.

Always a good sport, I took the time to read the anti-spanking literature. I'm not a big believer in spanking anyway. Even when I threaten to paddle a child's backside I am fully aware of the irony of punishing bad behavior with bad behavior. It made me give a lot of thought to the whole concept of the role of any kind of violence in problem solving or changing behavior and the more I thought about it I realized that I would probably feel a lot better about the overall quality of my mothering if hitting of any kind was totally eliminated as an option. The thing is, its the threat of being spanked that most of us rely on anyway so it wouldn't be a big jump for me to lay down the law and say Kramers Don't Hit Each Other Ever. Simple enough right?

So I sat down with Jack at what I thought was a reasonable moment and I said, " In the past Your dad and I have sometimes used spanking as a method to try and teach you to behave. Usually you get spanked because you have hurt someone or done something equally anti-social. I have realized that to try and get you to be less violent by using violence is wrong. So buddy, from now on there will be no more spanking from me. I will deal with misbehavior in a more appropriate way. "

So here I think I'm mother of the year for coming to this loving conclusion and then Jack freaks out. "Please don't stop spanking!"

Why in the world would a child want to keep the spanking going? I was perplexed.

In total exasperation he started going on and on about how now I'm probably going to make him spend hours in his room and give him long annoying lectures and he would much rather just get his butt whipped and be done with it!

I suggested that perhaps he commit to eliminate behaviors that merit any of those consequences and we will all live happily ever after.

"Common, mom. You know I'm going to attack Abe every now and then. Lets not make it take hours. Please just keep spanking me."

This kid blows my mind. I know for a fact that the real reason behind the argument is that his personality hates change of any kind and even positive policy updates create anxiety for him. He likes to know what can be expected, even if that involves corporal punishment. I told him that the good news is that I hadn't discussed it with Dad and I'm sure he will be more than happy to swat your backside every now and again if it makes you feel better. He was totally satisfied with that.

The reason there is no instruction manuals for raising children is that you would need a new manual for every child who ever existed. The curve balls keep it interesting and hilarious and oh-so-challenging.

Jack has a number of loose teeth these days but he has yet to lose one. I guess he is right on target since he is months from his seventh birthday, but it is somehow deeply sad for me to let those little baby teeth go. Like its totally out of my control. Also, I have invested so much effort into keeping those little teeth cavity free and then they just fall out and are gone forever. I guess if your kid was riddled with cavities it would be a great relief to get a do-over, but it just feels like a waste to me!

Speaking of growing up, Ham is not potty trained at all despite all of our valiant effort. Actually, not trained is not accurate terminology. He is very trained indeed. Just not to pee and poo on the toilet. In fact, he has taken to changing his own diaper. At first he was bringing us the clean diaper and giving us detailed verbal instructions on what he wanted done with it. We told him that a man who can command his own diaper change is surely capable of using a toilet. Then he began taking care of the changes himself. He removes the old diaper, throws it away, does some wiping, and then straps the new one on. Sometimes he even throws powder into the mix and there was one run in with Desitin that almost gave us a white Christmas. His obsession with independence will one day manifest itself with the proper use of the household plumbing facilities. Until then, I'm happy to buy diapers if he handles the rest.

Christmas is upon us

2010-12-10T14:07:00.002-07:00

How do I know this? There are a few reasons. First of all, the grenades flying around my living room resemble holiday cheer. I can't get everything done, everyone is sick or hurt, we have been attending parties and shows galore.

Last night was a particular treat. The Skyline Ranch First Grade put on an evening of singing and dancing and even a little dancing. Jack had this crazy muscle ache yesterday morning that was so severe he ended up in the ER. Once they got him hydrated and x-rayed and medicated he felt much better and so even though he hadn't attended school that day he was dying to go do his special part in the Christmas show. Actually, in the name of accuracy this was not a Christmas show. It was a Winter Festival or a Holiday Play or something like that. They would never dare say the word Christmas at the Christmas show. Can you imagine how offensive that would be? Almost as offensive as the flyer they sent home in every child's backpack from a local church which invited all the children and their families to attend a class where they would teach all about the Mormons and why we are not really Christians. Classy. The bad news is I have definitely gained a reputation for myself as a woman who should not be messed with. The good news is every child and their families will be invited to come visit the Temple and learn about Mormons straight from the source if they are so inclined. A perfect ending if you ask me.

Of course yesterday when we arrived for the Holiday show, Jack was informed that since he had been absent that schoolday, he would be prohibited from participating in the show. I make it a priority to not be a helicopter mom, solving all of my kid's problems and fighting all of their fights, but I had listened to Jack practice those songs all day long and I watched as his excitement grew all day long and by the time we were getting in the car he was telling us that maybe all he wants to do with his life is sing and dance for people. From one of the most bashful kids I have ever known, this was a nice surprise. Imagine my dismay when he comes trotting into the audience totally deflated. "They said I can't be in it."

I was all over that one. Every mom has to go into helicopter mode every now and then and lets just say I tend to resemble an Apache Longbow Attack Helicopter. Suffice it to say that Jack did perform his part which consisted of walking on stage, pretending to bite a cookie and then rubbing his tummy. Aside from an obvious and giant case of stage fright which almost took down "cookie boy #5" He pulled it off. During the entire rest of the show he seemed to never have even heard the songs and he would do every dance move inasmuch as he didn't have to remove his elbows from his sides. It was a subdued performance. Except for my personal favorite part, when he snuck a few boogers because he thought no one was looking. The crowded auditorium and plethora of cameras rolling was no deterrent. So I'm not applying for the Screen Actors Guild for him just yet. First we will work on the proper disposal of bodily mucosa.

The trials of learning English and politics

2010-12-03T14:26:00.006-07:00

Ham has been expanding his vocabulary by leaps and bounds. Everyday is a slew of new words and we just delight in seeing how smart he is and how hard he is trying to express himself. You can see him practice words and sounds and teach his little lips to form the words he is thinking of. Here is a hilarious conversation we had last night at bed time: (don't call CPS on me. I swear he has never been exposed to incest, violence, or sexual crime of any sort.)

Ham: I want to rape you, please.

Me: No, I don't understand what you are trying to say, but its not that. What do you mean?

Ham: I want to rrrraaaape yoooou. (impatiently now)

Me: You want to read to me maybe?

Ham: No, mommy. I want to rape you.

I changed the topic. It was funny but disturbing.

But then a little bit later he saw all of the chihuahuas laying on me and it went like this:

Ham: Look! The dogs are raping you!

Me: Ham, you gotta stop saying that, Baby. What are you trying to say?

Ham: The dogs! They are raping you. I want them to rape on Ham.

Me: Sleep? The dogs are sleeping on me?

Ham: Yeah. They are raping on you. Uhh.. The dogs are reeeping on you.

I could see his mouth trying to say it like me. The best he could get out was reeeping. I was far more comfortable with my two year old using that word. By the next day he had the word sleep down pat and with any luck I will never hear the word rape out of that sweet little mouth again.

I can't lie and say there is no domestic violence around here. Every day there are punches thrown and injuries inflicted. This happens between Ham and Jack (or even more commonly, a Gartner child).

Yesterday Abe walked up and bit Jack on the back for no apparent reason. We gave him a stern "NO!" and recited the household biting policy "We don't bite people in this family."

Jack is at an age where he is very interested in fairness. He wants to see the same punishments handed out for the same crimes etc. and lets just say that when it comes to giving Abe consequences, he's a hangin' judge. "If I bit Abe, you would send me to my room forever and put vinegar in my mouth. You are not going to do anything to him!? Send him to his room and spank his butt!" He was indignant.

He made a good point and I am always inclined to listen and reward kids when they attempt to form rational arguments, rather than just throwing a tantrum. "Jack. Why do you want Abe to have a consequence? Is it because it will feel good to get revenge on your brother for biting?

The kid is not dumb and apparently he has been listening to my lectures when I discipline him because he said "No. because next time he wants to bite me he wont because he's afraid to get sent to his room for alone time."

"So do you see why we send you to your room? Do you see that we are trying to help you to be a good person?" There was no way I was letting this little lesson slip past.

"Okay. I see it. Give him his punishment!"

I hauled Ham upstairs to his room and told him he could come out when I felt like I could trust him around people. He cried and beat on the door but eventually figured out the point "Let Ham out! Ham sweet! Ham calm! Ham sowwy!"

I let him out and asked him if he knew why he was in there. He told me that it was because he bit Jack. I added that biting hurts and no one wants to be bit. yada yada yada.

So we went downstairs to have him apologize to Jack "Ham sowwy."

"And are you ever going to bite your brother again?"

And then in what I can only describe as an Eyore tone (depressed donkey from Winnie the Pooh) he says "No. Ham no bite. Ham just pinch." I could tell that he honestly thought that was the answer I was fishing for.

"No! We don't pinch in this family either! Oh whatever. I give up. go play outside and keep your hands and your mouths to yourselves."

Today we also had a funny conversation with Jack. John had offered to pay him a couple of dollars for some extra chores. He worked on them for maybe two minutes before coming to tell us that he quits but he still wanted to get paid. He argued that he had tried it and he didn't like it so he was still owed the pay. No deal, dude. We explained that he was welcome to do the work and get paid and he was welcome to not do the work and not get paid. Those were the only two options.

So he did what he does best. Threw a big tantrum. "You owe me! You have to give me money! You are my parents! Its your job to give me stuff!".

This bratty entitled attitude was the wrong way to go. "Get up off of the floor. We are not raising you like this. You're acting like a Democrat."

You have never seen a six year old so deeply offended by an offhand parental criticism. He has lived long enough to know that in this house, that is not a compliment. "I am not a Democrat! Mom called me a Democrat! Take it back! I'm not a Democrat!"

"Honey, of course you are not a Democrat. You are not old enough to affiliate with any political party and that will be your choice when you are an adult. I said you are acting like a Democrat. And you are. You are acting like a liberal Democrat. Get up and go work or quit and be quiet."

Lets just say that calling Jack the L-word was more offensive to him than the D-word. The tantrum continued. John and I were biting our lips trying not to burst out laughing at how right wing biased we have trained this child to be already. His horror at being called a liberal democrat is hilarious and heart-warming.

Then John made him sit down for a long talk with illustrations about the difference between a liberal and a conservative. It was very grasshopper-and-the-ant-ish. The conservative works hard and makes money and the liberal refuses to work and demands that he gets paid anyway, so the government takes money away from the hard working man and gives it to the lazy man. "Is that fair, Jack?" I was actually really impressed with John's kid appropriate presentation. Then we started lecturing about the fine line between plunder and taxes. "Just because its legal doesn't make it moral."

I recently read the Frederic Bastiat classic The Law so I was all ready to go on and on. two minutes into my political lecture he turned on his heel and declared as he walked out "I get it. I'm going to go work."

I told John to withhold a portion of Jack's pay against his will and give it to Abe because Abe didn't have a job. We won't take our object lesson that far this time but its tempting. Every day when I pray I just say "God, I know I will never be a perfect mother but please just help me to not totally screw these kids up." So far, so good I hope.

New Thanksgiving Tradition

2010-11-26T09:54:00.002-07:00

This year we broke out of our usual Thanksgiving mode and started a few new traditions that I hope to keep going every year. Instead of a big formal turkey dinner, it was all about the pies. Everyone brought their own favorites (Village Inn made big money on us) and we had turkey sandwiches. See, I have a theory about Thanksgiving. The reason we don't eat stuffing and turkey and cranberry sauce etc. the rest of the year is simple: We don't like it that much. Think about it. If it were that good, we would eat it at other times during the year. its not like any of it is hard to make or super expensive or something... just mediocre. Except the pies of course. So we had French Silks and Lemon Meringues and pumpkins and apple and cherry pies. It was truly fantastic. Cheryl made her famous homemade rolls for the sandwiches to be made with and I brined and baked a turkey the day before for meat. Everyone went to the movies beforehand and then we all met here at my house afterwards for the most hassle-free Thanksgiving gathering in history.

2010-11-08T17:42:00.002-07:00

I went in for the follow up with my endocrinologist today and we made a game plan and I got a little more info. basically, there are two reasons a person would have the kind of elevated prolactin I have. The most common is a small tumor on the pituitary gland. the less common reason would be a side effect of some specific drug that I have never heard of or had so that can be ruled out. Which brings us back to the brain tumor. It sounds scary, but it really isn't. Were talking about a few extra cells pushing on my pituitary gland just enough to make it crank out a little too much of this or that. Often they are too small to be seen on MRIs or CT scans and since we can pretty much assume it is there by process of elimination, the scans are really just for confirmation and to make sure that theres not something bigger than they suspect, but based on all of my blood work levels, its probably just a little teeny tiny benign thing that can be dissolved with medication. Also, the doctor started me on meds to counteract the excessive prolactin immediately so it may all work it self out. One sucky thing about the recent blood work is that my anemia is back. lame. I just spent months getting biweekly IV treatments of Iron and my blood count was back up and I was feeling fab. The Hematologist said that it was likely that once my body got back on top of things that I may never need treatments like that again, or possibly every year or two. I didn't expect my blood count to plummet this quickly. Don't worry, I'm all over it. Following up with the Hematologist and having a Endoscopy with the GI this week to be sure I'm not bleeding from ulcers and losing blood some crazy way like that. I suspect that it all just comes back to my body's stubborn refusal to absorb what it should through my gut. or that pesky brain tumor..who knows?

The whole brain tumor thing really is no big deal, but I feel compelled to milk it for all its worth, because really, who wouldn't? "Honey can you do the dishes? I have a brain tumor." I'm already planning on "sorry I need a sub to teach primary this week, its just that my brain tumor is really bumming me out." or how about "Foot long subs aren't five dollars until after four o'clock, and it is only three thirty? I'd be better able to deal with that disappointment if I hadn't just found out that I have a brain tumor today." or "kids, just go to bed a half hour early. Mommy has a headache and a brain tumor, so no fussing, k?" The options are limitless, really. In fact, I'm already mourning the day that they tell me my brain tumor is gone. It's already like my little pet that gets me out of volunteering in nursery and gives me an excuse to be absent from anything. Maybe I shouldn't reveal too much on the blog here, but get ready for some serious milking. I might even start doing things purposely odd, like wearing my bra on the outside of my clothes or speaking with a british accent, just to freak people out. I am willing to bet that there are some delicious relief society meals in it for me.

I already got a day of free childcare out of Cheryl today (as if she needs a tumor to serve someone) and I've got John offering all kinds of housework and foot-rubs. (incidentally, he does need a tumor to serve)

So, just like everything else in mortality, its all going to be okay, its just going to be a huge pain in the ass between now and then. They really should put that in the scriptures somewhere, because, really, doesn't it just sum up life.Here's D&C 122. pretty much my favorite scripture ever:

7 And if thou shouldst be cast into the ^apit, or into the hands of murderers, and the sentence of death passed upon thee; if thou be cast into the ^bdeep; if the billowing surge conspire against thee; if fierce winds become thine enemy; if the heavens gather blackness, and all the elements combine to ^chedge up the way; and above all, if the very jaws of ^dhell shall gape open the mouth wide after thee, know thou, my son, that all these things shall give thee ^eexperience, and shall be for thy good.

8 The ^aSon of Man hath ^bdescended below them all. Art thou greater than he?

and then something in verse none that I somehow missed before: Thy ^ddays are known, and thy years shall not be numbered less; therefore, ^efear not what man can do, for God shall be with you forever and ever.

Really, what else do we need to know in times of trial? My days are known and my years shall not be numbered less.

Crappy Day

2010-11-05T17:39:00.003-07:00

As part of my ongoing, seemingly endless health drama, I recently had a bunch of bloodwork done because even though I have improved overall, I still have a lot of weird symptoms. So the bloodwork came back with a lot of my "fancy hormones" at odd levels, but in particular a hormone called prolactin was so high it was off the charts. Like the normal range is between 10 and 20 or something like that and I was at like 72. My doctor referred me to a really specialized endocrinologist and ordered the same panel of blood work be done again to double check that the high result wasn't a lab error. The second set of tests came back with my prolactin in the normal range. So which one is the lab error? Of course the only thing to do is go back and do all of the bloodwork a third time. The results came back today and the stupid prolactin is off the charts high again. The normal one was the incorrect one. Not great news. The endocrinologist says that the most common reason for elevated prolactin is a brain tumor on the pituitary gland. They are sending me in for MRIs and all kinds of testing and it will basically be a process of elimination to determine why all of my hormones are so out of whack and then when they know more about what is causing it they can start figuring out how to treat it.

I spent a little bit of time googling it today and within about five minutes decided I'm not going to do that anymore. I'm sure everything will be fine and I really think my Endocrinologist is competent and it will all most likely turn out to be nothing big, but it was still not the kind of news I was hoping for.

Also today I found out some heartbreaking news about a close friend who is facing a lot of personal adversity and then right after that Jack came home from school having crapped his pants yet again. I wanted to just sit down and watch tv but the remote is totally missing. I figured I would read some blogs and veg out but discovered that my computer is totally broken. another nice surprise. I decided it would be theraputic to blog my crappy day so I borrowed Kristen's computer and that brings you to where I am now. Eating hot fresh buttery rolls and parmesan crusted shrimp and bitching to whoever will listen about my problems. Yes, the rolls and shrimp are almost good enough to counteract the depessing news of a possible brain tumor. Of course, if my mother is reading this I'm sure she will point out that refined white flour and butter are the very root of all health ailments but all I have to say is bon appetite. Carbs are all I got between sanity and total breakdown.

