Is this a joke?

When we were little and we played tag or hide and go seek, one of the first things we did was designate "base".

Today I would like to know where "base" is. I want to call "TIME OUT!"

TIME OUT!!!!!!!


Max has pneumonia. And another ear infection. Dan has the flu. The real flu. And a sinus infection.

Pretty much we haven't been well since the new year. And in the last two weeks alone we have had a combined: 5 ear infections, 3 strep throats, 1 uti, 1 bout of bloody diahrrea (apologies to my Facebook friends), 1 case of pneumonia, 1 sinus infection, 1 case of the flu.

And as we speak, Luke has an unexplained limp.


Seriously.

Like I said, time out.

Conflict of Interest

Ava just called me back into her room to tell me she loved me and that she would love me forever and ever and ever and ever.

Then she asked me if when people die they still remember their family. I think she gets very think-y at bedtime. I told her they would. And I told her I thought that when we die we can still watch over our family. And she said, "Yes, but we will be very busy because Jesus still has to teach us things." Then she paused and said, " But maybe we get a little free time. You think so, Mom?"


For Valentine's Day Mimi appropriately gave Ava something she loves. For all the TV Ava watches she is still very sheltered. She rarely sees commercials and her repertoire of shows consists of those on PBS or another kid channel. Since I don't really watch TV at all while the kids are awake, they just don't see much. This is all a roundabout explanation for why Ava doesn't exactly know what a cheerleader is, yet she was beyond excited for the cheer uniform that Mimi gave her.


I guess to be more accurate she has a very vague idea what a cheerleader is. They are at games. They yell stuff. They shake their pom poms. They are always rooting for "the good guy". And that's about it.



And here is where I apologize to anyone who is, was, loved, birthed, or married a cheerleader. I do not mean to offend. Cheerleading just isn't my thing. I am aware that it takes a lot of skill, athleticism, and practice to be good. I guess I just always preferred to be the one playing instead of the one rooting for the ones playing. And I have never been impressed with the stereotypes that accompany them. But luckily Mimi didn't get me a cheer uniform for Valentine's Day.

Ava on the other hand, sleeps in hers. She changes for school and then as soon as she gets home in the afternoon, she immediately changes back into it. She is so excited to go to the BYU vs. TCU basketball game tomorrow and for the first time I am actually excited to go and hopefully see the cheerleaders, if only for the purpose of showing them to Ava. Somebody should show her how to hold the pom poms.


Prior to receiving this gift she had been getting the hang of the jump rope. When she asked if I would please sign her up for Jump Rope Class, I really wished that existed. Now she is asking to be signed up for cheerleading class and all I can think is, I really wish that didn't.



I know I should let her choose her hobbies. She should have my support to pursue her interests (within reason of course) and she will. This may not be my favorite thing and I cannot promise that I will not "guide" her towards some other activities. Neverminding the fact that at the moment, she is far from physically coordinated and most likely destined to be the bottom of the pyramid as far as size goes. Oh well. She's five.

As far as Dan is concerned, I don't think he has given it much thought. He's probably still hung up on the fact that she is cheering for the wrong team.

Mimi Time

By the end of last week, all the kids had ear infections, and Dan, Luke and I all had strep and for the first time in our family's history we were all on antibiotics at the same time. Which actually works out pretty well.

No worrying about who drank out of who's cup.

No worrying about sharing spoons or toys. In fact we pretty much just ate off of one plate with our fingers for the whole week.

Just kidding. But it did make it easier to remember medicine. Even though more of us were taking it, it was almost like an assembly line. I could just yell, "Next!"

And the best part was, we didn't have any germs to spread to our out of town visitors.

Mimi is here for her annual visit. She usually comes in February to get a break from the winter in Kentucky. This year has been kind of stinky for that, since she was cooped up just like the rest of us for the ice storm.


One of the nice things though, about being near my parents is that when people come to visit them, they visit us too. And in an attempt for Mimi to see all of her grandkids this visit, my two sisters came to Dallas this past weekend.



My brother Ian will come this weekend, and then my parents and Mimi will take a little road trip to Colorado to see my brother Bret and his family at the end of the month.


So there was some girl time this weekend. We didn't do much of consequence other than be in each others presence, which when I think about it, actually is of consequence. Dan took over kid duty for the most part so that I was free to come and go as I pleased and even had a slumber party one night. I fell asleep to the sound of my sister's voices and I think the last time that happened we were sharing a room in Kansas when I was around 5 years old.

I love my sisters. And my Momma. And my Mimi.

Cast Away

I woke up early this morning, thinking about how many fun things there were to look forward to-

My birthday present iPhone was scheduled to arrive today.

