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. 

Look! Something shiny!

Continuing in my well-practiced art of ignoring the things that are bugging the ever-lovin' tar out of me...

If you aren't aware, there is a huge market for llama picture books.  When Gabriel was a *little* baby, he loved this book, which is about a little llama looking for his llama mama:

On a good day, he still loves this book.  In fact, he went nutso when he saw the cover art.  However, as he has grown and his personality has started to come out from undercover, we have found a few books that more accurately portray our little llama.  He's gone from being a cute little llama looking for his mama to:

I see that face FREQUENTLY, especially when I thwart him...which is, out of injury preventing necessity, quite often.  Mom once told me that I was pretty much mad at her for the first six years of my life.  I seem to have passed that charming trait on.  Mom: yet again, your parental curse was a success.

And now for something completely different

On Tuesday, I just about packed it all in and headed for Disneyland.  I actually did the financial math and thought about how much the boys would miss in school.  It was a close call.  Not close enough that Jon ever heard anything about it (he probably would have shot it down), but in my head, the plans were getting quite elaborate.  Instead of blowing off all our responsibilities, playing hooky for a few days, and spending our tax return on churros and mouse ears, we....

...bought a car.  Meet Winnie (my adaptation of Jon's Space Balls reference to a Winnebago).  We've been looking for a while, because as much as we joked about letting Ethan ride on the roof or in the trunk when the new baby gets here, we would never really do it (although Ethan did go along with the plan enthusiastically).  Thank heavens Jon's dad called Tuesday to tell us he was coming Wednesday to bring us his Freestyle, which we had been talking to him about buying (thanks, Harry!).  So not only did we manage to use our tax return more wisely than in the harebrained schemes I was getting ready to spring on Jon, but we got to cross an item off our list of Unknown Variables Bugging the Ever-Lovin' Tar Out of Me. One down, ten to go.  Sigh.

 

 NO ONE EXPECTS THE 

SPANISH INQUISITION!

To wrap up quickly before I have to check my blood sugar again:

1.  Elijah seems to have resigned himself to his fate of...having a younger sister.  Poor kid.
2.  Having received a bluntly-worded rejection letter from Kansas State on Friday (hence, my Tuesday plans to chuck everything and head for Anaheim), we're down to waiting to hear from Ohio State.  As a back up, Jon started tentatively looking for jobs. 
3.  Naming a car is so much less complicated than naming a human.  Right now, our favorite for the fetus's first name is to name her after James, the brother of Jesus, and hope that she has better control over her tongue than her parents.  The middle name is still under negotiation.  Suggestions are welcome.
4.  Yesterday drove home the fact of how quickly things can change, and at the same time, how something so unexpected and yet expected can knock you off your feet.  Confused yet?  Let me come out of denial long enough to say that my parents' divorce was finalized yesterday, and Elijah, in a rare fit of compassion/awareness of others, gave me a note "welcoming me to the club" and a teddy bear.  Ethan, fresh from a session with his therapist, had lots of coping ideas.  FACEPALM!  I love those boys...

And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go organize something.  Probably the DVDs.  And then do the dishes.  And fold laundry/watch Bones.  You know, this would be a lot easier if I could just eat a donut without affecting the fetus... 

Fun with science

It's been a science-y type week here in Hoth.  Not to use overly technical terms.

To start with, it was the school science fair.  Ethan has been working on his project for several weeks, which is entitled, "Do seeds grow better in soil or rocks?"  

He's been carefully caring for two sets of seeds, one growing in soil, the other in rocks, both placed on the piano where they could manage to leak water all over its beautiful (cherry?) wood, despite the fact that they were placed inside of a plastic tupperware container on top of a folded hand towel.  The real question we should have investigated was, "What kind of magical water do we have, that it can escape all reasonable attempts to contain it?"  (I think the answer doesn't lie so much with the water as it does the waterer.  But I digress.)

In keeping with the science-y theme this week, Jon and I are conducting experiments in toddler behavior.  The question we're investigating is, "How long will it take a toddler with already messed up sleeping habits to adjust to daylight savings time?"  We haven't concluded our research, but we can draw a preliminary conclusion:  longer than five days.  We're also--inadvertently--exploring a behavioral corollary:  "How cranky will the 20 weeks pregnant mother of said toddler get after five days of sleep-deprivation-induced toddler temper tantrums?"  The results are still out, but I'm sure Jon and the boys could give you some vehement personal opinions on the subject.  Poor guys.

Elijah's first science experience this week gave me the willies:

Urg.  I'm so grateful that Jon has a strong "no reptiles for pets" rule.  Shudder.

Elijah also got to go the the great bouncy ball drop of 2011, wherein 20,000 bouncy balls--yes, you read that correctly--were dropped from a helicopter to simulate electron motion.  At least, that's what all the science geeks were telling people the purpose was.  Personally, I think the whole thing smacks of a frat stunt, but...hey, it was entertainment.  The deal was that you could keep whatever you caught, and Elijah, bless his optimistic heart, brought a laundry basket to hold his haul.  The basket had the added bonus of acting as an impromptu helmet as the balls were being dropped, as seen below:

Note:  the crowd was expecting big bouncy balls.  In retrospect, that was a little unrealistic, as it would have required one of those baskets used to drop water on forest fires.  What we got was a little less...spectacular. 