Heartwarming Milestone: Abe's First Joke

2010-10-21T07:48:00.005-07:00

I used to post pictures on here but then I got this new stupid computer that I can't for the life of me figure out how to download pictures from my camera. Not to mention that my camera requires the user to have an IQ higher than mine. Everyone always raves about Mac computers, but I spend my whole time on the verge of screaming "JUST LET ME RIGHT CLICK." The transition from PC to Mac has been rough and I don't know if I will ever post pictures again. So, If you want to hear about what the Kramers have been up to, you'll most likely have to use your imagination or else come on over and hang out with us. If you go the imagination route, please picture me with muscular, yet feminine arms, thick hair and no freckles. If you come over, bring a bag of chips or something and avert your eyes from my flabby arms.

This morning I was asking the boys what they want for breakfast. Jack requested a bowl of Cocoa Krispies. Chocolate flavored cereals, or actually any super sugary cereal are a real problem around here. Jack and John are totally incapable of moderation when it comes to consuming them. Jack will demand Cocoa Krispies for breakfast lunch and dinner and snacks if they are in the house. If he is denied then it is guaranteed that a fit will ensue followed by hours of begging and obsessing. Usually I just make it a point to not buy the cereals I know are going to start a fight, and it solves the problem. He will eat healthy and well balanced meals. The problem is that Kristen who I like to call Queen of the Coupon, recently bought an entire pantry full of cereals that are off limits on the Kramer side of the communal living commune.

Kristen is my sister and my best friend and we live next door to each other and tore down the wall between the two backyards. The kids roam freely between the two households and it is the perfect set up. We can watch each other's kids all the time. There's always someone fun to talk to, and we usually take turns cooking meals and share everything. Actually, I can't imagine not living next to my sister. How does everyone else in the world get a shower?

Sometimes the commune concept has snags though. like when Kristen, Queen of Coupons, figured out how to ad match cereal to a price that is equal to a coupon she found. One week she ended up with probably 70 boxes of cereal for a few dollars. Of course, they were all sugar cereals so now my kids look at my offering of Cheerios, Bran Flakes, or Special K and then high tail it next door.

This week I made a deal with Jack that he could have one box of Cocoa Crispies from the Gartner's stash but only one bowl a day. I thought that they would be gone soon and that John would come in one day and save the day by eating the whole box in one setting and it would be over. Instead these Cocoa Crispies are like that story in the Bible where the woman gives her last bit of meal and oil to the stranger who turned out to be a prophet of God and after that, her barrel of meal and her jug of oil were never empty again. There was always just one more loaf of bread to be made. She never ran out. I don't know who Jack ever served this to, but I swear there is something supernatural going on here. The Cocoa Crispies NEVER run out. For me it isn't a blessing, it's a curse.

So this morning, Jack asked for his usual. When he said "Cocoa Crispies" Ham laughed and pointed and said in his two year old pronunciation Go Go Pee Pee, CO CO CISPEE. It kind of reminded me of a yo mamma joke without the yo mamma. He said it in this taunting, sarcastic way that was obviously to trash talk Jack. Abe and I laughed and laughed. I thought it was pretty good that he came up with the rhyme and the attitude. Jack was less entertained. He countered with the age old "me Chinese, me play joke, me go pee pee in your coke" of course, with his hands pulling his eyes back into his best asian impression. He didn't get why Ham's joke was a home run and his was a bomb. I'll admit that in my childhood I said this same rhyme and thought it was hilarious but this time I gave him a good long talking to about racism and sensitivity. Of course, he repeated the joke about four hundred times in the days that followed. I swear these boys are turning into adults before my very eyes. Its almost disturbing. Almost. Mostly it's just hilarious.

Timing is Everything

2010-10-08T08:48:00.002-07:00

So Yesterday I had a strange experience. Actually a string of experiences that were all a huge pain in the butt but from which I learned a lot. I've been having a lot of that lately in my life. So, It was time to grocery shop because I was out of everything. John and Jack went away for the week to the beach in California for an air show and I enjoyed a glorious staycation here with Abe. It truly was glorious. I did whatever I wanted and If I didn't feel like doing it, I just didn't. Abe and I are the two members of this household who enjoy that approach so it was a truly restful week. But, grocery shopping is just not something I felt like doing while staycationing, so our cupboards were bare. John had the day off so I got to go to the store all by myself. Also it was payday and I had done a bunch of research on ad-matching and clipped coupons etc. and was ready to recharge my food storage. I like shopping with a friend so I called Kara Sly and asked her to tag along because I knew she was due for a shopping trip too. She wanted to come but was getting her kids down for naps, and jumping in the shower etc. so she said she'd head over and call me when she got there to see if I was still shopping.

One hour later, I had a couple of hundred bucks of food packed into a cart. The bottom was all packed, it was overflowing, and every nook and cranny was filled. Most of it was frozen or refrigerated stuff so I was trying to hurry so it would all stay cold. Of course when I wanted to check out, Every other human being in the store had the same idea and the lines were four or five carts deep.

While we are talking about the checkout lines at Walmart, I just want to know, Why do they even bother building all of those lanes if they have no intention of ever using them all at the same time? I have been there on Christmas Eve with hundreds of shoppers milling around in snaking lines to check out and still I have never seen even fifty percent of the lanes lit up at the same time. I want to stand on my cart and yell, "ATTENTION WAL MART EMPLOYEES, THIS IS NOT A DRILL! THESE ARE ACTUAL PEOPLE TRYING TO GIVE THEIR MONEY TO WAL MART. ALL HANDS ON DECK! OPEN ALL THE LANES!" Of course I would never do this especially since I have found that one's friendliness level is directly proportionate with the level of cooperation one receives in attempting to use Walmart's ad-matching policy liberally.

I have an uncle who claims that his cars are magnetically attracted to uninsured Indians. I feel this way about my shopping cart and customers paying with multiple forms of government assistance and using expired coupons and writing checks and haggling over every item. I also tend to get the check out lady who is brand new and has been abandoned without any training or help. All of these things were true yesterday and by the time I got all my stuff rang up I was dying to get out the door. Thats also when Kara called saying that she had just arrived. I told her it was too late, I was already checking out. We'd have to do something else together soon. peace, out.

Then I swiped my card and it was DECLINED! This has never happened to me and I was mortified! The lady tried running my card again but it declined again. At this point Karma kicked in hard and the people behind me in line who had all of their frozen goods on the belt were shooting me daggers with their eyes. I had become exactly what I loathe. The problem is I had literally no other way to pay. I could call John but by the time he could get their with cash or a credit card, it would be at least twenty minutes. So the check out clerk was trying to do that trick where they suspend your transaction and let you step aside and check other people out while you figure out your dilemma but something was malfunctioning and they couldn't get it to do that. Then I remembered Kara! It was a miracle. I got her on the first ring "Emergency at aisle 5! RUN!" She appeared within seconds with her fully functioning debit card and saved the day. I have never felt such relief. Plus, I happened to loan Kara a couple of hundred dollars a few days previous and the total of my groceries was almost exactly what she owed me and was going to pay back that day anyway. Turns out Karma doesn't hate me as much as she likes to screw with me every now and then.

You would think that this is the end of the story about timing saving the day but it is actually only the beginning. I got out to the parking lot and was madly filling my minivan with bags when I saw a woman who was holding a tiny baby (maybe two months old) in one arm and had a huge armload of groceries in the other arm. She was then attempting to make a phone call on a phone that was not working. She was pacing around trying to get a signal and it was like a million degrees outside. I asked her if she needed help. She told me her phone wasn't working and asked if she could use my cell phone to make a call. Sure. Then she made the call but she was obviously calling really obscure acquaintances asking them to track down other people to try and track down a ride. I stopped her. "I can give you a ride." She was elated. I even had unused baby car seats installed and ready to go. I was glad to help. We got all loaded up and headed to her house and she told me her story. She just moved here from California and doesn't know a single person here. She has two little kids and she had to go to the grocery store that day because they were totally out of food and she had no choice but to walk carrying the baby. She hadn't realized how far it really was and she really didn't know how hot it would be. The further we drove to get her home the more concerned I became. She had walked for miles and was planning on walking back those miles carrying the groceries. No stroller, no help. She was so grateful for my help. She thanked me and thanked me. I told her that I'd like to exchange phone numbers and I could give her a ride to the store next time she needed it. She was elated. I told her that I could bring her to church and there would be hundreds of fabulous women with similar minivans who would like nothing more than to be friends with her and give her whatever help she needed. We also do playgroups and crafts and have an entire organization devoted to getting your family everything you need. She wants to come to church right away and I am sending the missionaries to her house. It felt so nice to help someone in need and it gave me a good opportunity to count my blessings and to be glad that I didn't have to walk anywhere or even pay for my own groceries. My life is so damn abundant. There really isn't any other way to put it. Abundant with friends, sweet minivans, beautiful healthy children, and a world wide church that is set up so that I could move anywhere on the planet and have an instant network of sincere friends and trusted social programs. Driving that woman home was nothing more than a five minute drive to me but to her it was a big deal.

John pointed out that she could have been a serial killer and I guess thats true but the baby put the odds in her favor of being non-homicidal. I was actually the more dangerous person involved as it did cross my mind to steal her baby. I have been baby hungry like nobody's business and I want a girl so bad. This was one of those perfect little hispanic babies with huge brown eyes and a hairdo that could be mistaken for a wig. Her mom let me take her out of the seat and she just cooed and smiled at me. She had velvety thigh rolls and smelled like baby powder. Yes, I was definitely the only one who considered committing a felony by driving away with that baby and never looking back. Instead I carried her into the house and gave her back to her very grateful mother.

I drove home thinking of how glad I was that a freak banking error had delayed me just to the right moment that I could help someone in need. It felt good to serve and it really was worth the mortification of debit card denial.

Tonsillectomy: part III

2010-09-18T07:32:00.005-07:00

I'm posting this from the seventh floor of Banner Cardon Children's Medical Canter. Abe had his surgery yesterday and it went really well. He is already breathing so much better. He can sleep with his mouth closed and he says he can hear better.

He is in a lot of pain. He's just a little too young to understand that the yucky tasting liquid is what makes him feel better. Especially when it hurts so bad to swallow. The pain medicine is problematic. He can have it every four hours, but it only works for three. When the three hour mark hits, its like flipping a switch. He goes from being totally content to writhing in pain, screaming and tearing at his throat. Then of course he is in no mood to swallow anything, especially not horrible tasting Lortab, so he freaks out and ends up spitting most of it out and there's no way of measuring how much he actually got so they can't give him more for four hours even though there's more medicine on the towel than in his mouth. This sends me into what I can only call a Mama Bear Rampage that has definitely been a source of nurse's station gossip. Lets just say they approach me with caution. I have found that the great thing about hospital nurses is that you get a totally new set every ten hours and the new set never knows what kind of fit I threw to the last set. In all honesty they have been fabulous. We are just really ready to go home. Hopefully the doctor will come clear us soon.

This whole hospital drama has been interesting. I didn't know an experience could be simultaneously so stressful and so boring. I'm sleep deprived and in need of a shower, but mostly I'm just glad to have this surgery done and Ham on the mend.

He has been working it with the nurses and staff. Everyone adores him and he has definitely been batting his lashes for attention. Yesterday before surgery I overheard a funny conversation. They didn't know I could hear them. One nurse came into the hall with a big stuffed dinosaur and told the other nurse that she didn't know what to do because she only had one stuffed animal left and she couldn't decide which kid to give it to. The other nurse said, "Give it to that super cute one." She agreed and then walked in and gave it to Abe.

Our room is in the pediatric oncology ward. This provides a healthy reality check if I get to feeling sorry for Abe. The other kids on this floor are undergoing chemotherapy and recovering from transplants etc. I met a woman in the cafeteria this morning who's child has a raging case of meningitis and may not survive. This makes me so thankful for my healthy children. Words can't express my gratitude. This is what I think about during the fourth hour while we are waiting for pain meds.

Never Without a Crisis

2010-09-14T08:30:00.003-07:00

Ham has had a snotty nose for what feels like forever. He has always been a heavy mouth breather which has earned him the nickname Darth Vader, which he loves. I don't like to use antibiotics, but I was finally worn down and decided to take him in to the doctor. I have always assumed that he will need his tonsils out at some point. Our family doctor didn't have any available appointments so I made an apt. with the Ear Nose and Throat Doctor that did Jack and John's surgery earlier this year. I kept trying to talk myself out of the appointment because he's really not sick sick, and I wondered if I was over-reacting by taking him to a specialist right off the bat. I decided to go anyway. Better safe than sorry.

When we got in to see the doctor I explained that he has had a runny nose and I just need a scrip for antibiotics. I reminded him about Jack and John and then asked him at what age he would consider doing a tonsillectomy. He said that he is way to young to consider it. He apologized and insisted that a kid has to be at least three before surgery or else it is just too risky. I was like, "Hey no biggie. we're just here for antibiotics anyway. We'll come back for a tonsil checkup in the next few years."

Then the Doctor looked into Abe's throat. He burst out laughing. He said "I'm going to now completely contradict myself and tell you that this kid has to have his tonsils and adenoids out immediately. Lets call the hospital and get their next opening right now. I have never seen a case so bad in a kid this young in my entire career. This can NOT wait until he is three."

By the time we finished the exam we learned the following things:

Abe has two raging ear infections, needs tubes in both ears and has probably been in major pain for a long time. He probably has significant hearing loss and most likely hears everything like he's underwater. The doctor was surprised that he doesn't have delayed speech.

Abe's adenoids and sinuses are so inflamed that he has no airflow in his nose at all and his airflow is so restricted by his tonsils that its like breathing through a little straw. He probably hasn't slept for a solid chunk of time for a long time because of airway restriction. Major obstructive sleep apnea.

The reason he is so drool-y is because swallowing is super painful and he would rather let the saliva drip out than swallow unnecessarily.

We're having the surgery at Banner Desert on Friday morning and he has to stay in the hospital afterwards because of his age and the risk involved with operating on such a young kid. It won't be a simple out-patient thing like Jack had, but a minimum of two days and one night in the hospital. It will be a super painful recovery but will restore his breathing and hearing and save him from a life time of chronic infection. I told Ham about what we have to do and told him he won't sound like a Sith Lord anymore. Now he can be Han Solo. He wants to still be Darth Vader because he wants to wield a light saber. He told me this emphatically with hand gestures showing me Darth Vader's mask over his mouth and then lots of sword motions with his arm and light saber noises. I told him he could be Luke Skywalker and keep the light saber. He was satisfied so surgery is on for Friday He has no concept of what it means to be at a hospital across town by five in the morning. Frankly, neither do I. I am very anxious about the whole thing but more than anything I'm glad that there is a solution to this problem. I was freaking out about the whole thing and then stopped myself and said a prayer of gratitude for the blessing of modern medicine and competent doctors and mommy intuition.

I feel so bad for him to know he's been hurting without complaining at all. I didn't even know he had an ear infection or a sore throat. Poor little guy. I'm so glad I took him in now. I realize now that I was more prompted than paranoid.

They put him on strong antibiotics to knock down some of the infection before surgery. The anesthesia is less risky if he is clear. The problem is I can never get this kid to take medicine of any kind. Its always a wrestling match. Jack has always been the same way so I was prepared to negotiate when I gave him his first dose last night. We had finished reading books for the night and he wanted to read one more so I told him that if he would eat this delicious liquid candy then I would read one more book. We made a deal but then of course ended up having to hold him down on the bed and funnel it in to his mouth with a syringe while he tried to spit it out. It got all over the place and was a major fight before I was satisfied that he got enough consumed. Then he walked over and handed me the unread book. "Read Book now."

I said "I don't know, Ham. You didn't really keep your end of the bargain. You made it really hard and you tried to spit it out. That wasn't in the deal." Without missing a beat he looked me in the eye, pointed to the empty syringe and stated "Not candy."

I read the book. It is simultaneously heartwarming and disturbing to lose an argument to my two year old.

In other Kramer Family Crisis news... I wrecked both of our cars at the same time. Yes, thats right, both of 'em. I backed out of the garage in the van and John's car was in my blind spot and I completely dented up the sides of both vehicles, ripping the rear view mirror off of the Focus. Not my finest moment. Of course the repair cost is not much more than the deductible so insurance will help but not much, and either way our policy doesn't contain anything that will make me feel like less of an idiot. I had the entire family in the car plus a couple of neighbor kids so there was no escaping my shame. I'm so mad at myself about it. I have to remember my gratitude... No one was hurt and the cars are still driveable, just a little trashy looking now. Oh well. Life goes on. Hopefully we have met our monthly quota of drama for the month and it will be smooth sailing for a while. We just have to get through Abraham's surgery and we're golden. I'll keep ya posted.

