I survived Easter 2011

I say that because, in the spirit of true Christian worship, Jon, the boys, and I kicked off our Easter festivities at the Mall. 

We tried to do it the old fashioned way, at a city park, but apparently Logan doesn't go by Mormon Standard Time, which is to start EVERYTHING at least five minutes, or better yet, fifteen minutes, after the scheduled starting time.  So, an Easter egg hunt scheduled to start at 11:00 AM Saturday morning was, in fact, finished by the time we showed up to the park in question at 10:50 AM (and all the Mormons in attendance were shocked to miss the main event, having arrived a half-hour early).

Fortunately, the Mirror-Alfreds did their homework and knew of the ongoing egg hunt at the Mall.  (cue ominous music)

That should have been our first clue that we weren't about to experience a traditional Easter egg hunt (if the thrumming beat of the shopping music didn't clue us in first).

This was the second clue:

Yes, friends, we went to an Easter Mosh Pit.  Jon went boldly with Gabriel into the fray and said, quote, "I tried to help him get an egg, but every time I put my hand out to help him, someone stepped on it."

Good times, good times...unless you're Ethan.  The universe joined in the conspiracy to make his life miserable (it's not just his parents and teachers anymore):  he was too old to join in the fun.  But he was a good sport...and helped Gabriel eat his loot so I wouldn't have to.  Thanks for taking the bullet for me.  What a good kid.

So, after a productive morning of celebrating the most important event in Christianity by engaging in fisticuffs with toddlers and their parents during a tradition that has roots in pagan fertility symbolism, we took pictures in front of the Easter demon bunny:

I'm actually glad that it was a stuffed bunny.  Have you ever seen a bunny costume that didn't look like it had demon eyes?  Also, see Ethan's new glasses, the ones we bought the 11th?  In three more hours, they bit the dust during a "friendly" wrestling match with Elijah.  FACEPALM! 

We tried to make actual Easter morning a little less, uh, frantic.

But, as we currently have all boys, we were only moderately successful.  They had fun, though...

That was the only time that day they showed any interest in a product that didn't contain high fructose corn syrup covered in sugary sugar atoms.  Even Gabriel got in on the fun:

That's MY candy!

I don't know why Gaber's imperious pointing makes me laugh...it just does. 

And, last but not least, a few random Gabey pictures:

Happy Easter, my peeps!

Various and sundry

I find myself being forced to be good (as far as my diet goes, at least).  As you can imagine, it's not going well.  There is major kicking and screaming going on...come one, what kind of diet limits FRUIT?????  Mostly I sneak a lot and then go on walks.  Gabriel loves this set up--it gets us out of the house, even when the weather is questionable...last night we got caught in a hail storm.  Seriously.

At any rate, Gabers loves it, especially now that he's been armed by his older brothers.  Above, you'll see him wielding Elijah's...short sword?...which is exactly the right size for a toddler.  There is something built into the Y chromosome that makes boys EVERYWHERE chop and slash at things offensively;  Gabriel spent most of the walk attacking innocent hedges and emerging tulips.  Please note, St. George family, that he's still wearing his cold weather gear.  That's because Logan still looks like this:

I should be grateful the snow is confined to the surrounding mountains at this point, but I  can't WAIT for it to be warm enough to go hiking/swimming/etc.

In other news, the boys are being FORCED to run by the school.  To hear Ethan tell it, it's to torture them.  Elijah, our chatty monkey, was told by a teacher that if he "ran as fast or as much as he talked, he'd be a professional runner."  Elijah was crushed.  I tried not to laugh, because it's true.  On the way to Lisa and Jim's wedding last June, he talked NON STOP from Logan to Provo (that's three hours, for you non-Utahns), and I think he only shushed because he was shy around John (my brother, whom I picked up in Provo.  Yeah, John.  Ask me how many "John's" there are in my immediate family).

Anyways, back to the fun run:

That's Elijah on the far left

Ethan

Note on Ethan's current hormonal development:  Ethan has officially reached the stage wherein Jon and I have gained, as Dave Barry put it, the ultimate parental power:  the power to embarrass.  We were informed that we were allowed to come to the fun run (which is a spectator event), BUT we were NOT allowed to wave to him or in any way acknowledge that we were somehow there for Ethan.  CHALLENGE ACCEPTED!  I wish I didn't have pregnancy brain going on...I got the brilliant idea to make signs that said, "We're here to embarrass Ethan"  on the way there.  I'm telling you, we could have sold them to the other parents.  It's going to be a FUN decade.

Also, you may have heard of--or even utilized--the chair carry, the dead man carry, or another method of transporting injured/unconscious individuals.  May I please introduce you to:  THE WEDGIE CARRY.  It's a good thing Gabers is still in diapers...this couldn't have felt good.