Little-known fact: 20,000 one-inch rubber balls being dropped out of a hovering helicopter make it look like the helicopter is spawning.

Gabriel had a little baby stroke of joy at the sight of the helicopter.  It.  Was.  Awesome.  That's my boy.

I was going to end this post with a picture of the newest Alfred, whose gender was determined (YAY A GIRL) this week.  Unfortunately, the disc doesn't have the cool 3D images, just the creepy 2D/black and white images and I don't have access to the scanner right now.  Sigh.  I guess I could show you a really great image of her frontal lobe (it's huge!), but...nah.  I will say this, though:  my nose is very clearly a dominant trait, as is Jon's chin.  The girl fetus is very definitely related to Gabriel.

Let's hope she sleeps better than he does...as it's 9:30 and I'm not even going to TRY to put him to bed yet (please see blog dated March 9th, lesson 2, number 5).  I don't feel like having six consecutive lessons in futility....

When you put the facts together, it's not that startling.

Subtitled, "God loves Pain and Irony."

Ahem.

List of stuff that the fetus FORCED me to buy last week (stupid cravings):

1.  the biggest jar of Nutella you can buy at WalMart
2.  a half gallon of Chocolate English Toffee Aggie ice cream (AKA "heaven in a box")
3.  Ovaltine
4.  Nutty Bars
5.  the monster sized bag of I Can't Believe It's Not Crunch Berries (TM) cereal

"The" ultrasound is Monday.  You can bet that, regardless of the child's gender, s/he is going to have a candy coating.

At any rate,  Jon was at a history conference in Omaha--WAHOO!!!  Party in Nebraska! (sound of crickets chirping in the background)--and I was doing a pretty dang good job of gnawing my way through it all. Templeton the rat has NOTHING on me.

And then the unthinkable happened.  My blood sugar, which the baby doc has been having me randomly check for weeks due to the whole history of gestational diabetes thing, yada yada yada...my blood sugar, which HAD BEEN FINE, inexplicably went nutso. 

Go figure. 

Now I have the following staring me in the face:

1.  3/4 of the biggest jar of Nutella you can buy at WalMart.
2.  1/4 gallon of my favorite Aggie ice cream
3.  half a can of Ovaltine
4.  Nutty Bars (somehow, the Angel of Death passed over those)
5.  the sugar dust at the bottom of the cereal bag (I had help...the boys and I hoovered that one)
6.  Two boxes of Thin Mints (stinking Girl Scouts delivered them they DAY AFTER the axe fell)

Items 2-5 will end up being shared with the boys, but I find myself clutching at the Thin Mints and Nutella like they're the last of their kind.  Ridiculous, I know, but really...it's Nutella.  Wars have been fought over less.

I find, though, that I'm really grateful to have something to obsess over and whine about that isn't really a big deal.  It's nice that most of my errant thoughts are along the lines of,  "Woe is me, for I cannot have Nutella until August!"  It's like a reverse perspective check.  It's keeping my mind off of the things that are REALLY bugging me lately, like the fact that our visitation issues have gotten to the point that we're having a lawyer help us handle it...and Ethan is seeing a therapist because his anxiety over visitation is such that he wakes up and vomits during the night after the subject is broached...not to mention other things that have taught me that the grieving process isn't sequential and that I like to bounce back and forth between "denial" and "despondency."

So, like I said, I'm really grateful that I have shallow whines.  They're NICE.  I'm also grateful for the internet, which coughed up these tidbits of wisdom that, lately, I really like:

"Things we cannot solve, we must survive."  --Boyd K. Packer

(the next one's long, but worth it.  Also a Boyd K. Packer quote, and I love it!)

“The plan of redemption, with its three divisions, might be likened to a grand three-act play. Act 1 is entitled ‘Premortal Life.’ The scriptures describe it as our first estate (see Jude 1:6 ; Abraham 3:26, 28 ). Act 2, from birth to the time of resurrection, is the ‘Second Estate.’ And act 3 is called ‘Life After Death’ or ‘Eternal Life...’

“...In mortality, we are like actors who enter a theater just as the curtain goes up on the second act. We have missed act 1. The production has many plots and subplots that interweave, making it difficult to figure out who relates to whom and what relates to what, who are the heroes and who are the villains. It is further complicated because we are not just spectators; we are members of the cast, on stage, in the middle of it all!...”

“...If you expect to find only ease and peace and bliss during act 2, you surely will be frustrated. You will understand little of what is going on and why things are permitted to be as they are....

“...Remember this! The line ‘And they all lived happily ever after’ is never written into the second act. That line belongs in the third act, when the mysteries are solved and everything is put right. . . ."