Raising my presidents

2010-09-13T04:50:00.002-07:00

This may be a little early to announce but I think I can safely say that Abraham speaks English. This year has been full of learning for him and its like his communication skills have just exploded. A few things Ham has come to appreciate in recent days:

Gravity. I swear he is all of a sudden more coordinated and has far fewer unintended run ins with the surface of Earth. He is still crazy active but seems more coordinated too so thats always good.

Ham has learned the power of the potty. I won't go so far as to call him trained, but he definitely has a healthy respect for big boy underwear and pee pee prizes. He is still reaching for the brass ring of the poo poo prize. We are so close.

Ham is just fun to be around. He will eat anything he is fed, even raw vegetables and food storage creations. Incidentally, he loves a good nap, and is pretty much happy tagging along with me wherever I go. He's smart too. He knows his colors and sounds, he can trash the house in the time it takes for one adult to shower. He loves to go to Church and Shopping. Especially Sam's Club (Which he honestly believes is called Ham's Club) It is his personal store. Just ask him. He walks in with his chest out pointing to himself with both hands "Hams's Club." He's not the least bit surprised when he is offered free food at every corner. It is after all, his club. If we can harness his curiosity, creativity, and ingenuity, don't be surprised if you really are spending forty bucks a year to shop at his store in about 30 years. Jack likes to tell about how Abe will be president of the United States because he's named after a president. This is about the time we dropped the JFK news on our John "Jack" Fredrick Kramer. He too has a name that puts him in the running to be a president. Incidentally, he promises that he won't let himself get shot and he won't be a democrat either. I was vaguely aware that we gave our boys presidential names, but didn't realize we picked presidents who met violent ends. Leave it to Jack to figure that out.

Jack is so much fun for me right now. He comes up with the funniest stuff. Yesterday he asked me what it is called when there are two dots in a sentence, one on top of the other? I responded, "a colon?" He was totally exasperated. "no, mom." me: sorry, I thought you were talking about a device used in a sentence to make lists called a colon. What were you talking about?" {big annoyed sigh...} It is a colon, mom. You're not supposed to answer the question. You're supposed to say 'I don't know' and then let me tell you about the colon and then you're supposed to be so amazed that I know what a colon is and say how smart I am. To which I responded, "I was supposed to pretend I didn't know? I was supposed to hide my own smartness to highlight yours?what about me? Who is gonna tell me I'm smart when I know what a colon is?" "Uhhh... call grandma. She'll tell you you're smart." So the circle of life continues. I have agreed to let Jack answer his own questions and have agreed to seek my own self esteem from my own mom. That works, I guess. Mom, this is your cue to leave a comment telling me how great I am. I know you'll come through for me. Next time I see you remind me to tell you all about the magical world of punctuation.Please pretend to be dazzled.

We went to the public pool for the last time this summer. I'm glad it is cooling off, but I will miss that awesome pool. I discovered it a little late in the season so we only went a few times but its the best $.75 you can spend when its 110 degrees out. Jack mastered the low diving board and Ham and I spent hours in the lazy river. I keep Ham in a padded swimsuit. You know those ones that have big foam inserts on the chest and back. They look a little ridiculous, but they make it totally impossible for a kid to go under. Our particular suit is not technically coast guard approved like a life vest but I like that it gives sun protection too.

Speaking of fabulous swimsuits, I also got a new tankini top that I love. Its the first swimsuit I have ever found that actually has a sized built in bra so it really gives support. Not like a stupid soft cup shelf bra, or a typical swimsuit half bra, but a full built in, choose your real cup and band built in bra. Plus a smoothing liner inside. The only swimsuit that I have ever felt publicly presentable in. So I was waiting to get into the lazy river with Ham and I had just told my friend Kara about my new swimsuit and the lifeguard stopped us. The following exchange took place:

lifeguard: "oh, sorry, we don't allow padded swimsuits like that."

me: flustered and embarrassed and annoyed "What in the world are you talking about? Its not padded! Its just really really supportive!"

lifeguard: "Yes, it is obviously padded but its just not coast guard approved. I'll let it go this time but next time put him in trunks and they will give you a life vest rental for free at the office."

Oh. Abe's swimsuit. yeah. I knew that. I'm not an idiot. did I mention that I know exactly what a colon is and how to use it? I'm smart. I swear. right, mom?

Insomnia and the Microwave

2010-09-08T05:43:00.001-07:00

It is three in the morning and I am wide awake. As a confirmed insomniac, I knew getting up and getting something done would be far less torturous than laying in bed wide awake mentally listing things I should get done. Blogging was the least noisy thing I could think of and the chihuahuas thought they had died and gone to heaven when they saw me coming down the stairs wrapped in a down comforter. Then I microwaved a DiGiorno Chicken Bacon Ranch Flatbread Melt and they pretty much lost their little walnut sized brains over the whole experience. Lap Dog Nirvana.

Speaking of Digiorno Chicken Bacon Ranch Flatbread Melts, they are my new food obsession. If you haven't tried one yet, I recommend that you never do because its like crack. Be smart. Don't start. I must say that one of the advantages of my mystery illness that made me drop sixty pounds inexplicably, is that I can consume insane amounts of calories at any time of day and feel like I'm doing something good for my body. I have gained 15 pounds back and been feeling much better and I'm sure that at some point I will feel compelled to curb my caloric intake but for now the microwave is my best electronic friend.

Speaking of my microwave, I just discovered many of its previously unknown talents. I was standing there waiting for my flatbread to melt and since I really had nothing else more pressing at three AM, I decided to be useful and change the little lightbulb that had burned out on the underside. I swear that bulb burns out weekly. Then I noticed that there is a feature where you can program it to turn on and off every day at a set time so I followed the annoyingly slow scrolling instructions and set the night light timer. Then I realized that you can program the scrolling instructions to scroll faster so I did that. Then I saw the help button, so what the hell... let's see what help this appliance offers. Turns out you can tell the microwave exactly what you are cooking and it will magically sense how long it needs to cook for. Genius. Queso dip? warmed to perfection. Ramen Noodle Soup? I'll never use the stovetop again. Frozen leftover lasagna? a no brainer. I almost feel guilty that I have owned this thing for four years and never even knew it's skills. It is now also set to remind me when it is time to pick the kids up from school and it promises to use it's quieter less irritating beep to do so. Years from now when Jack has children of his own and he realizes what a pain in the neck it is to leave the house at just the right moment so as to avoid the hellish elementary school traffic jam but to also avoid losing a child to heat stroke, and he thanks me for being so lovingly diligent on my carpool day, I will give full credit to the microwave development department of General Electric and then celebrate the moment of parenting success with a bag of popcorn that has no un-popped kernels but is not scorched at all.

Okay, now it is four am. I'm doing pretty good with this whole time killing thing. Feel free to quit reading at any time. I'm sure the rest of this post will be far less scintillating than my love affair with the microwave. Although before you abandon me completely, please take a moment to push the help button on your own Spacesaver 3000, because heaven knows, we could all use some help anywhere we can get it.

Speaking of help and parenting success, I have been reading every parenting book I can get my hands on lately. Like most moms I'm just figuring it out as I go along and mostly raising these children with the good old method of trial and error. Of course, just when I get something figured out, the child grows up out of that phase and then the next child is so completely different that whatever I learned the first time around is totally useless. I was recently reading a book called Nurture by Nature where it uses the Myers Briggs personality types to help you figure out how to parent each individual child based on their unique personality needs. I have always been a big fan of personality tests. If you are not familiar with it, google it. Or ask your microwave. I'm pretty sure mine completes full psychological inventories. Basically, everyone is one of 16 types. Some combination of the letters ENFP or ISTJ. When you do the test and then read your profile, its almost creepy how well they know you. Like they have been spying on you or reading your diary or interrogating your microwave (okay, I swear I will let the microwave thing go now). I am an ENFP Jack is an ISFJ. This of course makes him almost exactly opposite of me. Ham is still too young to really accurately peg but I guarantee he is much closer to me than Jack is. Its been a huge eye-opener to recognize the different needs of different members of the family. For instance, I thrive on change. If a routine develops, I go out of my way to change things up because to me consistency is boring and I instinctively dismantle structure. The problem is that ISFJs of course thrive on structure and consistency. This would also be a good time to mention that I married an ISTJ, who is my EXACT opposite. I had no idea I was going to end up with a house full of schedule loving, promise logging, variety-detesting people. When I look at the times that Jack has had a lot of melt-downs, its always a time when a lot of things are changing. Even good things. So here I am trying to be a super cool mom creating all kinds of fun new experiences and changing things up all of the time so that everyone's creativity can flow and no one has to be enslaved by repetitive monotony, and then I find out that certain people will probably stop pooping their pants and throwing tantrums in public if I just set a damn schedule and stick to it. So I have gritted my teeth and instituted some strict timelines and chore requirements and what do you know... everything is running much more smoothly. I didn't realize that when I say something like "Hey Jack, I'm going to let you stay up an extra hour tonight." or "I know I usually only let you get one thing at McDonalds but today you can have a Happy Meal!" What he is hearing is "Hey Jack, your whole world can crumble at any moment and you can't rely on any of your cherished rules, but I hope that Kid's Meal toy is worth all of our sanity!" Okay, Its not that bad, but you get the idea. I realized that I am doing him no favors by changing the rules. ever. Its just who he is. I have also realized that unless I am totally prepared to follow through on something, I can not even mention it. Statements such as "wow, the weather is cooling off. I bet we can start going to the park again soon." will inevitably result in the following harassment: "When are we going to the park? You said we were going to the park. Lets go to the park right now. Park. You promised. I want to go to the park. Its cool out, so were supposed to go to the park. When are we going to the park? We never go to the park even though you said we would go to the park. park. park. park." Then theres Abe who is like, "hey, screw the park. Lets just empty the toy box and play with the dogs and check out what the microwave can do at three AM, and by the way, that Happy Meal was the bomb." Okay, he doesn't actually use the English language to communicate all of that, but we are clearly on the same page.

It got me thinking about how life is all about picking your priorities. We can never make everyone happy all of the time and as a parent and spouse, we actually end up more satisfied when everyone else's preference gets met first. I find that most of the time my guiding parenting principle is the question "What will inflict the least amount of emotional damage?" And then I go with my gut. I figure that between that effort and a lot of time spent in prayer begging for the well being of my children, The odds are in my favor that these boys will grow up to be well adjusted adults who will eventually thank me for going against my grain and picking them up from school at exactly the same time each day.

I have read that human beings are hard-wired to blame their parents. For example, I had the happiest, most loving childhood known to human kind. My parents provided for me in every way and my mom in particular raised me with a sense of fun and faith and instilled in me a sense of self worth that is absolutely priceless. But when I think about my childhood, whats the most salient memory? I was enrolled in Weight Watchers at age 9. (Mom, if you're reading this, I SWEAR I am over it and I'm so sorry to have just posted that on the world wide web, but the good news is, you are the only one in the world who loves me enough to still be reading this post this far down, so technically, thats still just between you and me and the other fatties from 1986.)

As I mentioned earlier, Jack has had some bumps in the road with keeping his underwear skid free, much to my dismay. I have tried a number of different tactics to incentivize him in this matter. Prizes, rewards, beatings, you name it. Then the other day I noticed that it had been a while since he had been in the restroom so I urged him cheerfully to go in and do his business. The kid looked me in the eye and said, "What kind of prize am I gonna get for it?" To which I replied, "Jack, you are going to get the best prize of all. You are going to get a freaking sense of self respect and the knowledge that you are not a disgusting freak who is six years old and okay with the sensation of feces on your own ass." Yeah... Not my proudest parenting moment. Sometimes the ability to hit the nail on the head verbally is a skill I wish I didn't have. John overheard and he was unimpressed with my harshness as well. It was true but it was mean. These are the moments Jack is likely to blog about in thirty years.

My point is, I think we all do better with slightly imperfect upbringings. If we raised our kids perfectly and never had inappropriate moments, I'm not sure how prepared they would end up for real life. Thats what I keep telling myself anyway. I am so thankful for my family. it boggles my mind that I should be so blessed to even know these people. My parents, my siblings, my husband, my kids, my friends, my microwave. I am blessed.

Ham is a Big Boy, I am a Dork.

2010-07-16T09:32:00.004-07:00

Abraham seems to be growing up so fast that it blows my mind. Yesterday he made his own popcorn. He got into the pantry, got out the packet, pushed a chair up to the microwave, put the popcorn in and pushed the button. Then when he was sick of waiting (about 50% popped) he opened the bag, poured it into a big bowl and then proclaimed to the world that he is a "Big Boy" and went around offering popcorn to everyone saying "Ham do it." He carried that bowl of popcorn around all day long. He was so proud of himself. I have to say I was pretty proud of him too. As much as I wish he wouldn't get into the pantry and climb onto countertops, I am impressed with his skills at only two years old. Obviously we have modeled the microwave popcorn process pretty regularly. He had an unfortunate attempt to make chocolate milk this week that didn't go as well as the popcorn. Chocolate syrup is a pain to clean off of floors. He's naughty but he's smart. A lot of work but a lot of fun.

Potty training is not going as well as popcorn training. In Ham's defense, potty training is so much more about training mom than training baby. I went full force and then fizzled out. This is not an unfamiliar pattern for me, but instead of beating myself up about it I remind myself that even retarded kids eventually poop on the potty, so whatever. It will happen eventually. I actually prefer changing diapers to cleaning mattresses and shampooing carpet. Actually now that I think about it, I don't mind changing diapers at all. I probably should hate it, but I don't. Maybe I'm just hanging on to the baby that is left in my Big Boy.

As I have been typing this Abe made his own peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Yes, it is as big a mess as you imagine. He is at that stage where the only way to get him to do something is to either make it an interesting challenge (as in, "I'm Lets see if you can really do it!") or else totally forbid the desired behavior (as in, "You are not allowed to eat these veggies. If you eat them you are in big trouble. Whatever you do, DO NOT chew them up and swallow them!")

Speaking of growing up, Jack starts first grade next week. he is in a pleasant phase of life right now and even though I am so done with summer break, Jack and I have had a really good time bonding this summer. There is nothing like a mother-child relationship and I can't express how satisfying it is to have actual conversations with my own child and hear his original thoughts and to consider him a friend. I recently bought a used old school Super Nintendo with Super Mario Brothers at a used bookstore. I knew that my princess-saving skills would impress him to no end. I was right. Turns out all that time I wasted playing Nintendo as a kid wasn't wasted after all. I have earned the eternal respect of this six year old. He tells his friends, "My mom is so cool. She is the Master of Super Mario. Little does he know that this actually qualifies me as a dork. Who knew that Super Mario was like riding a bike? I picked it up after a twenty year break and I remember every move. I have lost the thumb calluses but I still have the touch. Awesome.

Staci's Book of Mormon Reading Program

2010-07-11T07:52:00.002-07:00

I am compelled to write and tell anyone who will listen all about my new scripture reading program. First of all let me tell you that I have already read all of the standard works multiple times and I have a testimony that every word comes from God. With that said, I was still having a life-long struggle to consistently read the Book of Mormon every day. Its frustrating because I know I should, I know the blessings one recieves from scripture study, and I really want my children to have a mother who studies the words of God every day. Between our stops and sdtarts as a family, and my own unfinished starts, I have read 1 Nephi probably hundreds of times. We always start off good and then we hit those Isiah Chapters in 2 Nephi and we stall out. I am one of those people who loves taking on a big project, but the details of followup and finishing? not so much. I always feel so guilty about being such a scripture flake. So in an effort to actually solve my little problem and therefore reap the blessings that I know await me if I can just be a little more diligent I decided to make a couple of admissions. The first one you will probably relate to, and the second one you will probably be offended by, even though I know you will relate to me on this one as well. First, I need stimulating things to read in order for me to pay attention long enough to get it. I have a small case of scripture study ADD. My mind wanders and I can never keep track of which Nephi is which or who begat who. Instead of beating myself up about this, I'm going to EMBRACE it. Second, Its time for me to admit that the Book of Mormon is mostly boring. really boring. And in this day and age it has to compete with reality TV, the Internet and even Conference Talks. I would rather listen to Jeffery R Holland tell it in his powerful way all day long than wade through the allegory of the Olive Tree. I'd rather see who got kicked off American Idol than hear about horrible violent wars. I know, its offensive. My point is I've decided to EMBRACE the fact that the Book of Mormon is mostly boring too. Between these two epiphanies, I came up with a new study program that has literally changed my life. It has taken me from reading occassionally and then feeling bad about it to devouring the scriptures everyday and having a guaranteed daily spiritual experience. I call my program "Only Read the Awesome Chapters" I know, the name needs work, but I'm telling you it changed my spiritual life. The book of Mormon is about 70% boring but the other 30% is AMAZING! Find the amazing chapters and skip the rest and vow to not feel bad about the stuff you skip. Ether 12, Alma 32, Moroni 7, Mosiah 4, Read about Enos' amazing repentance. Read about how justice and mercy work together in Alma 42, read about the brother of Jared seeing the finger of the Lord, Read King Benjamin's address. Read Lehi's dream. Read the Sermons, Read when the Prophets bust out the hard core teaching moments. When you get to thinking about it, there are enough awesome chapters to keep you super engaged for months and months. Ask around. See which chapters other people consider awesome and then read that. re-read your favorites out of order. There is so much great stuff in there that I'm almost embarassed that I didn't come up with this sooner. I have been wasting my precious scripture study time with boring stuff when the good stuff is just waiting to be read. Now I look forward to reading and I carry it around in my purse to grab extra study moments here and there. I had to admit that I wasn't enjoying my scriptures before I could deal with it and get a program that made me enjoy it. Now I crave the scriptures. If it starts to get boring, I just stop what I'm reading and go find an awesome chapter. Its never hard to find. My scripture ADD is cured by embracing it and working within it.