And rounding out the family, here's what the fetus is doing these days:

Recreating Riverdance.  If I didn't know better, I'd swear I was carrying multiples.  I didn't realize how easy Gabriel was on me--he moved, but in controlled, non-spazzy movements.  I think the fetus is trying to bust her way out, usually at three AM.  Try sleeping through THAT.  I'm not looking forward to July....

Spring cleaning and other myths

To further the myth that Gabriel is a cleaning freak, I give you:

This is Gabriel picking up a bunch of sticks lying all skeewumpus all over the sidewalk

This is Gabriel putting them on the grass...where they belong

And that's pretty much how our walks go.  Gabriel gets annoyed at Nature's inability to clean up after herself (an experience which could be called "Gabriel's Parenthood Prep 1010) and puts as many sticks/leaves/rocks back on the lawns as he can.  Fortunately, he's in the stroller when we go past the temple...there, it isn't sticks and leaves, it's dried out, nastified worms.  Urg.

Meanwhile, back on the Alfred Ranch, there isn't much spring cleaning going on.  This is mostly because I'm in rebellion due to Mother Nature's refusal to get with the program and let the temperature get above 45. Also, some sun would be nice.   Not that I'm bitter.  OK, maybe I'm a little bitter. 

My apparent bitterness might be traced to 1) the muddy state of our backyard, which makes sweeping--let alone mopping--an exercise in futility, but doesn't make me less annoyed by the state of my floors.  Or, 2)  I'm still fuming about a recently-returned suitcase of dirty clothes (which may or may not be the suitcase of previously-unstained/torn clothes mentioned in my previous post, oh the irony).  This really chaps my hide because FOR THE LOVE it's common courtesy to clean up after yourself.  Don't send your messes back for other people to take care of, and don't treat me like your personal servant, especially an unpaid, un-thanked one.  I don't mind a day or two worth of dirty clothes...but a week's worth?  FURTHER IRONY:  I do their laundry 42 weeks out of the year; I don't know why bumping it to 43 made me so angry, I certainly don't mind making sure they are cared for...probably something about entitlement and selfishness and an inability to realize that the world doesn't revolve around any one individual (unless it's me) (that was sarcasm) (mostly). 

It has recently come to my attention that I have some anger issues.  Also, I've recently decided--believe it or not, given that lovely rant--that I'm sick of being angry.  AND, I've realized that She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is functioning as a fabulous lightning rod for all of my pent up anger...which is especially nice if you're one of a few other people in my life that you would think I'd be ragingly angry with but, strangely, am not.  I guess I can only rage against one person at a time.

IMPORTANT DETAIL:  I take great care NOT to rage (about You-Know-Who, at least) in front of the boys.  However, this level of rage is impossible to hide completely, which is why  I'm sick of being angry.  They don't need to deal with my garbage on top of what they already have.  Also, this level of anger takes a lot of energy to maintain, and this stupid gestational diabetes diet doesn't let me eat that much.  Which brings us to...

The third reason I might possibly be excessively bitter:  after a month or so of weaseling chocolate into my day under the justification of "but I haven't technically been diagnosed," that train has left the station, and the other shoe dropped on Monday (let's see how many bad expressions I can work into this).  I am officially the annoyed recipient of a gestational diabetes diagnosis.  Mercifully, my usually uber-careful doc decided that the full three-hour test would be redundant, given my history.  Thank heavens.  They run out of new places to collect blood during the second hour and it just gets painful.  Regardless, the diagnosis is there, and--for all that it isn't surprising--the comfort eater in me finds the timing to be awful.  If I could just have a chocolate cake donut smeared with homemade whipped cream, all of my anger would mysteriously disappear, at least temporarily (only to come back in the form of guilt over having potentially harmed the fetus).

So, in an attempt to spring clean my attitude, I'm trying to focus on the things that AREN'T bugging me, like...

Gabriel's mad reading skillz

My awesome sister-in-law, Elizabeth, who really is awesome.  This is especially great since I only get one sister-in-law.  Plus, she's got mad kid distracting skillz.  Added bonus.

My cute nieces and nephews, even when they teach Gabriel naughty things.  I love how carefully Tess placed the plant on the floor before climbing into the niche.  Neatness counts, especially when performing acts of naughtiness.

Elijah's birthday and his accursed cake that never seemed to go away.  Also, the fact that the mirror-Alfreds were good sports and ate the cake even though Elijah obnoxiously coughed the candles out.  Facepalm!

Mr. McMoody Pants got his new, hip glasses.  You know, I should cut Ethan some slack.  Lately, I'm giving him a run for his money in the "overly sensitive and emotional" department.  Pregnant women and preteens...I tell ya, it's a bad combo.

Last but not least, my wonderful husband...who puts up with us all.  Thanks for that...

The life I lead/I need a montage

A few days ago, after another bout of ranting about wanting to flee to Anaheim, the universe decided to mock me, and the local Young Punk radio station played a medley of Disney movie tunes.  Very funny, universe.  Har har.  Being in a strangely masochistic mood (and not wanting to listen to angry people rant about politics), I decided to humbly accept my well-earned cosmic smack in the face.

