The Alfreds get their geek on

Jon took us to the museum at Hill Air Force Base today.  I'd like to say he was thinking about Gabriel and his obsession with all things airborne (he makes raspberry/engine sounds whenever he sees somethings flying), but I think I was more excited than Gabriel.  Witness:

Disclaimer:  the uber-cool fanny pack is functional.  Don't mock it!  I'm loving my brief respite from having a diaper bag.

Ahem.

So, under the guise of enriching the children, we went and looked at big ol' awesome aircraft.

IT.  WAS.  AWESOME.  The girl fetus doesn't stand a chance at being girly. She won't have any normal female role models around to copy.

Ethan TRIED to be nonchalant...because heaven forbid we find out he's actually enjoying himself...but I knew better.  Why else would he try to lick the weaponry?

Yeah...we're still wearing coats around here.  &!@#$&@&

Elijah figured out that if he doesn't run away when I take pictures, he's more likely to be featured on the blog.  So, today he kept telling me to take pictures of him. 

You know what's more effective than water torture?  Question torture.  It's what I call it when a nine-year-old asks the same question, verbatim, over and over again, without seeming to hear the answer, and then gets mad at you for losing your patience.

Gabriel ran around enjoying the planes, rocks, and sticks whilst making airplane noises.  It was boy toddler paradise.

All in all, I think we've found a situation wherein I might actually be compelled to squeal in a girly-type fashion.  I miss flying...

Warning....cranky pregnant woman posting

Who's red and likes to stick his tongue out?  This guy:

And for the last few days, this guy fits that description as well:

Suddenly,  his favorite color is red, he carries his prized Lightning McQueen and Mater toys around everywhere, and asking him, "What does Lightening McQueen do?" gets you a good view of his tongue.  And, for the win, I can get a few minutes to fold laundry by putting Cars on for him to watch...mother of the year award, here I come.

Today is/was the last day of school.  Traditionally, I take the boys out for an ice cream cone or SnoCone...but as the weather hasn't hit 60 since last week (&%$!&$&!, Logan!), that wasn't so appealing.  Instead, the boys argued endlessly about where they wanted to go until I finally had enough and made a command decision to go somewhere we didn't even end up going (have I mentioned that I've been a JOY to be around the last few days?) and then the boys ended up getting Aggie Ice Cream ANYWAYS, but it took them--especially Ethan, the indecisive--literally a half hour to decide.  To get Aggie ice cream in Logan's version of Honeyduke's Sweetshop.  For the love. 

In other news, I'm coming perilously close to geeking out our daughter.  Perilously close, because while her first name is pretty much set (and relatively normal), I'm having a hard time with the names we've discussed for her middle name, and the only one I even remotely like is SERIOUSLY THE SIGN OF HAVING DORKY PARENTS, neither of whom are very girly (including the female one), both of whom are TERRIFIED of having a daughter who wants to be a cheerleader and whose brain leaks out of her ears on command because she thinks boys think that's cute (no comment on the boys who actually think it is.  Idiots!).  In an attempt to distract her from that path, I'm trying to talk Jon into giving her the name of a princess who has the following conversation (hint: her name is NOT Aurora, or even Belle):


(The name I like): Women of this country learned long ago: those without swords can still die upon them. I fear neither death nor pain.

(very manly man): What do you fear, my lady?

(the name I like): A cage. To stay behind bars until use and old age accept them. And all chance of valor has gone beyond recall or desire.

(very manly man): You're a daughter of kings. A shieldmaiden of [country name would give it away]. I do not think that will be your fate.

See?  She's a pretty cool girl, as I measure things (but like I said, I'm not a very good girl).  She's the kind of princess I can deal with...and by giving the fetus her name, we would ensure that the fetus's preferred princess will be Ariel or some other fluff-brained wonder along the lines of  "How long have you known him?/One day...and tomorrow, it will be TWO!"  (although I have to admit that Eric was the cutest of the Disney princes.)


Note:  a woman who is under the influence of hormones to this degree SHOULD NOT be allowed to make major, life-affecting decisions (such as naming a human being).

To wrap things up, because this is already taking much longer than it should, I would like to pass on my current Brain Worm, which I picked up from Elise (thanks a lot, by the way)...and then it mutated into...THIS, also known as The Song Everyone Wants to Have Stuck in Their Heads:

Yo! Pump up the jam
pump it up
pump it up
Yo! Pump it!
pump up the jam
pump it up
pump it up
Yo! Pump it
pump up the jam
pump it up
pump it up
Yo! Pump it
pump up the jam
pump it (echo)

You're welcome.

Mother's Day for control freaks (that's me)

I find that the hardest part of being a mom is letting go of control.

Control over how clean the dishes actually are...because when the nine-year-old  is hand-washing them, you just have to be grateful they come through the process in one piece.  Leftover mystery spots can be dealt with on an individual basis.  Dear friends and family, I promise to personally wash the dishes before you are invited to eat at our house, though.