I recommend this method to everyone except for those people who claim to love Isaiah (by the way, we all know you are lying so you can drop the act.) If you are feeling like every day is a personal spiritual feast, you don't need my program, keep doing whatever you're doing. Maybe one day I will be like that. Until then, I'll be reading the Awesome Chapters and skipping the rest.

POP goes the Hambone

2010-06-19T09:34:00.003-07:00

Abraham is two and he is in a tough spot as far as communicating with the world. He is just on the verge of speaking English but still relies mostly on a system of hand gestures, English inspired noises, and emotional displays. I spend the most time with him and therefore understand most of what he is trying to say. We have been working on sign language too and he loves that. I think he is right on the cusp of a huge language explosion and for the sake of everyone's sanity I can't wait till he can just say exactly what he wants to say whenever he wants to say it (I need a volunteer to read this blog entry back to me when he is a sassy four year old and I want him to shut up)

What has struck me as I have watched Abe's vocabulary blossom is how many words there are that have multiple uses. I already blogged about the utility of "nudder un" (another one) but there are a whole list of words like this.

At the moment he uses the word "pop" in almost every sentence. First of all, his Grandpas are both Pop-pop. Plus he has the Otter pop addiction so he's always pointing to the freezer and saying "pop". If he is pointing to the pantry and demanding "pop" then he wants either a Pop-Tart or pop corn. Also on his list of favorites are pop-sicles, lolly-pops and soda pop. All of which he asks for by looking me in the eye and earnestly saying "POP".

I give him balloons if he uses the toilet. He begs for another balloon and when I tell him I just gave him one two minutes ago and ask where that one is he puts his hands up in exasperation and says "pop." His favorite song is "Popcorn Popping" and he loves singing "Pop Goes the Weasel".

There are other dualities going on. If he says "Go-go" I'm not sure if he is asking to go for a trip or requesting an episode of Go Diego. When he says "Ba Ba" Is he asking for a bottle or asking for Bob Bob (Spongebob Squarepants)? The list goes on and on

This kid is so much fun and so much work! The terrible twos are well underway and I want him to grow up, but I already miss my baby.

John's New Girlfriend

2010-06-18T11:30:00.003-07:00

There is one gun that John has fantasized about since before I have known him. Its a Steyr AUG. He bought an off brand model last year but that just didn't totally do it for him. This week he got a real brand new Steyr AUG. Check out the smile on his face. Its true love.
Awww...don't they make a cute couple!

Summertime Playdates

2010-06-09T12:43:00.006-07:00

Summer is here and these kids are officially bored and cooped up. I have been busily making plans and playdates to fill the hot days. We went to Peter Piper Pizza this week, made freezer jam at the Sly's, went swimming at Grandma's house, played one million hours of X box and learned to ride a bike without training wheels. Abraham has developed an unhealthy obsession of Otter Pops that I only realized was truly out of control when I saw that his poop has become otter pop colored. Sir Isaac Lime and Louis Blue Raspberry seem to go through his system totally undigested. Also those empty Otter Pop wrappers are EVERYWHERE. At first it seems cool that they sell them in packs of 100, but now I wonder what they were thinking. My carpet will never be quite the same. Also, I have a bone to pick with the geniuses that put the following on the otterpop box: "100% Fruit Juice!" and then underneath in small print it says "From Concentrate With Added Ingredients" I'm no mathmetician but if there are added ingredients then the percentage of fruit juice is obviously less than 100. So it is 100 percent juice except for all of those other things, which if you read the ingredient list, totals two percent. I think they get away with this because no one cares about otter pop regulation enough to sue them, but I personally find it offensive. Do they really think we are dumb enough to believe this lie? I don't know why I get so fired up about a contradictory statement on my box of frozen juice bars, but I think there should be a class action law suit or something.

We had a little girl named Alexis over for a playdate this week. She was in Jack's kindergarten class this year and we ran into her and her family at Paradise bakery so we exchanged phone numbers. Shortly after this exchange Jack got a little bit obsessed with the idea of having Alexis over. It became obvious that he has a little crush on her. He kept telling me about how she's the nicest girl in school and she's the smartest and she never gets in trouble ever. This is high praise from Jack. He has good taste too. She is adorable with long blonde hair and an impeccable wardrobe. When she came over she carried a little silk purse and had a voice like she had been sucking helium. SOOO feminine. Jack counted the days until she came. Before she arrived he made some preparations. He got out stuff to draw and color with and pulled out the Spongebob Operation boardgame. When she was finally here they had the most hilarious conversation.

Jack: I got lots of stuff we can do. You get to pick whatever you want.

Alexis: I don't know.

Jack: I usually play with boys and boys like playing army but you're a girl so I put away all of the army stuff. We can do whatever you want.

Alexis: Uhh... I don't know.

Jack:We can do whatever girl stuff you want. Like you can put on makeup and paint your nails, or you can watch girly TV shows or you can play dolls. Its totally up to you.

Alexis: Well, I like to play on the monkey bars and swingset.

Jack: Okay, lets go out back and you can pretend to be a princess while you swing.

I think he was a little surprised to find that girly girls can hold their own on a jungle gym. It was very good to see him on his best behavior for a girl.

Jack has been playing a lot with Isaac Sly. His mom Kara is one of my best friends so its super convenient that Isaac and Jack get along so well. Isaac is a really nice kid and I don't ever have to worry that he will teach Jack bad things or get into trouble when they are together. Those two can play for days and days on end and never get bored or irritated. They also had a funny conversation yesterday.

Isaac: What does your dad do for a living?

Jack: He's a police officer

Isaac: Cool! He gets to shoot people!

Jack: Well, not really. Mostly he makes phone calls and writes reports and stuff.

Isaac: So he's like, "Stop, badguy! or I'll..... call you? Stop, or I'll use my ....pen?"

Thats pretty quick sarcastic wit for a first grader. I like him.

I already can't wait for summer to be over with. I wish we had a pool or something so that there was anything to do outside. For now we are just hunkering down in the air conditioned house and waiting for fall.John has summer especially bad. Directing traffic for eight hours in direct sunlight when its over 105 degrees while wearing head to toe black and twenty pounds of gear and a bullet proof vest is not my idea of a good time.

Clones

2010-06-01T17:25:00.003-07:00

I was going through some pictures of the boys today and I came across these two shots of Jack and Abe at two years old. I know they look alike but to see pictures taken at the same age is absolutely mind boggling. I basically gave birth to identical twins four years apart.

Graduation

2010-05-26T19:36:00.003-07:00

Jack has successfully completed Kindergarten. Grandma and Grandpa Kramer came out to the big graduation ceremony complete with square caps and fancy diplomas. Afterward we all went out to eat and Jack was showered with congratulations and gifts. Like his daddy, Jack loves formality. He loved the procession and the hat and he took it all very seriously. He insisted on wearing his cap at a really sharp forward angle and walked really stiffly. It was all very military. He loves structure. He likes to know exactly what the chain of command is and he loves uniforms and things like saluting. He measures other kids by their obedience and he does not like rule-breakers. He is so much like John in so many ways.
He has been done with the school year for less than a day and he is already asking when school starts again because he is bored. Its gonna be a long summer.

Shameless Reptile

2010-05-23T17:56:00.003-07:00

We have five tortoises. For the most part we love having them. They just eat the grass and they are totally fine with being messed with by small children. They are as friendly as reptiles are capable of being. The biggest one weighs about 40 pounds, is a foot and a half in diameter and his name is El Guappo. The only problem with El Guappo is that he is, how shall I put this... lonely. I have been tempted to post an ad on craigslist to search for an attractive single female tortoise. I am not looking to own another tortoise, maybe just to arrange dates. I'm sure there is some nice female out there who would love to be swept off her shell.

In the mean time, El Guappo has put all of his romantic energy into a relationship with our soccer ball. What he does to that ball is obscene. There is something about the octagon pattern and the contrasting black and white that turns him on. If given access, he spends hours upon hours mounting it. The worst part is the grunting noise and the thick layer of slime. We recently hosted a big party at out house with about sixty guests. I heard a commotion in the back yard and discovered that the tortoise had gotten to the soccer ball and was hooking up right in front of everyone. The kids were in an uproar and were all asking what he was doing. The adults were all shocked and either disgusted or entertained or both. Nobody knew what to do about it or how to explain it to the children. A few people laughed and snapped pictures. I had to go out there and push him off of it and hide the ball. It was pretty much the highlight of the afternoon.

So if you know anyone with a girl sulcata, send them my way. He is handsome, virile and obviously not too picky.

Swagga Wagon

2010-05-15T06:20:00.004-07:00

I make it a point not to embed random things in the family blog unless I LOVE them. ASnd this fits the bill. Take a minute and watch this commercial. This is a genius ad campaign. enjoy...

Jack has skills

2010-05-05T14:19:00.004-07:00

Let me take a moment to do a little bragging about Jack. He is a genius artist. It is always amazing to see what interests and personality traits emerge in children as they grow. Jack has always loved drawing but what really gets me is his accuracy and his ability to draw things from different angles. Once when he was four I asked him to draw the room we were sitting in. When he was done it was just a strange smattering of rectangles. Then I realized that he had drawn an aerial view of the room and all of its furniture. The fact that his little brain could translate it onto paper was incredible but that he was drawing from a perspective that he hadn't actually seen blew my mind. He is in Kindergarden and at an age when a lot of kids his age are still drawing people with legs coming right out of their heads. Jacks drawing are not only accurate, they are super detailed. Here is a sample of one of his recent doodles:
These are three different views of a plane. Check out the detail! This is straight out of his little brain. You will notice on the left he doesn't always get which direction the numbers and letters are supposed to go (it says 2010 Jack Kramer) but he has the side view of the airplane wing right on and how about that Air Force logo!? I don't know if he'll end up as an aircraft engineer or a sketch artist, but I know that he's got my drawing skills beat at 6 years old.

Monkey Bars

2010-04-27T16:32:00.003-07:00

Go Sharks! Eat 'Em Up!

2010-04-18T09:28:00.001-07:00

minivan: check
house in the suburbs: check
husband: check
2 kids: check
carpool, church, blog: check, check, check

you would think my motherhood/ adult status was pretty established, but in reality it only became official this week when I became (drumroll please).... A SOCCER MOM

Yes, Jack started soccer and yesterday had his first game. I have never been so captivated by a sporting event in my life. It was so fun. keeping Ham off the field was an athletic event in and of itself.
So for his first game he did really well. At this age the kids tend to chase the ball around in a pack. They are all dying to get a touch on the ball but then they kind of panic when it happens. Our good friend Chris coaches Jack's team and he is great. He keeps the kids motivated and keeps it positive but still takes it seriously enough that the kids want to do their best. I love that Jack is getting the exercise and sportsmanship etc. He gets out there and tries hard and hussles and I love it.

As for his natural athletic skill, he takes after his mom who's youth soccer career is to this day highlighted by an unfortunate flower picking incident that occured while I was assigned to the position of goalie. Turns out Flower Arranging and chatting with defenders came far more naturally to young Staci.

For a minute I thought that there was a chance Jack would take after his dad in sports. Look at the following series of photos to see what could have been Jack's moment of Soccer Glory
He has a clear shot at the ball. Number 10 is all over it!
He's keeping his eye on the ball! He is hustling! Go Jack!
He gets to that ball and sets up for his fireball kick!
Okay, so he overshot the approach by just a tiny bit. That pesky ball sneaked between his legs.
This shot is priceless. I have a hard time looking at the series without chuckling. His body language shows how shocked he is that the ball somehow ended up behind him. After this he backed up and had an awesome pass. Considering that it was his first game and he is both the youngest and the biggest on the team, He was a superstar. Our team (The Sharks) won the game 5 to 0. There were high fives and Capri-Suns all around afterward.

Abraham is chomping at the bit to get into soccer. Most days he insists on wearing Jack's shin guards around the house and wants to take the soccer ball into bed with him.
Who needs something as frivolous as pants when you have access to these sweet shin guards? Its business time.

Easter Candy for sale

2010-04-07T14:00:00.003-07:00

Easter was wonderful. the boys were showered with toys and candy from the Easter Bunny and then showered again with toys and candy from Grandma. As is par for the course with these two, they had very different reactions to their candy windfalls.

Abe of course wanted to eat all of his candy immediately. It has been three days now and he hasn't gone more than a few hours without some "nanee". He has also recently learned his first complete sentence and he says it over and over over. "I want another one." pronounced like "on nudder un." He likes to identify everything in his world as a "nudder un" even if the first one hasn't been identified. Actually, You'd be surprised how often in makes sense to say "nudder un". At the zoo, every animal is a nudder un. Every show on TV is a nudder un all of his toys are a nudder un. Kisses, flowers, dogs, cars, bugs... Everything is a nudder un. Its a genius phrase because it serves as an identification and a request for more. I swear the kid was born knowing how to work it. After he discovered his Easter basket on Sunday morning he dug through the thing taking inventory excitedly shouting "Nudder un! Nudder un! Then after he had gone through the whole thing he looked around the house hoping to find more easter baskets, asking everyone "Nudder un??" and then told everyone he wanted "a Nudder un."

Jack for some reason wanted to sell his Easter candy. Explain that one to me. The first day I thought it was a novel idea and laughed but two days later he hadn't eaten any of it and was still begging for permission to sell it. He didn't have a buyer, he wanted to go door-to-door and offer it to the neighbors. He priced everything out and displayed it in his basket and plotted his sales route. All he needed was my permission and that took a few days to secure, but he perservered. Finally I let him go because I was impressed with his determination, I'm always in favor of fostering capitalism, and I was sick of hearing him beg. I adjusted some of his inflated prices because I didn't want him to use his cuteness to rip any one off and sent him out. He had an impressive close ratio. He went to six houses and made three sales. I thought he would give up after his first no but he really didn't care, he just moved on. After hitting the block I made him come in. He made three dollars and he felt like Donald Trump. He acted like Mr. Krabs. Counting his money, looking at his money, caressing his money. He was so proud of it.

Later that night we were reading scriptures as a family and we read in the first chapter of Alma about how the righteous people were blessed with prosperity and they used their money to feed the hungry and help the needy and were therefore blessed with even more.

Alma 1 30-31:

30 And thus, in their ^aprosperous circumstances, they did not send away any who were^bnaked, or that were hungry, or that were athirst, or that were sick, or that had not been nourished; and they did not set their hearts upon ^criches; therefore they were ^dliberal to all, both old and young, both bond and free, both male and female, whether out of the church or in the church, having no ^erespect to persons as to those who stood in need.

31 And thus they did ^aprosper and become far more wealthy than those who did not belong to their church.

Then Jack did the most touching thing I have ever seen in my life. He ran upstairs, got out his three dollars and gave it to us to give to the poor. It was totally his idea and was totally unprompted other than the passage of scripture read from the Book of Mormon. John and I totally melted. There is no feeling in the world like seeing your child really learn to be a Christian. His three dollars might as well have been a million dollars. He gave everything he had, just like Jesus did two thousand years ago. Happy Easter, Jack Jack. I love these kids. They make me count my blessings every day. A nudder un, nudder un nudder un..... see, it fits everywhere!

Our house is a zoo

2010-02-15T16:09:00.006-07:00

We have too many animals. Three chihuahuas, one parrot, five tortoises. Okay, the tortoises barely count because they hibernate for half the year and are no trouble at all just eating grass in the back yard the other half of the year, but it still feels like I'm living in a zoo sometimes. If my husband had his way, we would have 100 dogs and 100 birds (and 100 cats etc.) Whenever he likes something he wants more more more. When we got married, we made a deal that we would have exactly zero pets. If fact, he had three large high-maintenance beast dogs when we met. Two pit bulls and a black lab. They destroyed everything they got near and I used the flimsy excuse of having family members with allergies and carted them all off to new homes. At the time it seemed totally reasonable to ask of John in exchange for my hand in marriage, but that was before I became a dog person. Now I realize that I made him give up babies I am much more grateful for the sacrifice (although I do not miss those bastard dogs).

John always liked big dogs. He likes to site statistics about deterring burglars and what not. We have had many arguments about this and he has even brought home large-breed puppies on occasion that I have sent packing within 2 hours of receiving. At the police station there is a kennel in the garage where they put found dogs before sending them on to the pound. John can not physically pass the occupied kennel without offering a home to the dog and then cooking up some gift-giving scheme to get it past me. When it comes to animals, he is the gas and I am the brake. Obviously I have wavered, seeing as how I am at this very moment typing this while covered head to toe in living creatures.

