Sanity Questionable

This dirty doorknob picture was taken last week. It's the outside of the girls' door. Yes, the lock is on the outside. It's so we can play Cinderella more realistically. Of course I get to play the wicked stepmother.

I made good on my word (finally) to put a lock on their door. In my defense it was to save their lives. I've tried reasoning with them, saying in a calm voice, "Well, kicking your sister in the chest is unacceptable in our house. Would you like your time out on the stairs or in your room?"  This calm is met with hatred and kicking and scuzzing by the offender. So I continue in a calm voice, "Well, it looks like you choose your room." Then I gently grab them by both hands and walk their non-compliant self to the room. By this time I have usually suffered some sort of flesh wound and my temper is raising just slightly.  So I say something like, "If you don't stay in your room, you're going to be very sorry. I mean it! Don't open that door."  Then the door bangs open and shut as I try to hold the door closed and the offender tries to come out so they can hit/kick/scream/suck my brain. My temper does not improve and neither does theirs.

Usually I have to flee to my room, which I can lock myself into. But if I'm fleeing from the banshee, that leaves the other children unprotected. And I don't think I should have to lock myself in the room while the offender roams the house terrorizing the natives. Simple solution: a knob with a lock on it put on backwards. It has saved me from a few bruises, it has saved my children from a few yellings/spankings, and it has saved me from the madhouse.

Until this week. This week we had a little summer camp with some friends at our house. We had a great time learning about the water cycle, pretending cotton balls were clouds and playing rain drop tag. Then we went into the bedroom for some play time. I came in and sat down to monitor a little sharing problem.
Hannah said, "I'm going to shut the door!"
"No Hannah," I said. "Don't shut the door. Ellie's coming and she can come in."
"No! She can't!" and Hannah slammed the door before Ellie could come in.
I stood up and went to let Ellie in. The door was locked. Oh.
"Hannah! We're locked in here," I say trying to not fly into a rage that will terrify the six children shut into the room with me.
Hannah laughs. And laughs some more. I pull a bobby pin out of my hair and try picking the lock. I've never picked this type of lock before, so I become increasingly frustrated as the minutes tick by.
Someone wails, "We're going to die in here!"
"No, we're not going to die," I say, calmly thinking that Hannah might die later today. I look out the window and see the mail lady dropping off our mail. I open the window and I'm going to call out to her, but she is on the phone. I pause and the mail lady drives off. Surely Catherine will be coming out to get her mail soon. Won't she?
Ellie starts knocking on the door, getting a little whine in her voice.
"Watch out the window kids," I say. "If you see someone tell me right away." I go back to picking the lock.
"We don't have any water," someone moans.
"Hey Ellie, just a minute. Stay there sweetie."  I envision her crawling into the bathroom and falling in the toilet and drowning. I keep working the hairpin to no avail. I search the room for some other small object to pick the lock. Nothing. Hannah is still laughing. I give her a mean mommy glare.
"Look Mom! Tayson! I see Tayson," says Kenzie.
Hooray! I yell out the window to Tayson's father. "Hey Bryce, the kids have locked us in this room. Can you come and let me out?"
Bryce seems puzzled. "Really?"
"Ummm. Yes. I think the front door is unlocked."
"Are you all in there?" asks Bryce.
"Yes, well no. Ellie is outside the door."
Bryce and Tayson come and unlock the door.
"I wasn't sure if you were serious," said Bryce as he opened the door to let Ellie in and us out. "This'll make a good story."
Yes. A great story that illustrates why I can never own a daycare. I'd have to say that this falls higher on the embarrassment scale than the time I accidentally wore my pants backwards in sixth grade.
To top it off it happened again the next day. Just call me competent and collected.
And yes, I now know how to pick the lock (thanks Kristen).

I Accomplished Something, No really. I swear.

Things that make me feel successful:
1. Taking a shower
2. Not yelling.
3. Putting all the breakfast and lunch dishes in the dishwasher by 4:57 p.m.
4. Washing off Ellie's high chair tray while the oatmeal/yogurt/goo is still fresh.
5. Walking out the door with shoes on everyone's feet.
6. Getting my girls' hair done without someone falling to the floor and yelling that they hate me.
7. Planning out dinners for a week, writing a grocery list and buying everything on the list
8. Working out.
9. Getting 20 minutes of reading from Kenzie
10. Not flipping my children off when they are whining at me
11. Swearing only in my head
12. Walking on the floor without getting crumby feet.
13. Changing Ellie's diaper right when she wakes up
14. Getting swimsuits on, making sure everyone is sunscreened, blowing up the pool, filling up the pool, and sitting in the shade while the girls play in it.
15. Finishing a story
16. Clean sheets
17. Going to bed before 10:00
18. Having all the laundry done by Tuesday
19. Not having laundry on the end of my bed, waiting to be hung up
20. Having our morning routine (dressed, comb hair, make bed, breakfast, regular chore, screen chore*) completed by 10:00.
21. Returning borrowed/left items
22. Sewing anything
23. Making dinner
24. Planning things
25. Being up to date on the blog
26. Writing on the whiteboard calendar our weekly schedule.
27. When the girls say "thank-you" unprompted
28. When Mike says I look nice
29. A skinny compliment
30. Lists, checked off
31. Any sort of home decor
32. If a pepper would grow on my plants
33. Having the girls asleep by 9:00.
34. A smile from Kenzie, Hannah or Ellie
35. Reading a good book
36. Getting my Visiting Teaching done