Control over how the clothes are folded and where they are put away...because when the eleven-year-old is folding them, you can't expect him to tell the difference between HIS pants and HIS FATHER'S pants, since they're practically the same size.  Facepalm.  And then there's the matter of putting my pile of clothes right where the dog likes to lay down.  Lowell, you have trained Dharma well.  I may never get rid of the dog hair.  But at least the clothes are folded, and heavens knows I haven't been doing it lately....

Control over what you have for breakfast...although Sunday I was actually grateful to have diabetes, because it gave me a plausible reason for the boys NOT to make me breakfast in bed.  That may sound harsh, but Ethan's experimenting nature can be, ummmmm, more than I can handle.  Just because it's in the spice cupboard (NUTMEG!) doesn't mean it should go in eggs.

Control over the preteen's appearance...because, lets get real, he's got this Justin Beiber/mop thing going on and he LOVES it.  Sigh.

At least we've got him convinced that changing your underwear daily isn't optional...which was a longer conversation than you'd think.  Turns out he has more fear of bacterial infections in his nether regions than he does of me.  Gasp.


Back on the ranch.

Control over what your toddler's nose looks like, stupid curb.  And gravity.  And new, clunky shoes.  And his ever-increasing sense of independence.

I'm just glad the bump on the noggin and the swollen lip went away as fast as they did.  He heals like Wolverine.  Or his dad.

But there are some definite perks that come with the job...lately, the big one was that I got to spend a day with some wild animals (best Mother's Day present EVER!).

Oh...wait...those aren't wild animals...that's Ethan and Elijah.  I can understand the confusion;  sometimes they seem like gorillas to me, too...complete with chest thumping, menacing growls, and a never ending struggle for dominance...

There was also A LOT of imperious pointing on Gabriel's part...

It's a good thing he only has two brothers...he still has enough fingers to point at them individually when they're being "naughty."  I wonder what he'll do when his sister comes...

And then there is the unbeatable joy that a toddler of the boy variety feels upon seeing an elephant for the first time.  I wish I had caught that on camera, but I decided to just enjoy the moment.  I did get this one, though:

Coolest.  Okapi.  EVAR.

All in all, I decided that it was my favorite gift so far--time with Jon and my boys, although it did remind me that one of the worst ways moms lose control is that part of their heart is walking around outside their body where just ANYONE can hurt it. 

Next up in the series on motherhood:  why people who think pregnant women are delicate flowers have clearly never been around a pregnant woman.  Unless they're comparing them to weird jungle flowers that emit toxic fumes and/or devour everything within a five foot radius, including their own offspring.

Ahhh...spring?

My sister is busy posting pictures like this:

Yeah, that's right, Elise.  I stole your picture.  I was motivated by jealousy.

I'm busy posting pictures like this:

BRRRRRRRRRR.  It's COLD today.

Yes, the SnoShack opened Saturday.  So the boys and I, along with the other residents of Hoth who are insane and/or in denial (and there are more than I thought), shivered in line at the Shack awaiting summer's first SnoCone.  True story:  it SNOWED on us on the way there, but we did not waver in our determination to enjoy a tiger's blood SnoCone...which DID NOT melt the way it should, by the way.  As it turns out, drinking melted SnoCone is an important part of the SnoCone experience.

If you're living with Elijah, here's the REST of the SnoCone experience:

1.  Take your SnoCone from the excessively happy teenage SnoShack operator.
2.  Immediately dump half of it down your little brother's back (so much for getting Gabriel a clear, non-staining flavor) (coconut).
3.  Poke a hole in the bottom of the cup with your straw "on accident."
4.  Microwave your SnoCone for 10 seconds (EXACTLY 10 seconds) "because it's too cold!"  He does this with ice cream, too.  I know.  He's a weirdo, but he's OUR weirdo and I love him.
5.  Look at the puddle of melted tiger's blood juice in the microwave and all over the floor in utter confusion...think of Drew Barrymore and say, "Somebody ate my ENTIRE PIE!  I don't know how this HAPPENED!" (ok, that last part's me.  But it's equally applicable.)

Ethan's SnoCone experience is much less complicated:

1.  Spend an extra twenty-five cents on the flower cup.
2.  Call it "a collectible."  (FACEPALM!)
3.  Eat Gabriel's left over SnoCone (he's so good about taking the diabetes bullet for me!).

Gabriel whittled the process down even further:

1.  Take a bite of each flavor of SnoCone.
2.  Look at us in a way that manages to convey, "You guys are idiots.  It's 45 degrees out here.  Where's the hot chocolate?" (This could have been motivated by the tiger's blood SnoCone dripping down his back.  Maybe.)

Did I mention I got caught in a freak "spring" freezing rain/snow storm yesterday on my "get my blood sugar under control" walk? Spring, you're on report.  Summer, hurry up.

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...