Cracker was the first born. We were newly married and baby hungry and had just moved to a place where we didn't know a soul. We went to the pet store with the intent of getting something to nurture, but not a long term commitment. (maybe a hamster or a bunny) We saw little Crack-a-lack and the dog knew how to work it. He instantly shut out the entire world besides me. He worshipped me at my feet. He kissed my face and loved me with such a tunnel-visioned intensity that I was sold. John wouldn't even consider Crack because "it wasn't a dog, it was a rat." We left him there but I kept thinking about him. John realized his opportunity. If Staci Kramer were ever going to let a dog into her home, it was gonna be that dog. He suggested we go back for him. We got there five minutes before another couple came back for him too. To this day I shudder to think of getting there after Cracker was sold. He was meant to be our baby.

That same week we found out that we were pregnant with Jack. We had a practice baby. I took the dog to the grocery store in my purse, John got up five times a night to take him potty. We gave him special canned dog food and dressed him in sweaters and let him sleep in our bed. Overnight we became exactly the kind of dog people I had always loathed. I didn't care. The dog was my child. Having a real child nine months later brought Cracker to dog status but he will always have a special little place in my heart. If you have ever met Cracker then you know that this is important to his survival because in reality he has very few other redeeming qualities beyond worshipping me. He is cantankerous and selfish. Un-trained, overweight and useless. Sheds on everything and bites visitors if given the chance. He still maintains his all out adoration of me, which earns him his keep. After seven years he still sees John as nothing more than evil competition for my affection and challenges him to a phisical fight every single day. He snarls and growls and snaps and believes he has won every time. Then he prances around with his chest out and then stares at me lovingly. Hes a smart dog. If he had chosen John to love, he'd have been out of here long ago.

When Jack was born Cracker was jilted. I walked in the house with the baby from the hospital. Crack sniffed him up and down and then looked at me with what I swear was a look of absolute betrayal. So thats how it's gonna be, huh? You have gone and replaced me with a litter of one. It was true. He had been replaced. He was kicked out of our bed, lost his spot on my lap to a nursing baby, and his sweaters got lost in the laundry. He never got to ride in my purse and within a few months was getting his tail pulled and his fur yanked out by his replacement. It was harsh. That's when we decided to get Cracker a dog. We would feel much less guilt if he had a little playmate. I was tentative but then I had an idea. What if we could find a little black chihuahua and name it Token. Hilarious. A white dog named Cracker and a Token Black Dog. I know, racist, right? But funny. We called local Chihuahua breeders and there was one dog available in the area. He happened to be black and dirt cheap. Sold. John went and picked him up specifically on a weekend I was out of town so that the new dog could worship John. It was only fair for each of us to have a devotee. This is before we learned that every dog in the world is bound to devote themselves to the Alpha in the house and that was me no matter who picked him up. To make matters worse, John couldn't bear to tell people his name. He was terrified that it was too racist sounding to have a black dog named Token. We called him Dozer and it stuck.

We found out that little Doze was the last dog left for a reason. He had a deep fear of everything (except me). To this day he spends all his time shivering in fright and running away from his own shadow. Its horribly sad to see him suffer every day but nothing can be done for him. He's just neurotic. The biggest scaredy cat I have ever seen. Incidentally he is physically perfect other than this. Probably the most perfectly formed chihuahua aesthetically speaking I have ever seen. Sweet to the core, but riddled with anxiety. He is expecting to be beaten at any moment. He has never been beaten by anyone but he is convinced that its gonna happen any minute now. Like an abused rescue dog but not.

Lala came next. John shamelessly brought her and a litter mate home for Christmas one year as a gift for me. We thought she was submissive but turned out she was deathly ill. Within a day of her purchase we had to drop a few hundred bucks on emergency vet bills. I sold her litter mate to a friend within a day but she wormed her way into our household. She is obnoxious to no end. Her attention span for licking faces has never been rivaled. She is always happy and unflappable. Driven to please, high energy all the time. Like the others, she likes me best, but its not nearly as flattering as Cracker's love because she doesn't detest everyone else like he does. She's a good dog. Technically the best of the three, but my least favorite. I guess I'm drawn to dogs with issues.

Dude is our parrot. He needs to take a tip from Cracker. He has chosen John and hates me. Because of this his future is uncertain. We got him because I had a parrot as a teenager (died on my mission, a tragic tale for another time). He was cool at first but he has never really learned to talk and he freaking bites me every time I come near him. Don't let me forget to mention the maniacal squawking that fills the house for hours a day or the feathery poopy mess he creates all over the place. Also with my mystery illness, I have had more than one doctor suspect it could be something I caught from the bird. So add communicable diseases onto Dude's list of charms. He is the big loving dog John never gets. John would take the bird on patrol with him and wear his crap dripping down his shoulder like a pirate if it wasn't against department policy.

So what is the point of inventorying out menagerie? I have given in one more time. I got another Chihuahua puppy. When my mom found out she said "Staci there is medication for this kind of thing!"

The new puppy has yet to be named and I am still considering the possibility of giving him away, but in the mean time he might be the cutest thing I have ever laid eyes on. A guy was selling them on the side of the road for dirt cheap and Jack's birthday is this week and I had just been feeling sorry for myself that I don't have a baby and it was a moment of weakness blah blah blah.... We now have FOUR dogs. I still can't believe I did this but then I feel his warm pink puppy tummy and smell his sweet puppy breath and I am sold all over again. The boys are so adorable with him. Jack is very responsible with the potty training duties and gets very excited when he witnesses a poop. Abe is obsessed with carrying him around everywhere and the puppy has been very patient with the two-year old man handling. In fact he follows Ham around when he's not being mauled. There was one dramatic head dropping incident on the first night but I think everyone is up to speed on their puppy toting etiquette. This dog will be spoiled. I have barely seen him walk on his own legs because between the gartners and the boys its always someone's "turn" to hold him. I have always said that Chihuahuas are at the top of the evolutionary food chain and this proves my theory. He inspires people to take care of him without doing a thing.

heres a picture to illustrate my point.

Another Year Down

2010-02-12T13:23:00.005-07:00

Today is my 33rd birthday. I thought I'd take this moment to come out of my reclusive hermit shell and re-enter the world of blogging. This year was a rough one for me but I made it through alive. You may think that that last sentence sounds cliche (and it is) but if you have been around me in the past few months you can attest that survival is my biggest accomplishment. Its a long story but I'll give you the highlights....

Last year I started having this long crazy list of mysterious health symptoms. I basically became crippled by what the doctors guessed was an autoimmune disorder, although they couldn't find any specific diagnosis from labwork. I lost over 60 pounds in just a few months and went from a healthy size 12 to less than a 2. I developed large open sores and my joints would swell up, I felt like crap all the time, my hair fell out, I puked or had diarreah 24/7. I was depressed and overwhelmed. I went to every kind of specialist you can think of. Gastrointerologist, Immunologist, Rheumatologist, Allergist, Dermatologist, Psychiatrist, Pathologist, Neurologist, Osteopath, Hemotologist, Infectious Disease Specialist, Colo-rectal surgeon, Gynocologist, Radiologist, Podiatrist, Chiropractor, Naturopath....I could go on. I took every supplement, swallowed every pill, tried every therapy, read every health book or article I could get my hands on. They put me on Chemotherapy and steroids and painkillers but nothing made a difference. I got dozens of priesthood blessings, went to dozens of appointments, followed every lead I could think of and just got sicker and sicker.

I am 5'10" tall and I now weigh less than 120 pounds. I look like a bag of bones. Its such an odd experience to have become too thin, especially in light of the fact that I have battled obesity my entire life. The first time I enrolled in Weight Watchers I was 9 years old. I got up to almost 300 pounds after my first baby was born. Experiencing the entire spectrum of the weight issue in our culture is something I could write 5 books about. It is surreal. Everyone thinks I'm so "lucky" to have an illness that made me skinny. Believe me, there is nothing lucky about this illness.

I started to wonder if I would live. I wasn't suicidal, but just started to wonder how long I could waste away before my body just quit altogether. I was consumed with the horror of leaving my boys without a mother. I played out every possible scenario in my head. Would I just collapse in the grocery store one day? would I die in my sleep and John would just find me cold in the morning? Would I be hospitalized and eventually my organs shut down despite heroic medical efforts? Would I go unconscious while driving and die in a fiery crash? Its all so morbid. I am ashamed to even recount this stuff but its the only way I can tell you how sick I felt.

A few Sundays ago I hit rock bottom. Kristen came over and found me in the fetal position, white as a sheet, writhing in bed from abdominal pain. She called all of my family and had them all come over because she was so worried and didn't know what else to do. We were going to go to the ER but the doctor said on the phone that there was not much they could do at the ER and I didn't want to go. My brother Christopher gave me a priesthood blessing with my dad. I don't remember every word but he told me that I would be comforted, guided, and healed. I knew it was true.

The next morning I went to the Naturopath. Dr. Jason Porter NMD. I had seen him a few weeks previous and he had put me on some meds and supplements and a special diet. I went in on Monday to get an IV treatment. Basically it is a high dose of vitamins and minerals and everything you need to be healthy but straight into your veins. Its EXACTLY what I needed. My gut was a mess so we needed to nourish my body without relying on digestion at all. At this point I could go into detail about a condition called leaky gut that is the likely culprit in all of this. I'll spare you the details and just say that i have figured out what has been ravaging my body and I have a game plan to get better that has been working well beyond the expectations of even the most optimistic doctors.

I can not overstate what a difference it made. The treatment took like two hours and by the second hour I felt like I haven't felt in a year. The fog lifted, my pain began to subside. It was nothing short of miraculous. Since then I have continued to get better and better every day. I can't even describe how big a relief it is to have found this.

Its been a few weeks now and I have been getting these IV treatments about three times a week and I can now positively state that God has answered my prayer, and I am healed. Now its a matter of replenishing what my body has lost and letting my gut heal and rebuilding my nutritional life from the ground up.

My family has been amazing through all of this. I can't even begin to tell you all of the support I have received. They have cleaned my house and watched my kids and listened to me complain and paid doctor bills and researched and prayed and fasted and shown me the kind of love that very few people will ever be privileged to experience. I don't know what I did to get such amazing people in my life.

I have always preferred to make resolutions on my Birthday rather than at New Years. I'm probably the only person you know who has resolved to gain lots of weight this year. But more importantly I resolve to show my loved ones how much i love them. I resolve to count my blessings Even the little sneaky blessings like muddy foot prints on a freshly mopped floor or spaghetti stuck to the ceiling, because it all means that we are alive and thriving and getting where we need to go. I resolve to choose to love the process. the messes, the fights, the late bills, the snotty noses, the poopy diapers. I will make an effort to celebrate every day that God gives me as a mother.

Tonight I had to explain to Jack why two of our sea monkeys are stuck together. This is delecate territory so I played dumb "I dont know why in the world those crazy monkeys want to get stuck together. Maybe they are dancing. What do you think? he thought for a minute and then offered up that possibly the larger sea monkey is a cop and has needed to arrest and restrain the other one for the good of all the other sea monkeys. Hes on to something there. I cherish these conversations. I write down the kids brilliant thoughts. They are so much work but so much fun and the resolution that I hesitate to even mention is that I want to get healthy enough to have another baby. I want my baby girl. I know she is there.

So if you are wondering why I have turned into the biggest flake in the world, or annoyed with; me because I haven't checked Facebook for months or even listened to voice mails, I admit... I am flaky and lame and there are a list of people who deserve a great big personal apology, for now this will have to do. I'm ready to be a busybody back in the swing of things. Thanks for sticking with me.

Cover up attempt

2009-12-21T11:07:00.005-07:00

I spent the morning reading Love and Logic for Early Childhood. Its the best parenting book out there and I find myself re-reading it regularly to avoid strangling my children. Jack is lucky that I was in the Love and Logic frame of mind when I found this:

There was this strange note posted on the door reminding any bathroom users to turn off the lights when they are done. I knew immediately that this sign was more than a five year old's attempt to encourage energy conservation in the household. Upon closer inspection I found this:

He accidentally punched a hole in the bathroom door with a big stick. This particular stick has been recently outlawed and I specifically told him the reason for banning the stick was that something will be damaged.

There are a number of things I could say about this cover up attempt. Its an interesting insight into his little brain. I think he was hoping that I would just leave the sign on the door forever and never see the hole. Also I would like to point out the use of exclamation marks that continue on the second line. It would have been really hilarious except that the door is destroyed.

My first instinct was to beat him senseless with the above mentioned stick.

Instead I had the following conversation:

"Wow, this is a very sad situation. It looks like you made a choice that ended up ruining my door. What is your plan to make this all better, Jack?

"I don't know how to fix a hole in a door! I'm only five! You have to fix it!"

I would fix it if I were the one who did it but I'm not. In fact, this is the very reason I don't swing sticks around in the house. Because I don't know how to fix holes in things. This door has to be replaced and so you'll need to get the money to me as soon as possible."

"But I don't have any money!"

"Maybe you can sell some of your toys or earn money doing extra house work. I'm sure you'll come up with something. You're a smart kid"

"Great. Now I have to write another letter to Santa asking for toys and money."

So I put a new bathroom door on the list of Christmas expenses. And for the sake of everyone I have removed the big stick from the premises permanently. On the bright side of things, maybe he will be more likely to turn off the bathroom light when he's done now.

Questioning Santa

2009-12-04T13:32:00.003-07:00

Jack is five. He is at a really fun age for the magic of Christmas. He believes in Santa wholeheartedly, but he is also a really smart kid who thinks everything through. Lately he has come up with a few practical questions about how this whole thing works and I have a feeling that his days of believing in Santa Clause are numbered.

This morning I sent him to school with a new unwrapped present to donate to the toy drive that the school is hosting. It was a really cool motorcycle that makes noise and runs when you push a button. He wanted it and totally refused to give it up. He threw a big fit about wanting to keep it. I was ticked. I explained to him that it was never his to begin with, that it wasn't purchased with his money and that he already has plenty of toys and will be getting even more at Christmas. I explained that this toy would provide Christmas for some child who would otherwise get nothing. We have so much and so many people have so little. There are families in our own community who don't even have enough to eat, let alone toy motorcycles.

He looked at me and scoffed "Why don't they just get what they need from Santa Clause?" his wheels were turning. "And why do you always tell me stuff I want for Christmas is too expensive if you're not buying it anyway?"

"Uuuuuhhh..... Well Jack, Thats a good question..." I was totally stumped. I want to answer his questions honestly and I want him to have an appreciation for the things he has and the money spent on him, but I don't want to squash the magic of Santa for him at five years old. He wanted to know what a parent's income has to do with anything if we all get all of our presents from Santa anyway. He wouldn't let me change the subject. He was thinking hard about it and he wanted answers.

I told him that yes Santa brings the stuff and yes he makes a naughty list and a nice list and stuff but theres no way in the world that one guy could afford to buy all of those toys for everyone so we pay him money for the toys he brings. By donating the toys, we are helping Santa bring toys to the kids whose parents can't pay anything. Jack countered that Santa makes the toys in his workshop with his elves. I explained that he has to pay the elves and it costs money to run the North Pole so he needs the parents to pay and some parents just cant afford it.

The whole answer was awkward and unsettling. Jack could sense that something is messed up with the whole program. I wish I had had more time to think about it but even then I don't know what is the best way to explain this without ruining it. John was listening in to the whole conversation and he was horrified. He says I "used the nuclear option" but he didn't have any better ideas either. In my defense, I didn't tell Jack there is no Santa, I just turned him into a capatalist. He's jolly and generous and magical but he doesn't show up unless his invoice is paid in full.

So toy drives are a great thing but I'm starting to realize that maybe we should leave the kids out of it. I think I will try to find other ways of fostering holiday generosity because Jack is too smart for his own good sometimes. This is one of those parenting challenges that I probably screwed up on and I will know better with the next one. The oldest child in every family is the guinea pig in a lot of ways. Sorry Wack, if it makes you feel any better, we will screw up less on your siblings.

Nightmare

2009-12-02T11:11:00.004-07:00

Last night at about 2 am I heard a blood curdling scream coming from Jack's room. As a mom you get to where you know all of your kid's screams and what they mean. This one I had never heard before because it was so full of pure terror. I went running into his room honestly expecting to find a masked gunman kidnapping him. As I ran down the hall the thought crossed my mind that I should have grabbed one of John's guns.... that's how bad the screaming was. When I got in there he was standing on the bed. I grabbed him to see if he was hurt or sick, "What is wrong!?!?"

His screaming answer: (and this is an exact quote) "I want candy and presents!"

Candy and Presents? Apparently he had a nightmare that Christmas had come and he didn't get any candy or presents. My first thought was that perhaps I have been threatening the naughty list a little too much. My next thought was that if this is the worst nightmare the kid can come up with, his life is pretty good.

He then laid down and went to sleep. Actually I don't think he ever was awake. He doesn't remember any of it this morning.

Jack doesn't need to worry about Christmas. Santa is bringing an X-box much to my dismay. I'm a little worried that video games will become just one more thing to police around here but I have heard that the built in parental controls and timers are awesome. Now I just have to set it up so that I have the password and no one else does (including Santa and Santa's co-conspiritor John).

