Thursday, February 27, 2014

I forgot to post this one last week

Sadie was sitting in the clean laundry pile, putting socks on her arms and taking them off to upgrade to new sock puppets. She stopped for a second to inform me, "Oh! My daddy is happy so much!" Then she went right back to her business. 

I love when kids are half asleep and say weird things. Preston said, "Mama, why did I just suddenly think of a snake with a mustache? I can't get it out of my mind."

I am aware it's weird. That I'm weird. I was putting some of my medication into the bottle I had saved from the previous month because I needed some for my purse for when I'm not at home. After I had finished, I almost had an anxiety attack because my OCD could not be satisfied when I had no idea which lid went to which bottle. I still feel a little bit stressed thinking about it because I don't know if I guessed right. Then I laugh at myself for feeling stressed about such a stupid thing. Then I feel like if I just inspected them closely enough, I could probably figure out which one is the newer lid. Weird but true, like the name of my kids' favorite books. (You know, Weird But True, full of weird facts.)

We went to Carter's parent teacher conference. His teacher had chips and salsa to snack on, which all of my kids love. Sadie screamed and threw a fit for quite a while when we took her home away from the salsa. When her words were (what's the word like legible but meaning clear enough to understand through the crying? I have been having serious problems finding words the last couple of days. Probably not the best time to write a blog post...) audible, she could be heard to say, "More sawsa! I need more of that sawsa!" It was mostly just screaming and making herself stiff as a board so we couldn't put her in her car seat very easily. I still hate tantrums, but it don't feel nearly as frustrated or embarrassed when they come now because I expect them. If Carter had ever thrown a tantrum like she does, I would have gone completely crazy. I was so stressed about every little thing with my first kid. It's like those Luvs commercials that show the paranoid parent with the first kid and the relaxed expert mom by the second or third kid. I'm not an expert, but I'm grateful for the experience that has taught me to be a better mom in many ways. I still don't use Luvs. I made that mistake with the first kid. The slightly lower cost of the diapers does not negate the increased cost of laundry detergent and carpet cleaner when they leak every single time. (I'm sure they make them a little bit better than they used to, but I'm not trying them again to find out.)

Avery and Sadie each drew me a picture yesterday. Avery gave me hers first. It had a heart and some flowers and was pink and purple and very girly looking. Sadie came to me with her picture. It had scribbles that she told me were butterflies. "I made you these butterfwies, but I need that picture," she said, grabbing the one Avery had drawn for me. "It's mine cuz it's pretty. You can have these butterfwies instead." 

Saturday, February 22, 2014

Bags of Cats and Bibs

We were awakened this morning by a knocking on our door and a sweet little voice saying over and over, "Who is it? Who is it, Daddy?"

Bill took a nap this afternoon. He was awakened because of a nightmare. He dreamed he was sleeping in our bed exactly like he was then sleeping when someone threw a bag of cats on him, and his arms were paralyzed, so he couldn't get the cats off. They were crawling all over his face and his whole body. I can imagine how terrible that would be! 

I would take being woken up the first way, even if it was too early. (I wrote the beginning of this post and didn't finish it that day. I have since been woken up to Sadie crying at my door super early saying, "Who is it? Who is it, Mommy? I need you, Mommy! I don't want Presty to get me my breakfast! Get up, Mommy! Who is it? Who is it, Mommy?" It was still way better than a bag of cats, but the crying slightly affects the cuteness factor.)

Sadie sang, "You Are My Sunshine" to me. My gun friends will like her version better than the original. "You are my sweetie, my wittow sweetie. I can hode you in my arms. Pwease don't take my arms away." 

I had some Mozart music on the piano from when I attempted to practice earlier. (Sadie doesn't let me really work on a song long before she is on my lap asking me to make her "two pokey fingers pway Twinkow Wittow Star"...) Carter sat at the piano, and he worked on the first measure or two of the song for about fifteen minutes. When he realized how hard the song was going to be for a kid who rarely practices and who has really only had fewer than twenty lessons ever because of an inconsistent teacher, he asked, "Will you pay me fifty bucks if I learn this song?" 

I really would pay him that much if it would make him practice. I am guessing he would learn one or two lines before giving up because it is so far out of his reach right now. It's hard for me, and I have been playing for thirty years! I remember learning the first few pages when I was in seventh grade, but I have forgotten so much. It is weird how the fingering mostly comes back to me, even if I am having other issues with it...

My kids hardly EVER compliment each other, so I was shocked the other night at dinner when Carter said, "I think Preston is going to be as good as Uncle Matt at the piano when he grows up." He even said it right in front of Preston. It might be true. I have seen Preston work on a song out of a book for five or ten minutes. Then, he practices the song over the course of a few days or a week without using the book. He makes mistakes, but he corrects himself because he can remember how it is supposed to go. Once in a while, he will open the book to check something because he doesn't have a completely photographic memory, but it still amazes me. He also has a really good ear. 