Max's cast would be removed today.

My sister Chandra arrives on Friday.

My sister Leah arrives on Saturday.

Yes, yes lots of fun things. But I could also tell that something was wrong with my throat.

And then today turned into some crazy goose chase which involved strep throat and two steroid shots in the "hips" (which was more like "butt"), and Max and I showing up for his cast removal in our dirty pajamas at 3 in the afternoon.

The doctor promised that the shots would make me feel better in record time, and she was right! I feel about 50 times better than I did this morning, which is totally worth the pain in my "hips".

The only other time I have been prescribed steroids, I got my only technical foul in basketball for hitting another girl.

So if it is likely we will see each other in the next 10 days, don't cross me.

But today, the star of the show was Max. He was a champ while they sawed off the cast. He was so funny to watch as I set him down and he realized that he could bend his knee. And his ankle. He had gotten completely proficient at walking like a ballerina on point with one leg.

Watching him try to walk again was a little heart wrenching, though. He was hesitant to bear weight and even his crawling is looking funny. But by tonight, he had managed to take a few steps. It will be a little while before he is really going again. Anyways, we are off to a new start and we can't wait to stick that buddy in a nice deep tub.

He is the best.

The Week of a Thousand Days

It all started on Monday night. As I slept alone in my bed because Dan was gone on a quick business trip, I could hear the house being pelted with rain. Unfortunately and unbeknownst to me, the temperature was so cold it was immediately turning to ice.

I woke up Ava the same as usual that Tuesday morning. But something told me to check the tv right before I was about to wake up Max to get in the car for school. Good thing I checked because school was canceled.

And school remained canceled for the entire week. It was a little touch and go getting Dan home, but the airport finally opened an he got on a flight that wasn't canceled. He caught one of the few cabs working to bring him home.

Since last week was hit or miss with Ava's school because she was sick, I already had my fill of being home-bound with all the kids. So this week's weather felt like it was just piling straw after straw on my saggy back.

The temperatures didn't even reach 20 degrees and because Dallas is totally unequipped to handle such weather, the roads remained coated with ice day after day.

Once Dan got home things were much better. His office was closed all week as well. But honestly there is only so much time the same people can interact with the same people for constant hours on end and not go crazy!

I whipped out the big guns. And it makes me sad even writing that because there was a time not long ago, when these were just the regular, everyday guns. Since we've moved I've relied more on the TV than any of my creative Mommy activities. Hmmm, time to change that I guess.

So we painted,



we cut out Valentine hearts, we painted them,


we made cookies,




we made and played with playdough,



And of course we still watched a lot of television. It was too cold for the kids to even go outside.

I kept thinking how lucky we were that nobody was broken or super sick and needed to get to the hospital or doctor. Because in our family, that is not unusual.

The sun came out yesterday and the snow and ice began to melt, and we were outta here! We piled the kids in the car and just drove!

Max considerately waited until last night to get sick so that we could take him to the urgent care without fear of crashing. Double ear infection.

That makes three of us on antibiotics right now (Ava-ear infection, me-uti). And seeing as how I have trouble even remembering to put on my bra to take Ava to school most days, I am thinking about setting up some kind of alarm system to be sure I get everyone their medicine on time.

But here's where I am really wacky:

This past week took forever. It dragged on and on. I checked everyday with fingers crossed that by some miraculous happening, school would be back in session, only to be disappointed each time. I thought I would rip my hair right out of my head multiple times each day. I dreamt
of peeing (constantly) alone or just having one minute to sit in silence with my thoughts.

Now, the ice has melted, the snow is gone, school, preschool, and work are on for tomorrow. Looking back all I'm really remembering are the snuggly, cozy parts of being so close for so long. And I am already missing my babies.

Why I Blog

When I decided to start this blog, I had in my head some reasons for writing it. Most of them are exactly the same, though I may have stumbled upon a few more over the course of these 3.5 years.

That list goes a little something like this:

I blog...

1. Because I don't keep baby books.

2. Because I have a bad memory.

3. Because I like to read people's comments

4. Because writing is a therapeutic outlet for me.

5. Because I have stories I want to share.

6. Because sometimes I have something to say.

7. Because I want to keep family and friends updated.

8. Because I'd like to keep some family history.

I had no expectations when I started, but I must say that some of the people I initially thought would really enjoy reading it, to my knowledge, never do.

That's okay. Because the other reasons for writing keep me satisfied enough.

But in an effort to illustrate one of the main reasons, not included on that list, I must first begin with a story.

Spring Break on Daytona Beach has always been somewhat of a party, I imagine. March 2011 will probably find that place only slightly crazier than March of 1965.