And because I love the imagery....


"Life is just like an old time rail journey ... delays, sidetracks, smoke, dust, cinders, and jolts, interspersed only occasionally by beautiful vistas and thrilling bursts of speed. The trick is to thank the Lord for letting you have the ride."  --Gordon B. Hinckley





 Did I mention that the view of Cache County is AMAZING today?  I think I'm going to take the boys to the park and enjoy it...because I really am blessed.

Parenting...and HAXXED!

I haxxed today's episode of the Meegan blog. Hope you enjoy.

--The Jon
Filled with Tiger's blood and Adonis DNA. WINNER!

Lesson 1
1. Go to the grocery store.
2. Arrange to have your salary paid directly to their head office.
3. Go home.
4. Pick up the paper.
5. Read it for the last time.
Lesson 2
Before you finally go ahead and have children, find a couple who already are parents and berate them about their...

1. Methods of discipline.
2. Lack of patience.
3. Appallingly low tolerance levels.
4. Allowing their children to run wild.
5. Suggest ways in which they might improve their child's breastfeeding, sleep habits, toilet training, table manners, and overall behavior.

Enjoy it because it will be the last time in your life you will have all the answers.
Lesson 3
A really good way to discover how the nights might feel...

1. Get home from work and immediately begin walking around the living room from 5PM to 10PM carrying a wet bag weighing approximately 8-12 pounds, with a radio turned to static (or some other obnoxious sound) playing loudly. (Eat cold food with one hand for dinner)
2. At 10PM, put the bag gently down, set the alarm for midnight, and go to sleep.
3. Get up at 12 and walk around the living room again, with the bag, until 1AM.
4. Set the alarm for 3AM.
5. As you can't get back to sleep, get up at 2AM and make a drink and watch an infomercial.
6. Go to bed at 2:45AM.
7. Get up at 3AM when the alarm goes off.
8. Sing songs quietly in the dark until 4AM.
9. Get up. Make breakfast. Get ready for work and go to work (work hard and be productive)
Repeat steps 1-9 each night. Keep this up for 3-5 years. Look cheerful and together.
Lesson 4
Can you stand the mess children make? To find out...

1. Smear peanut butter onto the sofa and jam onto the curtains.
2. Hide a piece of raw chicken behind the stereo and leave it there all summer.
3. Stick your fingers in the flower bed.
4. Then rub them on the clean walls.
5. Take your favorite book, photo album, etc. Wreck it.
6. Spill milk on your new pillows. Cover the stains with crayons. How does that look?
Lesson 5
Dressing small children is not as easy as it seems.

1. Buy an octopus and a small bag made out of loose mesh.
2. Attempt to put the octopus into the bag so that none of the arms hang out.
Time allowed for this - all morning.
Lesson 6
Forget the BMW and buy a mini-van. And don't think that you can leave it out in the driveway spotless and shining. Family cars don't look like that.

1. Buy a chocolate ice cream cone and put it in the glove compartment. Leave it there.
2. Get a dime. Stick it in the CD player.
3. Take a family size package of chocolate cookies. Mash them into the back seat. Sprinkle cheerios all over the floor, then smash them with your foot.
4. Run a garden rake along both sides of the car.
Lesson 7
Go to the local grocery store. Take with you the closest thing you can find to a pre-school child. (A full-grown goat is an excellent choice). If you intend to have more than one child, then definitely take more than one goat. Buy your week's groceries without letting the goats out of your sight. Pay for everything the goat eats or destroys. Until you can easily accomplish this, do not even contemplate having children.
Lesson 8
1. Hollow out a melon.
2. Make a small hole in the side.
3. Suspend it from the ceiling and swing it from side to side.
4. Now get a bowl of soggy Cheerios and attempt to spoon them into the swaying melon by pretending to be an airplane.
5. Continue until half the Cheerios are gone.
6. Tip half into your lap. The other half, just throw up in the air.
You are now ready to feed a nine- month-old baby.
Lesson 9
Learn the names of every character from Sesame Street , Barney, Disney, the Teletubbies, and Pokemon. Watch nothing else on TV but PBS, the Disney channel or Noggin for at least five years. (I know, you're thinking What's 'Noggin'?) Exactly the point.
Lesson 10
Make a recording of Fran Drescher saying 'mommy' repeatedly. (Important: no more than a four second delay between each 'mommy'; occasional crescendo to the level of a supersonic jet is required). Play this tape in your car everywhere you go for the next four years. You are now ready to take a long trip with a toddler.
Lesson 11
Start talking to an adult of your choice. Have someone else continually tug on your skirt hem, shirt- sleeve, or elbow while playing the 'mommy' tape made from Lesson 10 above. You are now ready to have a conversation with an adult while there is a child in the room.


This is all very tongue in cheek; anyone who is parent will say 'it's all worth it!' Share it with your friends, both those who do and don't have kids. I guarantee they'll get a chuckle out of it. Remember, a sense of humor is one of the most important things you'll need when you become a parent!