Sadie is obsessed with bras, which she calls bibs, and boobs. She is always trying to look down my shirt and touch me, and I made the mistake of telling her no. Now she wants to do it more, and she thinks it's so funny. I should have just ignored her, and she would have gotten over it, but being two makes her want to do anything I tell her she isn't supposed to do. Ugh. And heaven help the next lady who holds her who actually has cleavage! 

A Sort-of Typical Conversation with Sadie

I like to sing, "I am like a star shining brightly, shining for the whole world to see. I can do and say happy things each day, for I know Heavenly Father loves me," to Sadie. Every single time I sing it, without fail, for the last three or four months, she says immediately after I finish, "Heaveny Father wuvs me. And Jesus wuvs me. And Daddy wuvs me. And Mommy wuvs me. And Presty. And Avie. And Tarter wuvs me. And God wuvs me." I explained that God and Heavenly Father are the same person. I don't know if she really understood that concept. Today, her list was a little longer than usual. She continued, "And some of my friends wuv me. And some of my grandpas wuv me. And some of my grandmas wuv me. And some of my other friends wuv me. And Untow Stott wuvs me. And Baby Ivy. And Heather. And a puppy. I pet a puppy. The puppy was on the fwoor. I wuv puppies. I wuv titties, too. (Kitties) And I wuv goddies. (Doggies) And I wuv another tittie. And I wuv a bunny. And the puppy on the fwoor wuvs me. Do you wuv a puppy?" I reminded her that it was time to go to sleep for her nap. "I'o dream about puppies. And about a piece of paper."

I think the puppy on the floor is my sister's dog. And I forgot to ask her about her dreams when she woke up to see if she really did dream about a puppy and that piece of paper.

Friday, February 21, 2014

Is Best Always Better?

How do you feel about BFFs? Most people I know have a "best friend" that they talk to and about. I am excluding spouses for consideration of best friend title for the purposes of this post, but I hope that if you have a spouse, you do think of them as your best friend.

I don't have one best friend, but we moved frequently as I was growing up, and we have moved a few times since we got married. Because of the many relocations, I had many times that I had to start over and make all new friends. I am glad that I am not introverted because it would have been even harder for me to make friends. I usually had a lot of friends wherever I lived, and I am grateful for that. 

One thing I did notice, in my many attempts to make new friends, was that it was always harder to be friends with people who already had a "best friend". They usually didn't feel like they needed more friends, and they rarely made efforts to befriend new people. I have seen this situation occur at every stage of life. I also felt more intimidated trying to befriend people when I knew they already had a best friend. I knew I wouldn't be their very best friend because they already had one, so I didn't try as hard. And I knew I would have to impress both people to be friends with even one of them. They usually come as a package deal. I have found it to be even more difficult in these situations as an adult.

Because of these past experiences, I have developed a strong opinion about labeling someone as a best friend. I think that the label can be a little bit dangerous. When we publicly label someone as a best friend, it can cause difficulties for either "best friend" to make as many new friends or to develop stronger friendships. And when we label someone as a best friend, even in our minds, we can limit our desires to develop more friendships. 

So I guess it's not having the best friend that causes problems but the label. And labels of any kind can cause problems. We hear about the dangers of labeling people, but we don't often talk about the dangers of even good labels. I have a friend whose children always seem to behave perfectly. Everyone labels them as perfect, and because of that label, people don't expect her to ever have problems with her children. She doesn't receive the understanding that should be given to everyone, the understanding that nobody is perfect. (I don't have this problem because my kids are universally known to have their problems, fist fights during the calm Nativity scene, etc.)

We all need friends, and we need to feel like other people like us. We don't want to feel that the other person doesn't fully value us, that they will always have another person that they like more. And we don't want to limit ourselves. We want to keep ourselves open to new friendship opportunities......don't  we? Am I the only person who feels this way?

Wednesday, February 12, 2014

Open Windows

I am so glad that I had some cleaning ladies come and help me out, especially with my bathroom. I am so embarrassed that I didn't notice before my shower that they had cleaned the blinds and window and had left the blinds open. The window is right next to the shower but outside the shower, so I sustained some bruising in trying to reach over the top of the shower to shut the blinds. My neighbor was outside, but I don't think he saw me. At least, he hasn't said anything to indicate that he has. I also haven't seen him since looking out the window and noticing that I could see him while in the shower, so...

Me: I love you, Sadie.
Sadie: I wuv a butterfwy.