Leslie was 16. Her first trip without her parents, though with a chaperone, took her to Florida. She was a shy girl from Kentucky. Her decidedly Mormon family was the perfect mix of Southern class and down home country. And her sweet parents apparently saw no harm in sending their beautiful, teenage daughter into the den of sin that was Spring Break on Daytona Beach. But when she arrived, Leslie was overwhelmed with so much of what was going on, she spent a lot of her time in her hotel room.

Todd was 18, done with high school and always ready for a party. He drove down to Florida from Michigan with his friends. He was a football player and a weightlifter, tall, dark, and handsome. He came from a hard working, blue collar, Catholic family, who worked mostly at the Kellogg plant and factory in Battle Creek. After a stop at the liquor store, these guys were on the prowl and ready for some action.

His friends had scoped out some girls at a nearby motel and while he waited on his friend, Todd spied a pretty, young thing sitting up on the balcony by herself. Her dark hair was long, but her legs were longer. He went on up to say hello.

Leslie was not amused with the whole scene, nor was she eager to venture out with him. So when she turned him down, he asked her what she would do that night instead. Her reply,

"Stay in my room and watch TV."

"Well, can I watch with you?"

"I don't care."


So he came back later that night. They sat on the floor next to each other, their backs propped up against the bed, and watched TV. The chaperone sat nearby. After a few minutes Leslie said,

"Please don't breathe on me. The smell of beer makes me sick to my stomach."

Despite her less than enthusiastic attitude, they spent the rest of their time together. Todd skipped the parties. But of course the time came for these young love birds to say goodbye. She had to go back to Kentucky, and he to Michigan.

Todd stopped all along the way home to make payphone calls to Leslie. They wanted to stay in touch. They wanted to see each other again. But to most, the likelihood of either was slim.

Over the course of the next 2 and a half years, they saw each other every single month. Todd would get out of work on a Friday at 11 pm. He would make the 6 hour drive through the night and would arrive in Lexington, where Leslie eagerly awaited him. They would spend all of Saturday together, go out on Saturday night, and then finally after their date he would sleep for the first time since Thursday. And he would sleep all morning while Leslie and her parents were at church. He would leave Sunday after dinner to make it home in time for some sleep and work the next morning. And he did it every single month.

Leslie made her way through high school. Todd kept working at the Kellogg plant. They loved each other, they wrote letters, they made a few phone calls, and they saw each other each month.

Somewhere along the way, Todd agreed to meet with the Mormon missionaries, just in order to have all the facts and understand better the religion of his beloved. Since his time was so short in Lexington, he met with the missionaries for an entire Saturday, in order to squeeze everything in.

After their date that night, he fell into the bed, exhausted. And then he remembered the promise he had made to the missionaries. They had asked and he agreed, to read a part of the Book of Mormon and then pray if it was true. He had no intentions of believing it. He didn't really even want to know. But he had said he would do it, and reminded of his own Father's insistence to his children, to "do what you say you're going to do", he crawled out of the warm bed. He knelt on the floor, read a short passage, and began to pray... Is this true?

Even through his half-hearted attempt, he was overcome with a feeling so strong inside him. A feeling that made his whole body warm despite the cold temperature of the room. A feeling that now even if he didn't care or didn't want to know, he could never deny that the what he read was truth. And if that was true, all the rest had to be true as well.

And now what? What would he do? If he was going to act on this feeling, it was going to require big changes in his life. He didn't live like a Mormon. He lived like a rowdy kid who liked to have a good time, get in fights. It would not be an easy transition. What would his family think?

"Wait to get baptized until you're ready to move out, we don't want you to contaminate the family," his parents told him.

So he waited. Leslie graduated high school in May of 1966 and then started as a freshman at University of Kentucky. Todd was baptized in April of 1967. And they were married the next month, on June 10, 1967 at Spindletop in Lexington. And a year and a day later they were sealed in the Salt Lake Temple.

For all intents and purposes it never should have worked. But, nearly 44 years later, it is still working.

Now what does this have to do with me and my blog?

Well, besides the fact that Leslie and Todd are my parents and besides the fact that I really would like to include more family stories in this blog, there is a specific event that revolves around their story that if shared without the history, just wouldn't have been good enough.

When I was 16 we lived in New Hampshire. Our basement flooded and I can't remember why. But I was there with my mother, sorting through various boxes, keeping what we could and throwing out the rest.

I had heard the story of my parent's many, many times. It was almost like family lore. I could tell the story myself. I would have been uncertain about dates and some minor details, but I knew how it went and of course how it all played out. But to me, at 16, it still felt like a story.