And that's it for now. I'm sure I'll think of some more. What are the little things that make you feel successful?
*A screen chore is an extra chore that the girls have to do every day since they stuck a screwdriver through their window screen in multiple places and they have to earn the money to replace it.

The Blogger-Formerly-Known-As-Quitting

Sometimes the weight of motherhood pushes my shoulders down and instead of looking up, I'm counting the cracks in the sidewalk and watching ants, thinking, "Man, it would suck to be an ant. What if we are ants in a giant world and our personal tragedies are merely the cause of giants walking around to important meetings and trying to keep us out of their houses?"

And then my head explodes.

I miss you blog. I think I'm going to have to come back. My sugary all-happy all-the-time blog is not doing it for me. It's a fantastic family journal and I still plan to use it as a tool to convince my children that they had happy childhoods ("fake it till you feel it" all the way baby!), but I like this outlet. I also have running as an outlet, but writing with feedback from friends? That's a nice outlet too. And it's a great coping mechanism. I just have to be careful that I don't have so many outlets that I check out of my family. Right?

Consider me as the Blogger-Formerly-Known-As-Quitting, but you can call me Steph or &. That would be a funny name for a child. Ampersand. Hahaha. I kill me. Okay sorry.

So what I'm trying to say here, (why does this feel like an awkward DTR with a boy that I like more than he likes me?) is that I think I'm going to try blogging once a week again. (Did I ever do that? Kind of. I was mostly consistent.) And I hope you'll read and once in awhile, just because you like good deeds, you can leave me a comment. (Please.)

Warning Signs

Ahhh! How I've missed you little blog and readers. I'm still not sure what to do with this blog, but in the meantime, we've inherited a riding lawn mower. And what could be more interesting than a riding lawn mower? Who doesn't blog about their riding lawn mower? Aren't you glad you stopped by, just to read about it? Wait, don't go! This will be funny I promise.
It needs a new fuel pump, but Mike's pretty excited to try it out. I was excited too, until Mike pointed out these Warning! drawings in the operating manual:

Warning! Your friends will be crushed if they attempt cartwheels near your lawnmower. Also, don't push your friend off the lawnmower while driving it.

Warning! Do not do cartwheels off your lawnmower onto rocks.

Warning! Don't stand on one leg while filling a milk can with gasoline in the back of an old truck.

Warning! Don't magically suspend your lawn mower above your head by conjuring from a book of spells.

Warning! Don't make gasoline ice cream cones while smoking. They will explode.

Warning! The Golden Plates will blind you.

Warning! Uncut grass will prick you and you will die on the eve of your sixteenth birthday.

Warning! The UFOs will get you in the back of the head (or in the butt) while driving your lawnmower.

Warning! If provoked, your lawnmower will fire upon you at will.

Warning! Your left arm will disappear if you slip in a puddle while wearing unfashionable boots. (And then your lawnmower will laugh at you.)

Warning! Your body will disappear while riding forward and crushing small children, but reappear while going backward and crushing small children.

Warning! Your lawnmower will try to consume you from the legs up.

Warning! Your lawnmower will cut off your appendages.

Warning! Your tires are filled with poisonous arrows that will poke you in the chin if you attach a hose to them.

All the fun is spoiled now. How are we supposed to mow our lawn if we can't do cartwheels off our lawnmower? What are we supposed to tell the children? 

Friends, Romans, Countrymen

Today it rained and rained and I wish I could show you a picture titled, "Flustered Mother Entering Car with Umbrella" for your laughter and enjoyment. Unfortunately, I was the flustered mother and was unable to capture the wet moment in all its door-rebounding, umbrella mashing, soaked glory.
You know the funny thing about having three children? (Besides pretending that you've gone deaf when they whine?) Time disappears. Like I said before, this motherhood thing is really sinking its teeth into me and I'm finding less and less time to spend on the computer.