During our family prayer tonight, Sadie kept reaching into Bill's shirt pocket, pulling out imaginary findings and saying, "Here's a wittow chip for me. Do you want a chip, Daddy? Oh, here's another chip. Oh, there's more chips in there. Yum. These are good chips. No, I don't want to stop it. I want another chip..." 

Avery has been working on cartwheels and handstands the last few weeks. She is not very good at either thing, and she can't really believe that I was once talented at gymnastics. I stopped right about the time I finally mastered a back handspring, and I was too scared to do it anywhere other than a gym, so I wasn't that amazing, but I wasn't bad. I even have video proof that I could throw myself back and forth on the uneven parallel bars and complete a decent floor routine, complete with perfect splits. I don't think there's proof that I once had good enough balance to do the beam, but I did, and I don't think I ever fell off. 

I have been married a lucky thirteen years. We celebrated with a nice dinner of leftovers (from two separate nights, so we had choices), surrounded by fighting children, followed up with even more fighting, then some weird game the kids played, in which they spread blankets all over the entire floor upstairs. It was so nice that they wanted us to be able to spend quality time together to clean up their giant messes. It was so amazing! I love my family!

(I really do love my family, and I am only halfway mocking all the people who have much more awesome and more romantic anniversary celebrations than we do. Plus, Bill was able to stop on the way home from work and get me some chocolates of which I was not allergic to at least a good third of the box.)

**I kind of feel bad for giving this post a name that indicates that I might relate some uplifting thought or story, (like when God closes a door, He opens a window) when I was really just letting you have a possible laugh at my indecent exposure.**

Friday, February 7, 2014

Wittow Sweetie

Carter: Daddy offended Indians everywhere by putting Greek yogurt into the curry sauce. He should have put Indian yogurt in it... Do they have that?

Sadie: I have a hiccup! Oh! I have another hiccup! I have a hiccup, too. Oh! Another hiccup. A hiccup, too...

Me: You're a cutie, Sadie.
Sadie: I'm not a cutie! I'm a big sweetie! And you're a wittow sweetie! You're just my wittow sweetie, Mommy.

Sadie keeps bringing me food to eat. It is so cute. Also, it is really hard to explain to a two-year-old about allergies and why I can't eat the food she keeps bringing me. 

Me: Sadie, do you want to come watch the Olypics with me on the ipad?
Sadie: No. It's too boring for wittow tids.

She did watch with me for a while, so it was not as bad as she thought it would be.

Sadie: Mommy, do you want a prophet?
Me: A prophet?
Sadie: I wiw det you a prophet. Here you doe. It's a prophet for you. And here's another prophet for you. It's Tarter's prophet. And this is Preston's prophet. You want another prophet?

It was a puffle, one of those weird stuffed guys that are only a head and no body from Club Penguin.

Monday, February 3, 2014

Run For Your Lives!

Sadie was sitting next to me and climbing all over me for a little while this morning. I was about to get up, but Sadie said, "Don't move, Mommy! Shhhh. Big Bird is tating a nap." I looked down on my lap, and there was a little plastic Big Bird wrapped up in a Kleenex. I carefully placed him somewhere else so I could get some things done. I was lucky he didn't wake up when I moved him...

Do you want to know how to make two-year-olds really mad? When they are hitting you over and over, just keep sticking your hands up so they keep giving you five instead. They will become furious and start yelling, "Stop giving me five! I wanna HIT you!" Why would such a small person want to hit you? Maybe you said it wasn't okay to pull your hair? That would do it. 

The hitting is much preferable to the hair-pulling, by the way. I can't seem to get those little fists out of my hair without help. She has been doing it the last few days. She thinks it is funny. It's the worst when she does it while Bill and the kids are at school because I end up losing a lot more hair when I have no help pulling her hands out of the tangled mess she creates. One day, maybe I will pull her hair back hard enough that she realizes how much it hurts.

When I was a kid, my parents were burning something in the yard. My sister was scared of the fire and kept saying, "Run for your lives!" She was a whole year older than I was, so I'm pretty sure I listened to her. Big kids always seemed to know more than I did about life and death situations.

Last night, Sadie had a BAD diaper. Carter ran down the stairs, yelling, "Run for your lives! Run for your lives! We're all going to die!" Preston listened, because Carter is more than a year older, and he joined in the stinky chaos. "It's okay to panic when it smells this bad! Panic in the basement!" he yelled, as he ran down the stairs to only mildly stinky freedom. (She initiated the dirty diaper when she was playing downstairs, so they couldn't escape the smell completely.) Avery ran away, after yelling at Sadie, "Sadie! You should NOT have done that! Now we all feel like throwing up!" It smelled exactly like the elephants at the zoo. It was so smelly. Sadie didn't like it, either. "Det it off me! It's so dross!"