In one of the boxes we discovered some papers and I took a big stack upstairs to the family room and sat down to sort them out. And what I found had me riveted.

I had in my hands, the letters that had been written between my father and mother all those years ago. The letters written by their hands, professing their love for each other. Words written by a girl my same age to the man she would marry. I can't remember what most of them said, except a line they both wrote to each other in almost every one,

"Please don't stop loving me."

When my mom came up and saw what I had found, I don't know exactly what she thought. I could tell that she was not overly excited about me reading them. She wasn't going to take them away before I had finished, but I had the feeling that once I had, I probably would not see them again. And I haven't.

But I sat on the floor there, reading their handwriting, and my whole little world seemed to shift. Not very much, but enough. After all, these were all things I knew, but suddenly I saw them just a little bit differently.

As children we see our parents as our parents. I saw them as Mom and Dad. I knew they had a life before I came along, but really no way to understand it and no reason to try. Until I read those letters. In a flash I could see my parents as people. I am sure it happens at some point to every child, but for me it happened then. All of the sudden I saw my mom so differently; as a woman, a girl, not just Mom. I saw part of her heart I had never seen before. And all of a sudden I saw myself differently, too. I was a girl. Someday I would be a woman. Someday I would marry a man. Did I know him already? We would have children. I would be a Mom. I would live my life and go places and do things, and be somebody. And there on the floor in the family room, those things that seemed so far away for me, became all the more real.

And now I am a woman, a girl, a mom. I found my husband. I've had babies. I have gone places, done things, and become somebody. And of course there is still so much ahead of me.

A year or so ago, I got an email from a friend, and what she wrote made me cry because I always cry and because she put into words what had been in my head and my heart since I had started writing.

She detailed a dream she had, I will spare the morbid details, but she went on to say that my kids would know me, because of what I had written. And that is what I really want. I want them to have the chance to see their mother as a person. To see what I loved and what I struggled with, what I did with them and to them, that I loved them, I loved their father, what I wished for, what I did and where I went.

And I want to give them the chance to see themselves. Not just for who and what they are when they read it, but for who they will be. I want them to realize, to feel, that they are going to grow and go places, and meet people, do things, and become someone. That life isn't just about how it is right now, but that time brings possibilities and changes. That someday they will be Mom or Dad.

Here I am now, writing posts on this blog. And while I have a list of reasons for doing so, I can sum it all up by saying,

I do it a little for you,

a little for me,


and mostly for them.

Where Dora Meets Kai-Lan

Betty Boop is home from school right now.

She puked on the lunch table.

I swear I thought she was better when I sent her to school this morning. Even though her grumpy cries to stay home should have tipped me off.

She wasn't well over the weekend and had a high fever on Sunday so I kept her home from school yesterday. But then she just lounged around, whining, causing chaos, eating, and saying she felt better. And it is my humble opinion that if a kid is going to be sick they better be laid out and sleepy. None of this wild and grumpy stuff. No thank you.

So off she went this morning, and back she came this afternoon.

She lost her other front tooth last week. This one had been loose, but only just. Then the other night she wanted to join in the boys' wrestling right before bedtime. When Dan welcomed her with his arm and drew her into the fold a little too hard, her tooth hit Luke's knee and shot out of her mouth and across the room. She screamed like death and blood poured out of her mouth.

And then through her howling and sobbing she kept saying,

"Daddy! Thank you so much for getting my tooth out!" and would then proceed with her crying.

In the morning she told me that she would tell her teacher that she had good news and bad news. I asked her what that was and she told me,

"The good news is my tooth came out.


The bad news is Daddy wrestled me too hard and it was bloody."

She gave me pause recently when she picked out an outfit for school with Dan and tenderly laid it on the stairs, ready to put on in the morning. When I tucked her in, she told me how excited she was to wear her outfit the next day and that she would be so beautiful. But the outfit went against most common notions of matching.

Now I usually let her pick out her clothes. And I usually don't have a problem with purple and green or yellow and pink or really anything for that matter. If you've seen me with my children you have to know that I am not one who cares too much about my children making fashion statements for me. It's just not something that matters to me much.

But there was something about this particular outfit that rubbed my feathers the wrong way. If she were assigned to present a color story for the color red, she would have received an A+. It was red, fuchsia, melon, pink, purple. In the same family but all a little too close on the wheel for my liking.

And maybe the fact that it combined a shrug with a shirt over a shirt, along with a scarf, wasn't helping.

But once I saw her, I loved it.



Mostly just because I love her.


Last night, during Family home Evening when we were discussing Joseph Smith translating the Book of Mormon, and we were comparing it to trying to understand a language she didn't know, she chimed in with, "I don't know Spanish! I don't even live in China!"