The universe has a funny way of making a point.  One of the songs was "The Life I Lead," from Mary Poppins, a song I have never particularly liked, because I thought it was obnoxious.  I guess I just needed to have the right combination of life experiences to appreciate it. 

For those of you unwilling to click the link (shame!), the song is Mr. Banks patting himself on the back for his orderly and idyllic home life (that part is obnoxious).  The element I find ruddy hysterical is that, throughout the song, Mrs. Banks is trying to get his attention and tell him a very important bit of information; namely, their children are missing.  Oops.  So much for his perfectly-ordered existence.  However, he completely ignores her...such chaos cannot be part of his life; therefore, her words don't register.  I particularly like the part where he pats his missing children on the head and shoos them off to bed, as per his usual routine.

Now, throughout the years, I've collected a few lines that, due to their back story, convey a lot of information with just a few words (as long as you know the back story.  Apparently, I'm selective in my willingness to communicate).  Among them are such gems as "There's too much chicken," "trapped in the afternoon," and "pink dot."  (no, I'm not going to explain them.  It would take too long.) Now, I have a new one:

"But, George, THE CHILDREN ARE MISSING!!!!!" 

This one line means, "Poor sucker doesn't even know what's really going on around him.  It must be nice to live in a such a perfect world.  Oh, well.  Reality will bite him in the arse soon enough."

Yesterday, Jon and I had our parenting skills called into question because, wait for it, the boys' shirts often are stained and many of their jeans have holes in the knees.  This from the individual whose impending visits occasion late night vomiting and day time meltdowns.  Deep breath.  The children are missing.

Today, the boys left to spend spring break with their mother.  They took with them a suitcase of clothes, carefully inspected to ensure that none of the shirts were stained and that the pants didn't have holes in the knees.  They left behind an evil stepmother who was stunned because their hair is sooooo short (this is a crime?).

Tomorrow, I'm going to try really hard not to spend money we don't have on churros and turkey legs because it's easier to handle the boys' absence by being somewhere else entirely (last summer was perfect--while they were gone, we were in Ohio).  I'm going to try really hard to remember that she's trying to pack  three months worth of parenting into a week, and that the little jabs are because she wishes she was here more.  And I'm REALLY going to try NOT to think about natural consequences and feel smug about it.  Being a flawed human being, that last one will be the hardest.

Right now, I need a montage to get me through the week, since eating a chocolate cake is, sadly, out of the question.  Because...

"And show us a passage of time,
We're gonna need a montage (montage)
Oh it takes a montage (montage)

Show a lot of things happening at once,
Remind everyone of what's going on (what's going on?)
And with every shot you show a little improvement
To show it all would take to long
That's called a montage (montage)
Oh we want montage (montage)
  
And anything that we want to go from just a beginner to a pro,
You need a montage (montage)
Even Rocky had a montage (montage)"

 
I need a montage...but probably for more than to get through this one week.  I'd like a montage to get me to the point that I'm not angry about the jabs and parenting tips and maybe, just maybe, that fake smile on my face during drop off and picks ups could be more genuine...

I need to pick a song...I  better pick a long one.  I have a LONG way to go...

Sightings

As the weather in Hoth improves (read that, "is above freezing"), outdoor sightings of local wildlife and their young are increasingly frequent.

Behold, a rare sighting of a prepubescent Wookiee, or juvenile Badmoodius Growlandmopealot:

Be careful, he'll rip your arm off if he loses.  Or if you ask him to comb his hair.  I love how blatantly he turned and ran when he realized I was pointing the camera at him.  He's like a Sasquatch.  You'll note that he isn't wearing glasses...he broke his second pair in a month, which was all we kept on hand.  We took him to get new glasses...and he actually tried to pick frames based on what he thought would drive his mother crazy.  Nice.  It's going to be a fun decade.

Next, we have a unique glimpse of a young spider monkey trying out his budding climbing skills.

He's better at drawing.  Also, baiting juvenile Wookiees.  He's pretty good at that, too...and juvenile Wookiees REALLY rise to the occasion (this is how we know about the arm-ripping-off thing).

Last but not least, we have a charming encounter with a baby llama on wobbly legs.  Thank heavens he wasn't in a "mad at mama" mood:

Here he is seen on a lucky day in between flareups of croup.  Apparently, a grownup-sized cold has the potential of going croupy on toddler-sized throats, and liquid steroids taste nasty, causing young patients to lose all trust in formerly trusted clinic nurses.  Now I know.  I also realize how blessed I have been with his overall healthiness:  in 18 months, this is only his second cold and he's only had one ear infection.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Thanks to Jon, whose amazing good luck in the door prize raffle at the Graduate Symposium brought home a Flip camera phone thingey, allowing us to document these encounters.  Also:  way to go, Jon, for placing second in the aforementioned Graduate Symposium.  That had nothing to do with luck.