My christmas present this year is that one of my dearest friends, Diane Vernizeau is coming to spend a week with us for Christmas. She was a person I taught on my mission and she is the most intelligent, beautiful, spiritual, kind person I know. We haven't seen each other for years, but she is in the states doing post docterate work in international law at UC Berkley, and we get to have her here for the Holiday. I am so happy about her visit I can barely contain myself.

Trimming the tree by the light of the full moon

2009-11-28T11:38:00.003-07:00

I never intended this blog to be a chronicle of inappropriate nudity but how could I resist posting this shot?

Random Pictures

2009-11-18T12:22:00.008-07:00

My dad is my most loyal blog follower and he let me know today that I need to post more often. Here is a post to keep my fan happy. Enjoy dad....

When Grandpa comes over, Abe can't get enough of him. Its no secret that Abe is my dad's favorite grandchild. He loves all of his grandkids but these two have a special bond. Its precious.

I walked in the other day to find Ham like this. There is nothing like watching cartoons in the nude.

Yet another incident of nudity in precarious places.
I love this picture of my handsome boys. I swear Abe wears clothes occasionally, even if I don't have any photographic evidence of this claim.

This is a sample of Jack's sidewalk chalk drawings. Can you tell that he is the son of a police officer? His drawings usually involve bad guys getting busted by cops. He reads Highlights Magazine and he really wants to have one of his drawings published in the section where kids send in artwork. I encouraged him to draw something and promised I'd send it in. Lets just say that unless Highlights magazine gets taken over by the National Rifle Association, his drawing will probably not make the cut.
This is one of Jack's favorite pastimes. This is probably as close as any of my children will ever come to having a tan.

Amazing Marolyn

2009-11-10T11:42:00.006-07:00

I want to take a minute to brag. I have the coolest mom in all the history of moms. I am not exaggerating to make her feel loved on her 63rd birthday, I am simply stating the facts. If you know Marolyn then you know that she is in fact one of the most amazing people on the face of the planet. If you don't have to good fortune of knowing her then let me give you a brief overview of this spectacular human being.

She is incredibly smart. She has a doctorate degree in Education and a Masters in counseling. She knows pretty much everything there is to know about child development and child discipline. I have an expert (literally) a phone call away when ever I need any advice about anything. She manages to always give helpful advice without being intrusive or making you feel judged, and she is always tactful and loving. We are best friends and I can talk to her about anything. She does paid public speaking gigs where she imparts her life wisdom to hundreds of people at a time, yet I have her at my disposal 24 hours a day. She is there for me whenever I need her. This is such a huge comfort to me. She is my rock.

Marolyn is the most devoted grandmother I have ever seen. She gets on the floor and wrestles with the boys and she spend hours playing dolls with the girls. She can always be counted on to bring presents and to read books. She connects with each child and takes the time to really know them. She is full of games and fun but she is also no pushover. Emma used to call her "Grandma time-out" because no matter how fun she is, she doesn't let those little ones get away with anything. She has an endless attention span for kid stuff and each of her grand kids know they are deeply loved.

My mom is a spiritual giant. She took four children to church every Sunday our entire life all by herself. I am only now beginning to understand how hard she worked. At the time it seemed so effortless but now I can appreciate what hard work goes into raising kids. Her testimony of the Gospel of Jesus Christ never wavered. She set an example of spiritual living that was real and accessible. I never felt preached to, it was just obvious that mom's strength and peace came from being anchored in Christ and as a result none of her children ever wanted to go another way. All four of us are married in the temple and three of us are returned missionaries. Instead of telling us "Don't smoke and drink." She would have long meaningful discussions with us about the freedom that is inherently found in righteousness and that our bodies are precious and the commandments are to protect us. She made the Gospel make sense and she never underestimated our ability to grasp doctrine. She is humble and real.

My mom gives without measure. 42 years of marriage, four children, fifteen grandchildren, a full time job, church callings, charity work, you name it. There is nothing this woman can't do. Last year she traveled to India to train teachers in leper colonies. This year she went to Argentina as part of an exchange program after winning the very prestigious Fulbright Award. The year before that it was Mexico. She has been selected as Teacher of the Year twice. Once for the State of Arizona and once for her school district. She wrote a book. The woman has a resume you wouldn't believe. It gets so ridiculous that it sounds like I'm making this stuff up.

My mom wrote me a letter every day of my entire mission. She literally never missed a day. ever. They weren't just postcards either. She wrote a long single-spaced typed letter every single day. Other missionaries would go months without a letter from their families but I never had an empty mailbox even once. Her letters were legendary. She never missed a day on my sister Stephanie's mission either. I have never questioned my mom's unconditional love for me.

She accomplishes feats of service that others only dream about. I will give you an example. The other day I was at her house and saw big bags of stuff in the garage. When I asked what was in there she showed me how she had single-handedly organized more than 1000 hygiene, newborn and school supply kits to send to impoverished nations as a humanitarian project. She told me about it in passing as if it was no biggie. Keep in mind that she accomplishes all of this while holding a very demanding full time job as an assistant principal at a K-8 school with over 1000 students. Serving others is second nature to her. This year alone she has extracted over 300,000 names to the family history center of the church and she teaches primary every Sunday to boot. In addition to this impressive resume her house is always clean and she is always dressed cute with accessories matching he outfit and her makeup done. She is hilarious too. Always optimistic and easy to entertain. I could go on for hours.

The most spectacular part about her is that she pulls it all off and still manages to be completely likable and approachable. You can't help but get sucked into her orbit because she has an uncanny ability to put people at ease and make them feel important. In high school I had friends who would come over to my house even when I wasn't there because they wanted to hang out with my mom. I dream about being this kind of mother to my boys.

I marvel at how lucky I am to have a mother like this. I am so proud to be her daughter and so grateful that my children have such an amazing grandma. I amazed that a person can be so wonderful yet so unpretentious and down-to-earth. I want to be just like her in every way when I grow up.

I love you, Mom. Thank you for being my perfect example of womanhood. Strength, courage, beauty, intelligence, faith, humor, and humility. I am so happy to be your daughter. Happy Birthday from your #1 fan.

Halloween chez les Kramers

2009-11-01T07:25:00.003-07:00

I was pretty excited for Halloween this year since it would be Abe's first Halloween where he is old enough to grasp the concept of going door to door for free candy. Turns out I jumped the gun a little in my excitement. His attention span for this tradition lasted exactly one house. He enjoyed the unhindered knocking and he liked the dogs that came to the door, but he absolutely refused to accept candy from a stranger. Perhaps he was afraid of contracting swine flu, or it might have been that he was too busy offering open mouthed kisses to two Terriers. I should also note that he was dressed in a heavily padded dragon getup and that right before we began he took the liberty of stepping into the shower fully costumed. He was sloshing around in the cold night air leaving wet tracks everywhere he walked. It made him a little bit cranky but I'm hoping he will think twice about sneaking showers next time.

Jack made a haul of candy. Every year in our house we get a visit from the Candy Fairy. If you leave all of your Halloween candy on the back patio, the Candy Fairy will come and take it and leave you money. Jack gets to go to the store and buy a toy and we don't have to have tons of sugar hanging around the house for weeks. I have heard that the Fairy takes it and puts it in the break room at the Police Department. We don't care what she does with it, we just want it gone. If you read our Halloween blog post last year, you might remember that the Candy Fairy left a twenty dollar bill. This year she spent all of her money on sod for the backyard and was forced to leave considerably less, with most of it in quarters. She may have borrowed these quarters from Jack's piggy bank because by the time Jack left the candy out it was way too late to run to an ATM, but we know the Candy Fairy is good for a loan.

I love passing out candy to Trick-or-Treaters. I love making a big fuss over every cute costume and I love to make snide comments to the teenagers who come by without a costume on "Is it politically correct to dress up as a retarded person? You are brave! Here's an extra treat for realism!"

My kids love passing out candy too. Jack got so involved with the customer service of it all. He waited by the door to open it before they knocked "so that it would be easier for them". Then he moved his set-up to the driveway "so they wouldn't have to come all the way to the door". Eventually he was on the sidewalk "so they could just get the candy while they passed by". He also gave away his own candy after we ran out because he couldn't bear to turn a customer away. His generosity may have been motivated by the above mentioned fact that he was going to sell it all anyway, but I was still impressed with his sweetness.
Free access to the root beer dispenser was pretty much the greatest thing that has ever happened to Abe. Isn't he a cute little dragon!

we chased SUPERNANNY away

2009-10-31T06:14:00.004-07:00

If you read my last post then you know that I volunteered our families to be on the show Super Nanny. Before I go on, let me just say that I recognize that I am probably crazy for wanting to do this. I realize that I am like Lucille Ball on I love Lucy. Always cooking up harebrained schemes and getting myself into cartooninshly ridiculous situations. All I am ever really after is a little entertainment.

So back to Super Nanny, the casting director and one of the producers were interested in featuring Kristen's and my family for an episode because we have an interesting situation with the two households right next door. The kids have to deal with four different parents and two sets of house rules. The six of them are kind of being raised like siblings which brings a very unique set of advantages and problems. Like any family we have lots of issues we could use help with and I think we are a good mix of relate-able and entertaining problems. I have been corresponding with the producers for a couple of weeks and they decided to come film us to see if they could catch anything on film. In addition they have asked us to get home video of any behaviors that we would like to address. We have not been officially selected for the show, but we are very far along in the process. ABC flew two people out to get footage of us so at this point I would be surprised if they didn't go ahead with it. They are very hesitant to tell you that you will be on for sure because there is always the chance that when they tape the kids behave perfectly, or the parents don't pass a background check or a number of other things that are highly unlikely.

They came on Thursday afternoon and the plan was to film the after school routine and then do something that we would like to do on a regular basis but are prevented from doing because of our children's behavior. Kristen took all four of her kids to the grocery store by herself with a camera woman in tow and then we all met up for dinner at a restaurant. The Gartner's have literally never eaten out as a family. After dinner we were going to come back to the houses and film the bedtime routine. They told us to plan on them being with us until 9 or 10 pm.

Let me just cut to the chase: dinner went so awesomely horrible that before the food even got served Kristen and Rob had to pack up and leave the restaurant. Her kids were so crazy and all over the place that we couldn't even stay long enough to eat.

The best part was the two women from the show. They were so clearly horrified and just wanted to get away from us. Candra and Shannon are their names and they are ultra professional show-biz women. They are young (in their twenties) and gorgeous L.A. gals with graduate degrees and high paced careers. They travel all over the country and work 90 hour work weeks climbing the corporate ladder. They are both single with no children and are terrified of getting sick. Every time one of the kids sneezed or coughed you could see the two women recoil in fear. I don't blame them. These kids are a walking bio-hazard.

Here's a little breakdown of the dinner mayhem:

Emma threatened to puke because she wanted to get her way on something. Ella was at the tail end of a cold and had been on a field trip to a farm that day where she had contacted farm animals which triggered an allergic reaction so she was coughing and hacking so hard across the dinner table that the entire restaurant was staring. Between coughing fits she would get up and just wander around. Christopher cried and/or screamed literally the entire time. This is not an exaggeration. He hadn't had a nap that day and he absolutely would not shut up. He has some developmental delays and can't talk so he generally uses screaming as a means of communication. The camera seemed to make him turn the volume to eleven. After a while my husband couldn't take it anymore and hauled Christopher out to the parking lot even though its not his kid. Abe and Clark each took turns choking on pieces of tortilla chip and spilling drinks. I think in the 20 minutes we were there we spilled four full glasses of water and administered the Heimlich maneuver three times. The grand finale was when Emma made herself throw up. The camera was fixed on her and she vomited about a gallon of barf all over herself, all over her plate, and into a glass. I think I caught Shannon gagging a little. I know I gagged. I asked her if she got that shot on tape. She looked at me and said in disgust "Unfortunately, I got the whole thing"

The puking was the money shot. Especially in light of the fact that Emma wasn't even sick and had previously threatened to throw up if she didn't get her way. This is SuperNanny gold right? Well it will be if the producers can stick it out with us. We may have been too much. After Kristen and her family left the restaurant it felt (and looked) like a tornado had just passed through. Candra and Shannon told me that since there were a lot of sick kids they would rather come back when everything is normal. Little do they know that this is normal. They are coming back on Wednesday and I guarantee that someone will have a hacking cough and someone will puke. The problem is, it just might be Candra or Shannon.

There are so many things I could write about in regard to offering up our child rearing problems to a national audience. It is nerve wracking to scrutinize every word that comes out of my mouth. Am I being too lenient? Am I being too strict? My kids were pretty well behaved for the camera which is both a relief and a disappointment. I never thought I would be hoping that my child would throw a temper tantrum. Luckily Kristen's kids came through for us in the tantrum department. That twenty minute dinner had enough reality show material for an entire season and I didn't even see how the grocery store went. Kristen said her kids were "out of control", so that's good. Kristen and Rob's tolerance for naughtiness is higher than anyone I have ever known so it must have been bad.

I'll keep you updated on what happens. At this point I would be totally fine with it if we got rejected or accepted. I have yet to watch an episode of Super Nanny besides a few snippets here and there. I was thinking of going online to see what they are like but then I figured I would probably just freak myself out and decided against it.

Super Nanny is coming to town

2009-10-27T13:50:00.005-07:00

I have a few blogging pet peeves. One of them is people who only blog to complain about how crazy busy they are and the other is people who only ever blog about how they are so behind on blogging. I am about to commit both of these blogging sins. I am going to complain about my crazy busy life as an explaination of why I haven’t been blogging lately. I know, annoying, right? If you share my pet peeves, you should click away right now.

First of all the whole family has been sick. By whole family I mean my kids and Kristen’s kids, so that’s 6 pair of constantly runny eyes and snotty noses. Yesterday Jack and Abe were diagnosed with pink eye and ear infections and of course they refuse to take the medicine or let us put drops in their eyes so we have to literally sit on their chests and hold their heads between our knees and restrain their arms while the other parent tries to pry open their eyelids and drop in the antibiotics. This must go on every three hours for the next seven days. Its pretty awesome. I haven’t caught the cold yet but my joint stuff is flared up so bad right now I can barely function. I was supposed to go in for a third biopsy this week but I haven’t been able to make myself go. They take a little scoop of skin out and then cauterize the wound. They numb the area while they do it but the problem is the gaping festering wound that lingers for weeks and weeks afterwards. I need to just suck it up and go in.

I have also taken on the job of liquidating hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of spa equipment for my brother after he closed his spas down. When I agreed to do it, I guess I had forgotten how hard it is to actually accomplish a grown-up task (like a phone call) without being interrupted by screaming children. It has all come back to me now. If you are interested in a microdermabrasion machine of your very own or a storage unit full of really nice furniture, I’m the one to call.

Speaking of working, I have an opportunity to go back to work doing commercial leasing. I would be renting office space to businesses. This is what I did for years and years. I have enough experience in this exact niche that I could do it in my sleep. It pays on commission and the money is ridiculously good but it is time consuming and I’d have to figure out childcare two days a week. Its not something I can do half way and I am struggling to decide if I want to commit to this. It’s an amazing opportunity in an economy where jobs are hard to come by, and the whole thing just fell into my lap. I do miss working sometimes and we do need the money. John works weekends and Jack is in school all day so all I would need is care for Ham two days a week, maybe even just one day. I am sure my in-laws would help. I would hire a cleaning lady to pick up the slack in the household and I could do a lot of the work by phone and computer. I would have to drive a lot and I hate thinking about being away from home for long. Can you tell I’m agonizing over the decision?

We had houseguests this week. A good friend from my mission, Elder Steve Smith and his wife and three kids came into town for a wedding and stayed with us for a few days. It was so much fun to get caught up with him and his family is absolutely delightful. They have boys similar in age to my boys and then a tiny three month old baby who was born two months premature so she is the size of a tiny newborn. They drove all the way from Texas and we had so much fun with them. There is a bond that you get with mission buddies that you just can’t get anywhere else. They know you on a certain level that no one else can and you share a common experience that is impossible to explain to a person who wasn’t there experiencing it. Steve and I served together in Metz, France at the beginning of our missions and then again in Brussels at the end of our missions. He was a great missionary and one of only a handful that I keep in touch with. It is so fun to see how everyone’s lives have turned out so far.

Have you ever watched the show Super Nanny? In our house Super Nanny is a verb. As in: These crazy kids need to be Super Nannied, or My friend has a hard time disciplining her son, she needs to be Super Nannied. (Incidentally, we are also always threatening to “Ceasar” our dogs) My point is, we are being Supernannied. Yes, you read that right. Super Nanny is coming to our house on Thursday to film our family and see if Nanny Jo can help us with our parenting challenges.

It’s a long long story. One that I may eventually take the time to write, but right now I don’t have time because I would rather die than have my house look messy on national television. The yard is not done and for that we may be doomed to look like white trash, but until this whole thing is over, I am obsessed with cleaning. The producer was very adamant about “acting normal” and just letting the house look like it always does on any given day… Yeah right. I am more than willing to exploit my children for five grand and fifteen minutes of fame, but look like a crappy housekeeper on TV? No. Freaking. Way. It’s a good excuse to do some spring cleaning.