One of the ways that I excuse all the time I spend on the blog/computer is that I tell myself, "This is my family journal." This half-lie is nice and all but here's me reading this blog to Kenzie:
"And we [edit out sarcasm] to the park. [Scan next four paragraphs, edit them out] Boy it was fun."
If I'm going to continue to cultivate my saintly image of Mother of the Year with my girls, I'm going to have to develop a family blog more along the lines of "Everything is Fabulous and We Always Wear Matching Clothes and Have a Loaf of Bread baking in the Oven." Because I'm pretty sure a lovely write-up of our lives will trump our actual memories. So if I pretend that we are perfect, we will be. :) Right? Right.

So, blah, blah, the point of all this is, that the family portion of this blog has gone private. I'm maintaining this particular blog as my personal journey to Sainthood, so go ahead and keep me on your blog roll, or in google reader, or follow me, or whatever it is that you do, but I'm not sure what I'm going to write about, or how often I'm going to write. (It's been pretty sporadic since Ellie was born. Sorry.)

I should come up with a new name for this blog like, "Mother of the Year"  or "The Saintly Mother"  or "How to Raise Children Without Slashing Your Wrists"  all wonderful titles, but I bet they're all taken.

I wish I could make some sort of commitment to you my readers (she says bowing to the imaginary crowd), but I'm not at the point where I can do that right now.

If you like my writing you can always catch me on the Sports page in the Standard-Examiner or in a bi-monthly column in the utahrunning.com magazine.

And if you really want to read sappy (not snappy, sappy) write-ups about our perfect family trips and wonderful life you're going to have to be my Grandma. Okay, okay, if you really care about Ellie's height and weight and want to hear all about Kenzie's brilliance and how Hannah has the best sense of humor ever, then you can email me for an invite. But it's going to be sappy and oozing with cheesy family love. I promise.

P.S. Dear Reader who asked me what size PVC pipe is in the bunkbed tent- I'm sorry I can't find your comment to reply, so I hope you are reading this. It's 1/2" pipe with 1/2" T-joints. Does that make sense?





 

Mother's Day

For years I drove the route past the tree. Its bone-branches scratched the sky--a solitary giant in a barren field. For years I drove by and never stopped, always thinking, "How beautiful. How lovely. I should take a picture." Sometimes I even had a camera in the car as I drove by, but I was always in a hurry, or afraid I would look stupid standing on a busy street pointing my camera at a lone tree in a farmer's field.

One day I drove past the tree and it was gone. A long, burned branch snaked across the ground in its place. I felt as empty as the sky, regretful of missed opportunities.  

Today, I vow to miss less opportunities to love my girls. I vow to make good the sacrifices and service that my mother gave to me. I vow to continue to link the love of my mom, my grandma, my great-grandma, to the mothers of tomorrow that I am raising. I vow to appreciate the people in my life now, not when they are gone. I vow be who I want to be today, not tomorrow.

Mom, I love you! Thank you.

My sister-in-law, Sherrie, took this picture before the tree burned down and she shared it with me when I told her how sad I was that it burned down. Isn't it beautiful?

Hannah's Farm Day

We weren't sure if Farm Day would be rained out, but lucky for us the rain held off and it was just cold. Melissa's dad owns the dairy farm and they bring in a whole bunch of animals for Farm day, and we were lucky enough to get to take our little Joyschool group to see them. Hannah kept asking me if there would be three little pigs. (Yes dear and they will each build a house.)

Kate, Mialee and Hannah on the road to the farm. I must have grabbed my camera by the lens (doesn't everyone do that?) because there is a smudgy look to each picture that exactly correlates with my thumb print. I was thinking that my camera was fritzing, but really it was just me. Typical.

Cows! Hannah said, "It smells worse than stinky socks." We gave her the lowdown on manure.

In front of the baby cows.

Oh, little bunnies. Hannah wanted very badly to hold a bunny, but everytime one got near her, she freaked out if they moved at all. This one was calm enough that she finally got it in her arms. She loved it, but was still fairly terrified if it moved at all. There were bunnies, hamsters, a lamb, horses (a colt too), and the much-anticipated pigs.

After Hannah worked up her courage she held another bunny and showed it to Ellie. Ellie wanted to grab handfuls of fur and eat the bunny, but don't worry we didn't let her.  

This is how Ellie feels about real cow noises.  On the other hand, we have a song by Sandra Boyton, called "Cows," that without fail stops Ellie's crying. I swear it works 100% of the time. I know this song so well by now, that if I were tortured and lost my mind, I'm sure that I would walk around quoting the To Be Or Not To Be speech from Hamlet, interspersed with lyrics from this song. I might occasionally break into a mad tap dance routine as well. I guess that wouldn't be much different from now.

Thanks Melissa's family and Melissa for the tour.