I have never even watched SuperNanny. They were looking for families who lived close by one another to feature and when they heard that Kristen and I are sisters who are right next door with connected yards they were all over it. Between the two families and six kids, I’m sure we will provide plenty of material. I’m hoping the whole thing will be good fun and family memories. Years from now I picture us saying, “Hey remember when we were on Super Nanny! That was so funny! Lets watch the DVD.” And not “Remember when we went on prime time television and they showed me pooping my pants? My therapist says I need to forgive you for that.” We are far too committed to the whole thing to turn back at this point so I’m keeping my fingers crossed that we don’t end up looking like total idiots and my kids don't end up scarred for life.

Alrighty…If you got this far reading then you are a true friend. Either that or really really bored. Now you have heard my excuses for not blogging more regularly. I swear I will never blog about not blogging ever again. Thank you for listening to my long rant. I am open to any advice, suggestions, criticism or comments so lay ‘em on me.

1990 2nd place family doubles bowling Trophy

2009-10-17T09:35:00.003-07:00

Jack and John went "hiking" in the orchard behind our neighborhood this week. They do this often and usually come across a lot of really interesting items. To my dismay, these items are usually brought home for display or further study. Last time it was an animal skull and a backpack full of rocks. You get the idea.

This time was different. Jack found the greatest treasure he has ever found (his words). Two 1990 2nd place family doubles bowling trophies. You have never seen a person so proud of a trophy that they didn't actually win. He has carried them around the house for days and moves them to different prominent places. He doesn't really even know what bowling is but he is now planning a championship bowling career.

Can you believe that someone would throw away such a treasure!?

Incentive to be good

2009-09-29T12:55:00.004-07:00

Most of you know I'm a big fan of behavior charts. Jack responds so well to them. When I know he wants something I like to milk it for all its worth and get him to earn it. He has been begging to walk to QT, so I decided to make a chart where he could earn points for any good behavior. I gave him a list of things that could earn a point. Going a day without a potty accident, doing good deeds, sharing your toys, not fighting with your cousins, going to bed without arguing, eating vegetables, etc. The chart was posted on the fridge and hopefully we will soon be enjoying the spoils of QT.

A few minutes after we talked about this new chart, Jack got to work on a project of his own. It was a chart for me. He told me that I can earn a special present if I fill my chart. The present will be a slushee from QT (you can see this illustrated on the side) I suppose that's fair. He can monitor my behavior and give me a present if he wants to, I guess. "How do I earn points, Jack?"

He didn't hesitate at all. He knew exactly how I could fill the chart. "By not fighting with dad."

Wow.... There's a guilt trip like I have never known. Ouch.

So, I am repenting of the petty arguing that goes on in our household and I am committed to earning Jack's special present. There is nothing like a 5 year old to put you in your place.

Pee Pee on the Potty

2009-09-25T19:00:00.004-07:00

Any parent can attest that where and when their child goes potty is of great importance. Its not glamorous, but it is pretty monumental. Abraham goes pee on the toilet. At any given moment if you set him on the pot he will grunt and push and produce a little stream. The effort he puts in to it is hilarious. We all cheer and he beams with pride and then he pushes really hard and the whole process is repeated. I have never known anyone to be so good at urinating on demand.
He gets to flush as a reward which, as you know, is pretty exciting.

We have also discovered that Abe is pretty talented with a shop vac. He gets the excitement of using a loud tool and we get our cars cleaned out free of charge. He may have a future in the car wash business.
In other news, Rob found yet another giant tortoise walking down the road and brought him home. Check out how huge he is. This picture is not a trick of the camera, he really is that big. We found him a new home because he was way too "friendly" with the other tortoises. He also had an unhealthy attraction to the soccer ball. He was fun for a few days but I'm glad he is gone.

Dog Door

2009-09-19T15:00:00.003-07:00

My sister Kristen lives next door and we recently took down a section of the wall between the two backyards so that the kids can go freely between the two houses. This is a great convenience and one more step in our grand Haws girl commune. I love having the two households combined. I feel like my boys get the advantages of living in a big family without actually having a big family. Kristen and hang out every day and share the mothering workload. We take turns cooking and watching the kids and running errands. John and Rob take turns mowing the lawns and bitching about being married to strong willed Haws girls (I'm just kidding, even though that's probably true) I don't know how anyone functions without their sister next door. We often joke that we have all of the benefits of polygamy without that pesky husband sharing business.

There are only a few disadvantages to our compound set-up. In removing the wall between the two yards we have sacrificed privacy for convenience. Each adult has been caught by the opposite family in their underwear at least once and they have learned to expect to have an AR-15 pointed at them if they enter after bedtime.

The other day I saw 3 year old Christopher in the back yard. He wanted to come in but I was on my way out to run errands so I told him he couldn't come in and instructed him to go home. He loitered near the back door, clearly intending to come in as soon as I turned my attention away. I locked the door and told him once again to go home. With that I left and thought it was handled.

Later I found out that a few minutes after I left Kristen came looking for him. She started to get worried when he wasn't in the backyard and found my door locked. She searched everywhere a second time and then looked through my back window to find him happily playing in my house locked in all by himself. He had waited till I left and then used the dog door to gain access.

The dog door has become all of the babies' favorite method of entry and exit lately. At first I tried stopping them but then I realized that its a losing battle so I just let them crawl in and out as they please. The huge advantage is that I don't have to constantly yell "Shut the door!". The double flap action takes care of that for them.

Unfortunately the other kids are absolutely incurable when it comes to closing the door behind themselves and numerous lectures about the outrageous expense of air-conditioning have done little to convince them. Luckily it is cooling off a bit so I look forward to a time soon when we can open the doors and let the air flow freely.

Speaking of yelling at kids to conserve air conditioning, I remember being a little kid and my Kindergarten teacher telling us to shut the door because we don't want to air condition the world. I clearly remember thinking "All we have to do to air condition the world is leave the door open? What are we waiting for? Let's air condition the world!" If only that worked. Our power bill would be through the roof but it would almost be worth it.

Why did God invent tonsils?

2009-09-10T13:25:00.003-07:00

This was a question that Jack asked me yesterday and I had no answer. We don't know why God invented them but we do know they need to go. Yesterday John had surgery to remove his tonsils, uvula, part of his palate and straighten his nasal septum. Ouch. He will be down and out for at least ten days. Jack is scheduled to get his tonsils and adenoids out at the end of September and if I had my way, we would take Abe's out right now too.

Here is a picture of my patient right after surgery. He was on Demerol, Morphine and Lortab so he was pretty out of it. Now he is healing up but in a lot of pain. His parents took Abe for the day and Jack is at school so I am doting on him with my undivided attention. Its going to be a long recovery but it will be so worth it if he can sleep without his breathing stopping or go through flu season without getting strep throat.

This surgery has been long overdue. He has sleep apnea and he has chronic tonsillitis. The surgeon said that his tonsils were deeply rooted with infection and obviously had been for probably the past 30 years. In addition to the giant chronically infected tonsils, he had an anatomically low palate and a crooked septum. Any one of these things in likely to cause major sleep and breathing problems. I don't want to get my hopes up too much but this surgery could be a magic bullet to solve a lot of problems. The recovery is hellish but with the help of otter pops and narcotics he will get through it.

Healthcare Bill

2009-09-03T17:46:00.008-07:00

I am terrified of the healthcare reform bill. It keeps me awake at night and makes my blood run cold just thinking about it. As a family we have used our health insurance a lot recently. Its not perfect but John works hard for it and we can afford it. The thought of letting the government manage my health is deeply disturbing. Last year before my grandfather died he was briefly hospitalized in the VA hospital. For anyone who thinks that the federal government is capable of running healthcare, please go take a walk through the halls of the VA at Indian School and 7th Street in Phoenix.

Please take four minutes to look at this youtube video. This congressman hits the nail on the head.

Cortizone injection

2009-08-27T07:11:00.002-07:00

Yesterday I was at my rheumatologist complaining about my wrist. It just froze up a few weeks ago for some unknown reason and will not budge. I can't bend it at all and its starting to really interfere with my diaper changing, dish washing, laundry folding life. More than anything I'm afraid that the thing will never unlock. My Grandpa Arnett had a similar problem in the same wrist and had to have his wrist surgically fused. As a child I was fascinated with his unbending wrist. I got a kick out of watching him lift his elbow above his head just to get something out of his shirt pocket. These past few weeks I find myself moving exactly like him but this time around its not nearly as cool. I'm terrified of losing movement in my wrist for good.

So the rheumatologist was suggesting some different oral meds etc. and then he said, "Or we could just inject it and fix that thing right now." You all know my love for immediate gratification so I said "Lets do it!...Will it hurt?"

He told me that it wouldn't hurt so I agreed and gritted my teeth and looked away. It did hurt. He injected lido cane first which burned but numbed it all up pretty quickly. Then he injected a substance that was the consistency of peanut butter into the deepest part of my wrist with a giant fat needle. I made the mistake of looking at it at one point. Gross.

He was done and within literally 5 seconds the whole joint was free again. It was like turning a key on a lock and opening a door. Now my wrist is a little sore but I can bend it however I want. Hopefully I wont have to do that again but its nice to know that its an option. Modern Medicine really is miraculous. The doctor told me that I need to go easy on the wrist for a while. He told me to have someone else do the housework that involves using my hands for a week or two. This was hilarious to me. It did get me out of a couple of dirty diapers yesterday but I'm here to tell you, if my crippled wrist doesn't do the laundry, then this family will go naked. Well, at least very dirty.

Jack doesn't understand women but he has a good healthy fear of them

2009-08-22T11:04:00.005-07:00

Today I gave myself a french manicure. It would have probably been wise to use my spare time sweeping and mopping the kitchen since that hasn't been done in an embarrassingly long span of time. Plus now that my nails are perfectly manicured I don't want to mess them up by using the mop. Oh well. If you come over to my house today, please focus your attention on my pretty white tips instead of my grungy floors. Better yet, if you come to my house today, please mop my floors.

Today when I began my manicure by filing my nails, Emma looked at me and asked what I was doing. Jack butted in and said, "Duh.... She's sharpening her nails so that she can use 'em as weapons." He said it like everyone in the world knows the reason for filing nails. I decided that I am going to leave this one alone and let him believe that I possess razor sharp fingernails that are readily available for cutting down bad guys or disciplining my children.

Sloppy Joes. Slop, Sloppy Joes

2009-08-14T06:25:00.003-07:00

The big day came. Jack earned 5 smileys (finally through honest means) and I went to his school for lunch. I have no pictures of the event because I forgot to bring the camera. I am kicking myself because there are a couple of things that I would like to have captured forever on pixels. First, it would be the look on Jack's face when he saw me there in the lunch line. Pure and utter elation mixed with surprise and unparalleled love. I get goosebumps just thinking about how happy he was to see me. He wanted me there more than anything. I love these kids I'm raising so much and to see the reciprocation in his chubby little face was almost enough to make me cry.

The second thing I would have liked to capture on camera was this little blonde girl in his class who has a crush on him. He has been telling me that there is a "girl who won't stop chasin' me on the playground." and I have explained to him that that's how some little girls show you they like you- by chasing you. "Oh, I already know her likes me. Her tells me every minute that her likes me. Her won't leave me alone. Her is so annoying." (Yes, Jack has yet to master the proper use of the pesky pronouns she vs. her. Perhaps this is what makes him irresistible to women his age)

I had wondered if Jack was exaggerating about this little girl and her obsession for him. When he came walking into the lunchroom, there was indeed a tiny little blonde all up in Jack's personal space. They came walking through the line and she was trying to hold hands with him and put her head on his shoulder and touch his face. He was totally irritated and kept trying to brush her off which seemed to make her try harder. When she met me and discovered that I'm Jacks mommy she got really excited and said "I REALLY like your boy! Your boy is the best boy in class! Sometimes I chase him and sometimes he lets me hold his hands and touch his face like this!" then she reached over to caress Jack's red cheeks and hardly noticed that her hand got batted away. The thing is, this little chick is adorable. She will be a KNOCKOUT hottie is about 10 years. Jack has no patience for her affection right now, but I guarantee he won't be nearly as irritated come 2019. I told her that I really like Jack too and commended her for her nice taste in men. I was about to make a comment about how if the two of them grow up and get married they will have the prettiest blonde haired blue eyed grand babies in the world. I stopped myself because A) its just inappropriate. And B) I want Jack to enjoy my lunch visits and this kind of motherly embarassment is a bad road to start down. It was interesting to see my five year old as a romantic target.

The lunch went well. We were served Sloppy Joes by hairnetted lunchladies. The most iconic of all school lunches served by the most iconic lunchroom people. They could have passed for exactly the same people that served me lunch everyday from 1982 to 1988 at Park Meadows Elementary School. Some things have changed, like disposable lunch trays and utensils instead of the dirty dish conveyor belt, and all of the money exchanged is from a credit card, instead of those paper punch cards that were so advanced when I was a kid. Also they have abandoned the practice of handwashing in favor of hand sanitizer gel, which sends a shiver down my motherly spine. But most of the school lunch experience is exactly how I remember it.

This time around I was horrified by the mass quantity of food that was left uneaten and thrown out. My instinct was to wrap it all up for leftovers and lecture everyone about eating the healthy stuff in addition to the rice crispy treat, but my kid ate it all and wasted very little so I kept my mouth shut. I'm just saying, we could probably solve the hunger problem in some nations by digging through the trash for leftovers at this school. It is such a waste of food I can't even think about it.

At the end, the teacher came by the table and released the children to recess. Jack was pretty excited to go play and he ran off without even saying goodbye. Blondie was right on his heels so he had to run pretty fast. I know he loved having me there and I can't wait to go again. Jack is now working on filling a chart with SIX smileys to earn a visit from DADDY. If he is really good dad will wear his police uniform and show the kids his tazer and handcuffs. Pretty awesome if you ask me.

Forgery

2009-08-08T03:56:00.005-07:00

I came up with a new incentive program for Jack. If he goes five complete days with no temper tantrums or fights with his cousins, and if he does his chores and homework without complaining then He gets a prize. I knew I needed a reward that he would really want bad. I had an idea that I think was inspired. I offered to go to his school at lunchtime and eat school lunch with him among his friends in the cafeteria.

I am sure the time will come when having his mother come eat lunch with him will be more effective as a punishment than an incentive but for now he is so excited about the possibility of school lunch with me that he will do just about anything to earn it. We made a chart on the fridge and at the end of each good day I draw a smiley face in the box. If I see him getting into a disagreement with a Gartner child or I hear him start to whine I say "Ooohhh, I would hate for you to lose your smiley face for the whole day over this! I am really hoping you get your chart filled soon because I can hardly wait to go to your school for lunch!" It has so far worked like a charm. He shapes up immediately upon threat of losing his smiley face.

I looked at the chart this morning and noticed something odd. He has three smiley faces and we have only done this program for two days. He forged the third smiley face. He honestly thought I would be fooled. He went to the trouble of finding the same marker in the cabinet to make his forgery look authentic. I give him credit for his inventive way of speeding up the process but at the same time I am horrified that he would miss the point so entirely. I think its hilarious that he didn't fill up the chart. He just added one extra. He thought he'd just slide it in under my radar.

I considered abandoning the whole thing as a punishment but decided against it. Instead I pulled him aside and said "Hey Jack, I noticed that you added an extra smiley face to the chart today. I assume that you did that because you have set a goal to have a great day today and you were putting the smiley face on there in advance to help you reach your goal."

His face turned red. He was embarrassed to be caught but relieved to have an out "Yeah. I was just putting it on there in advance."

"Oh, that's what I thought. I understand that you really want to fill up that chart but in the future you should know that you are not allowed to add smileys on your own. It is my job and I always know how many there should be on there."

You will notice in the picture that I have started to add a signature to each smiley face in an effort to thwart counterfeiting attempts.

My Cussing Days Are Over

2009-08-08T03:56:00.004-07:00

Jack said the "S " word. We have had false alarms about bad words before. The kids love to tattle on one another for obscenities. Most of the time the conversation goes like this
Tattler: UUUMMMM.... Jack said a bad word!
Me: What word did he say?
Tattler : I can't tell you because I'm not supposed to say it. It was the S word.
Me: This is a safe place. I need to know the word in the name of investigative integrity. Go ahead and whisper it in my ear.
Tattler: He said.... "Sucker".
The word varies but the conversation rarely does. Once the offending word like sucker or idiot or butt is revealed, I feign shock and say something like "I'm not really offended by that word. When I am offended by a word I usually just ask the person to not use it. That's always worked for me." The tattler gets the point that I'm not going to intervene and the conflict is over.

Yesterday I was in the bathroom and Jack was in the next room playing video games with John. He was apparently losing badly at the video game and getting frustrated. I heard him say The S Word. No it wasn't Sucker, or Stupid even the forbidden Shut up. It was The Real S Word. My cherub faced five year old has stumbled upon one of the words in the hierarchy of real bad words. I listened closely to hear how John handled the situation. "Hey buddy, Do NOT say that word. Do you understand? Its a Bad Word and I don't ever want to hear you say it again." Case closed.

At this point I would love to say that he picked up this new word at the kindergarten playground, or from the neighbor boys or something like that but there is a truth that I should probably confess. This won't be a shocker to anyone who knows me well but I am indeed the source of Jack's new vocabulary word. He learned the S word from me. I have always been a big fan of the S word. Not that I drop it gratuitously, but there are moments in life where uttering a swear word seems to dilute pain. For some reason a stubbed toe hurts just a little less when accompanied by a tiny obscenity. When an entire box of Rice Krispies gets dumped onto my freshly mopped floor, I resort to cursing rather than violence. Today after Jack's brush with illicit language I have vowed to stop cussing completely.

Let me give you another example. This one happened in the wee hours of the morning and sheds light on the question of why I am blogging at 3 am. Petit Jambon conquered the crib this week and is therefore in a big boy bed. The problem with this is that he now feels free to get out of bed anytime he wants. Naptime has been all but destroyed, however our nights have been pretty unchanged...until tonight. He was feeling sick and I could hear him crying and trying to get out of his room. I was so deliriously tired that I just got him and put him into bed with me. Normally I have a strict policy against this. He snuggled in to sleep but a few seconds later I felt him sit up and lean over my head. He then threw up all over my face, ear and head. This was not harmless baby spit up, It was full blown, stinky, chunky, multicolored vomit. It went directly into the inner reaches of my ear canal. I jumped up immediately, clamoring for the baby wipes (as if baby wipes could help me at all) and dropped The Word of the Day. Half a dozen q-tips, one hot shower and two loads of laundry later I feel clean but I just can't sleep. Go figure.

So my point is, do not be surprised if Ham says the real S word sometime soon also. He has, after all, learned it from his own mother.

Safes Are Ironically, Very Unsafe

2009-08-01T18:03:00.004-07:00

As most of you probably know, we have a very large and very expensive gun collection. To match our large expensive gun collection we have a large expensive safe. We have installed it in the giant closet under the stairs. The whole point of the safe is to lock things into it in a manner that they are very difficult to get out unless you know exactly what the combination is and exactly how to work the very complicated locking mechanism. I do not know the combination nor have I ever cared to know. This was all well and good until Jack got locked inside by his cousin Emma. John is the only person who knows how to open it and he was twenty miles away at work. In case you are wondering, yes it is airtight. Yes, Jack was panicking inside there in the dark, and yes, I was frantic.

I was on the phone with John getting instructions on opening it but I could not open the thing. I tried fifty times. I tried everything I could think of. I could not open it. John was headed home going code 3. These are the times I am so glad that John has lights and sirens at his disposal. I considered calling the fire department but I don't even know what they would have done about it. I guess they could have busted out a grinder and the Jaws of Life but I knew John could get to us and get it open quicker anyway. Plus I really preferred to leave the thing intact. Finally John got here and opened it on his first attempt. I still have no idea how he got it to work. I did that combination so many times unsuccessfully that I was starting to think it was broken. I was relieved when John opened it on his first try.

When I got my hands on Jack I couldn't decide weather to hug and kiss him or lecture him about not playing in the safe. I did a little of both. Actually, I did a lot of both. My mom was here for the ordeal and she handled the lecturing of Emma. She made Emma apologize to Jack. When she did Jack said "You need to tell my mom sorry." I think he recognizes that having your five year old locked in a dark safe is almost worse than actually being locked in a dark safe.

Harry Potter and the Five Hours of Your Life You Will Never Get Back

2009-07-31T13:57:00.004-07:00

You know a movie sucks when half way through it you are reviewing your grocery list and thinking about chores at home. By the end of the movie I was just mad that they took so long to tell their story and then didn't even finish the damn story. There should have been a warning with the opening credits that said: This movie is twice the length of a normal movie and will then will fail to complete a plot. Do not watch it unless you have religiously read the books and love teenage relationship drama.

Spoiler alert. I was told before I went that the film ended with the shocking murder of Dumbledore. By the time we were into the THIRD HOUR I was thinking "Come on, people. You gotta get on with the business of killing this guy if we are ever going to get out of here."

Also, It drives me nuts that they market this movie to children despite the fact that it is so clearly inappropriate for kids. I'm not one of those people who has anything against the witchcraft and wizardry theme but I do have a problem with the all out focus on "snogging" and characters hooking up and all of the boyfriend/ girlfriend angst. In addition, the scene where the skeleton creatures come out of the water and attack Harry was way too visually horrible for a child to see. I may be retentive about kids and movies but I was shocked.

I have an issue with the fantasy genre in general. If you don't have to adhere to the rules of reality then your character can get out of anything. It seems like kind of a cop-out for the writer of fantasy. So lets say that our hero has a big problem. How will he ever work it out? Oh... he is going to use the good luck serum or maybe use a spell that reverses time or fight the bad guy with his magic wand. At first glance this stuff seems all very creative but then when you think about it you realize that if you are rewriting the laws of physics, then anything goes.

I know a lot of people who worship these books and movies and will disagree with me on this negative review (you know who you are, Lisa). I am interested to hear what everyone else thinks. Were the characters and their love interests as totally under-developed as I thought they were? (Why was Harry into Weasley's sister?) Did they not start a million random tangent storylines and then leave them all unaddressed? Was the climax as anti-climactic to everyone else? By the way, why are we supposed to care that Snape is the Half-Blood Prince? Because he made some helpful notes in a textbook?

Couldn't they have told this complicated rambling story in an hour and a half? I could go on forever. We never go to the movies anymore so I was really disappointed when this one turned out so lame. Luckily we had free babysitting and gift certificates for tickets so all we were out was the five hours of our life. At least I got to be on a hot date with my hubby and snuggle with him in a dark theater with buttery popcorn and caffeinated beverages.

Drama

2009-07-27T12:31:00.003-07:00

Sunday evening was an eventful one. All of the kids were out back playing on the playset and Ham fell off of the top platform right on to his head. I was standing in the kitchen with Spencer and Christina and Spencer saw it happen. We all ran out there right away. I could tell that his head had been hit hard. I was terrified. He didn't lose conciousness but there was a huge goose egg above his left eye within 5 seconds of the fall. He also had a scrape on his crown and I couldn't tell how bad the injury really was. I thought he had broken his skull or bruised his brain or something. I scooped him up and ran into the garage to strap him into the van and rush him to the ER. I was thinking I could get him to medical help before they could get out to us. John came downstairs and told me to stay put and call 911. John put him on the cround and immobilized his head and neck while I talked to 911. John is so much better in an emergency than I am. Abe was not showing any signs of serious head trauma or concussion but I was still scared. Really scared. John gave him a blessing while we were waiting for the paramedics and the blessing said that he would be totally fine and that the whole incident would be nothing more than a bad memory. I was comforted.

The paramedics arrived and did their thing. They strapped him to a board and wrapped him in a stiff thing so that he couldn't move at all. by that time he had totally stopped crying and was just interested in all of the straps and machines.

We took a ride to Gilbert Emergency Hospital. John drove down in his car and I rode in the ambulance with Ham. The Ambulance driver seriously drove about 5 miles under the speed limit the entire way. Like to the point that he was causing a traffic jam behind us. At this point I knew that everything was going to be okay and that all of this was precautionary but I wanted to yank the dude out of the driver's seat and floor it to the hospital.

Eventually we got there. Abe's good mood didn't last long. He got sick of being immobilized on his back and he was hungry and tired and thirsty. They wanted to CAT scan his spine and head before they would let him get out of the restraint. It took half an hour before they could get him in for the scan. They had told me that once they got the pictures they needed they would let him out of the thing. He was crying so hard. They had me put on a metal apron and hold his arms and chin while they did the scan to try to get him to hold perfectly still. Even though he couldn't move because of the device he was so upset that he was shaking and they couldn't get a clear scan. I was singing to him and holding his arms and chin and promising him that if he would just hold still for a minute then he could get out of this thing. When we were done they said that he couldn't get out yet until they had the results of the scan which would be another half hour. Ham totally understood what was going on and he was so mad not to be let out as I had promised him. He was over the edge emotionally. It was so hard to see him so upset and totally unable to move. I felt like crying too. Every minute felt like a year.

Finally they got the results and gave the all-clear to liberate him. He was soaked in sweat and tears and he was so happy to be held and to have a big cool drink. I have never been so relieved to hold a baby before. I couldn't snuggle him hard enough and I was so happy that he was fine and that his little noggin was only bruised. Ultimately he didn't need to be rushed to the hospital in an ambulance but when it comes to kids its always better to err on the side of caution.

Right before we left the hospital I looked up and saw Rob and Clark. Apparently Clark is sick and they brought him to the ER to get him help with his breathing. It was a family affair. Maybe we can get a group rate.

All day today I can't get enough of my Babyham. There's nothing like a good scare to make you appreciate what you have. I am so thankful for the health of my children. We are putting up netting on the playset today and I'm not letting Ham anywhere near the thing for a while. Clark is feeling better too.

First Day of School

2009-07-21T16:15:00.005-07:00

Jack's formal education has begun. Yes, I cried when I dropped him off (afterwards in the car). Yes, I have been relishing the time I have during the day now.

The great news is Jack LOVES school. He is the kind of kid who doesn't like change. He tends to get shy is a group setting and nervous about new situations so I was a little worried that it would take a while to get used to school. This picture is a perfect illustration of his hesitation.I had Kristen snap a picture of the three of us in the classroom. She didn't think that it was worth mentioning that Abraham was totally pulling my dress off without my knowledge. This combined with Abe's totally soaked shorts and my slightly disheveled hair is a great example of how motherhood challenges you but you just suck it up and keep on rolling.
Jack's teacher is named Mrs. Knighton. After school when Kristen asked what his teacher's name is he said "uh...Mrs. Darkton" I thought that was so funny to see how his brain works. Mrs. Knighton seems very nice although she made no attempt to hide her irritation at the fact that we named our child John and call him Jack. I apologized profusely and explained to her that the damage was already done and she would just have to make the mental adjustment because we are not going to start calling him John and we are not going to legally change his name to Jack. Deal with it. Here are our two little scholars after a long day. They didn't see each other until they were released and it was cute to watch them get call caught up with each other. Ella told the harrowing tale of being yelled at by her teacher to get a paper towel after spilling a bottle of water. We tried to explain to her that the teacher was probably not yelling, per se, but just expressing a sense of urgency with her voice. She wasn't buying it. Finally we resorted to telling her "Sometimes people yell. Get over it."

My Baby is All Grown Up

2009-07-18T14:04:00.002-07:00

I went shopping this afternoon for school clothes for Jack. I am still in shock that he will be starting Kindergarten on Monday. That is 42 hours away. Yes, I have an hourly countdown going. I have everything ready. His brand new clothes and backpack, the camera is ready to go, I have tissues in my purse for when I bawl my eyes out. I'm ready.

Sending my oldest child off to school is a huge milestone for both of us. I vacillate between the following two sentiments in regards to him being gone all day every day:

1: How did you grow up so fast, my precious baby boy? I'm not ready for you to leave the nest.

2: Don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.

Okay, that's a little harsh but he really is ready to end the boredom of summertime and I can't wait to have only one child at home. Hambone has no idea that his life is about to change. What will I do with myself?

Years ago John and I talked hypothetically about the possibility of homeschooling our children. At the time I couldn't imagine leaving the education of my little genius to someone else. This homeschooling fantasy is what I like to refer to as "a crack-smoking pipe dream". Now I realize that he needs school. He needs the structure, the social experience, the learning, the stimulation.... everything. He is ready. I am ready. It will be hard to see him go but I know he will thrive in school.

Myrna Pratt

2009-07-17T08:09:00.007-07:00

I just found out that Myrna Pratt died yesterday after a long battle with cancer.

Although this is sad news, a person couldn't ask for a better life. She was in my opinion, practically perfect in every way.

I was one of the thousands of friends of Myrna's children who traipsed through her home over the years. She had so many children and yet I never heard her get upset or angry or even mutter a negative word. She was the quintessential example of the peace the gospel of Jesus Christ can bring into your life. She was fun and funny, she was spiritual and accessible, she was perfect but approachable. I feel honored to have known her.

Her example was so important to me when I was an adolescent. Her testimony was so authentic and her love of the gospel was so real and she showed by example that it was totally applicable in day to day life. She played a huge role in the development of my own testimony and for that I am eternally grateful.

I have no doubt that Myrna's reunion with the Savior was a gloriously happy occasion.

God Has a Sense Of Humor

2009-07-14T07:44:00.002-07:00

Part of my testimony is that I know God has a sense of humor. There is an experience that I often think about to illustrate my point.

When I was 18 I lived in Provo for the summer with a few roommates. Our singles ward was doing baptisms for the dead at the Provo temple one evening. I was very excited to be participating in the baptisms but I was running late after work in Salt Lake. Also, I needed to pick up my friend Sara and give her a ride.

At this point in the story, I should tell you that I am an animal lover. Animals love me and I love
them back. I am particularly anguished by the thought of animals suffering or dying. I have been known to cry real tears when passing roadkill. real tears.

I am also known to be a speeder. Yes, this is why I married my husband. It was all an attempt to get out of speeding tickets. by the way, it worked. I get pulled over for speeding all of the time and now that I'm in the law enforcement family, the cop usually walks away from my car having left directions to his house for a barbeque instead of a citation. Cameras are a whole other story, but suffice it to say that I am a lead foot and always have been.

So back to the story: I picked up Sara and headed for the temple. There I was speeding down Canyon Road, stressing out about being late for the temple and a cat darted out in front of my truck. I didn't even have time to tap the brakes. Thud thud. The cat went squarely under my front tire and then my back tire. I instinctively looked out my rear view mirror. I literally saw chunks of feline fur flying all over the road behind me. The sun was down but the street lights caught the gleam of atomized kitty guts. I immediately pulled over to the side of the road and asked Sara if I should go back and see if I could help the cat. She had had an even better view of the incident and informed me that no, I should not go back because there was definitely nothing that could be done for the cat. he was dead. I cried and cried. It was the single most traumatic thing that had happened to me in my 17 years. I couldn't drive because I was crying too hard. I didn't want to go to the temple anymore, I was too devastated.

Sara was so sweet and was trying so hard to make me feel better and knew that I would be better off if I went to the temple and did the baptisms rather than sit all night and ruminate about the carnage I had caused. I remember I kept thinking it through and then I would come to a part in the thought process where I would say "Maybe I just clipped him. Maybe he is okay." or "Maybe we should take him to an animal hospital." Each time Sara would gently say "Staci, the cat is dead." She suggested that we say a prayer. In the prayer she said "Please bless the cat, who is dead." Eventually I got calmed down and we got to laughing about the line "who is dead" because it was said exactly like they say it when they do baptisms for the dead. The laughter broke through the sadness and we went to the temple.

When I got to the baptistry that night I felt a little better but was still shaken. I prayed for comfort and for the burden of guilt to be lifted. I also prayed for the cat.

It was my turn to be baptized and they assigned me an alphabetical chunk of the list of names. The entire list was people named Cat. I swear to you that this is not an exaggeration or a tall tale. They were all Cats. Some of them were Caterina or Catherine and some of them were literally just plain Cat with no last name even.

I laughed out loud when I realized the coincidence. Sara and I couldn't look at each other when the person performing the baptism would say "I baptize you for and in behalf of Cat, who is dead."

It was more than coincidence. It was a tender mercy. It made me feel better. God knows my personality and my sense of humor and He was messing with me in good fun. I have a testimony that God is hilarious sometimes. He is perfect, afterall.

I have never since hit an animal in my car. well, probably a few lizards and there was one very suicidal pigeon with what had to be Al-Qaeda training, but never a cat or dog.

This lesson I learned about God's sense of humor comes in handy every day. Especially when I am raising children and trying so hard to do everything right. It helps to know that God is laughing along with me when things are funny and crying along with me when they are sad. I know that we can always get exactly the thing we need emotionally from Him if we ask and look for it.

A Tub Full of Cuteness

2009-07-01T13:44:00.002-07:00

Could this trio of babies be any more cute? I really don't think its even possible. Clark is one, Christopher is three and Abe is a year and a half.

Here they are toweling off after the bath. These three are hilarious together and we hope they will all grow up to be best friends. With the taking of these pictures we now have good blackmail material for all of them. Especially Abe's pink flower getup. Not that he chose it, but dang, he sure is pretty in pink.

Raising our right-wing nut job

2009-07-01T11:02:00.003-07:00

Today we were watching Noggin and they had a little in-between thing about the Earth. It said things like The Earth gives us everything we have. She gives us a home and makes us happy etc. etc.

Jack was watching skeptically and then said, "That not the Earth that they are talking about....that's Jesus who gives us all of that.

"Well, keep in mind that Jesus did give us the Earth" I answered helpfully although Jack's scowl didn't fade.

"They didn't even talk about Jesus. They totally got it wrong."

Before walking away I heard him mutter "Freakin' Liberals."

Wow. I didn't even know what to say. I just let it go. He is already suspicious of the leftist agenda that seems to invade all of these so called kids networks. I wonder why.

here is a good article from the Wall Street Journal about Noggin's political slant. The claim of political neutrality is a lie that even a five year old can see through.