The Bane

Laundry is my bane. I truly detest it. I'm not loving dishes (although, with a dishwasher they are bearable) and cleaning bathrooms is just so-so. I actually enjoy vacuuming because it means the floor is clean enough to see.
But laundry...ick. I think it is because it takes so long. I like to start a project and finish it. The dishes I can tackle and then stand back and be proud of a job well done. But laundry...you spend ALL day doing it and then there are still piles to put away. And if you don't put them away, they either end up on the floor needing to be washed again or it's just more work for tomorrow. My children like to change outfits during the day and they will put the clothes they wore for twenty minutes in the hamper. Part of this is my fault; I stopped encouraging them to put their clothes back in their drawers after I would find macaroni stained shirts when I put the clean laundry away.
I tend to get a bit feisty now when I see them changing clothes. If they knew how much I hated laundry they would understand why I start to breathe fire when I see them in the third pair of pants for the day. My motto is: "Don't worry, it will dry" (unless it is pee—come on, I am not that heartless).
I try to stay on top of laundry, but it breeds in the corners and under the beds, and then there is the random laundry like the slip cover that needs changing every so often, and don't get me started on the beds. Sheets tend to stay on the beds longer than recommended (once again, unless the kids pee on them) because it just means MORE laundry.
Anyway, I only mention this because Tyler who doesn't do much of the laundry (I am NOT blaming here—if I could get out of it, I would too) washed load after load after load last night so I could just fold and put away today. I was folding my last batch of laundry and Daisy was getting fussy. I picked her up off the floor and cradled her in my arms while I continued to fold and then she proceeded to puke in the hamper of clean clothes.

COME ON, BABY!! CAN'T WE ALL JUST GET ALONG?

It was only five items of clothing that never even reached a drawer but instead went straight back into my bane box (also known as the laundy hamper). Sadly, one of them was my blue sweater which she did the unkindly justice of spitting-up all over on the 7th (I remember, I was at Ready to Learn sitting by Deanne). It then got left in the car for over a week, finally to be retrieved and washed, only to be spit-up on again before it even got worn. Ah, the injustice.

The prophet said this last conference, "If you are still in the process of raising children, be aware that the tiny fingerprints that show up on almost every newly cleaned surface, the toys scattered about the house, the piles and piles of laundry to be tackled will disappear all too soon and that you will—to your surprise—miss them profoundly."

Miss them?
Fingerprints - yes
Toys - maybe
Laundry - never!

Everyone Needs a Good Cry Once in a While

Mine was today.

I didn't think it was going to be a crying day. There was no indication (besides the fact that it was Monday, and Mondays can go either way). Nope, I was just jumping into the day as usual. I got kid number one off to school and then packed up two, three, and four to go to the doctor's for a check-up. Daisy is officially four months old now (I know, where has the time gone?). She is doing very well, except she didn't really gain as much weight as I would have liked. I know my children run small, but I still like to see them keep a steady upward trend on the chart and this time she kinda dipped down. I wouldn't be so worried except that I had problems when I had Robyn. I think my milk gave out early, because Robyn didn't gain ANY weight between 4 and 6 months (not normal for babies). So, I am a bit paranoid about keeping my babies fed. I swear my milk is non-fat to begin with because my babies don't chunk up like they should, but it is even worse when there isn't quite enough and I feel like I am slowly starving my child. So that news settled on me like a baby beluga. The doctor had some suggestions; she said to try More Milk Plus and it should help the quantity I produce. So I left thinking I would find some at my earliest convenience.

I staggered outside doing the lumber a mom does when she is carrying a carseat, holding the hand of a two year old, balancing her purse and trying to keep child number three reasonably close. There was a huge brown UPS truck parked next to the sidewalk, right by the crossing area. I realized that you couldn't really see around to tell if cars were coming, so I cautioned Robyn to stay very close as I tried to peek around.

I can't even begin to tell you how happy I am that I thought to take caution and that Robyn obeyed so well. Only seconds later, a lady came tearing through the small intersection. She took the corner sharply and sped away into the parking lot. I don't think she ever even saw us. She was probably intent on an open parking spot close by so she could save herself two minutes walking.

Furious would not be an adequate word for how I felt. I stopped to make sure all children were still accounted for and thanked my lucky stars that I was still walking towards my car instead of carrying Robyn back into the hospital (our doctor's office is part of a hospital). I would have tracked down this lady just to yell at her, but I couldn't see where she had parked and I was still carrying the carseat and holding Ivory's hand. So instead I just fumed inside.

Adrenaline doesn't wear off as fast as I would like. I got home with plenty in my system and then I made the mistake of calling Tyler. I think I wanted to tell him about this lady, and I wanted to ask if he was coming home for lunch so I could run over and get some lactation medicine. Instead, all my emotions bubbled up inside; adrenaline and a baby beluga don't go well together. They tend to just burst out through the eyes. I wasn't on the phone for more than a few moments before I regretted my decision to call because I didn't want to cry on the phone.

Try convincing your husband in a voice verging on hysteria and tears that nothing is wrong.
Yeah, he didn't buy it, and he came home despite my pleas to the contrary. It was nice to get a good hug though, and have a nice cry (most of which happened before he got home). He even let me run over to the store and purchase this medicine



(although I wish I had gotten the capsule kind, because I ended up with the liquid that tastes like I am eating thistles with a drizzle of honey on top—not the tastiest stuff, but whatever).

Not the most tragic day by far, but apparently I have been bottling up some tears that needed a release. And I'm not really complaining. I'll take crying over my kids NOT being hit by a car any day over the alternative.

It Tastes Better in Pink

The color pink—I really don't see what is so great about it. I actually hated it growing up, and you couldn't pay me to wear that color. When I started having little girls of my own, I became a bit more enamored with pink, but I do get a bit sick of everything being pink. When I had June, all her 0-3 month clothes were pink; and then almost everything 3-6 months was blue to balance out my senses. Just today I had Daisy dressed in these cute little blue pajamas with ducks on them (clearly made for a boy) and someone looked at Daisy and asked me how old he was. Don't worry, even when I dress my kids in pink, someone still gets the gender wrong.
My girls have heartily adopted the "girl" colors. They like pink, purple, red, and sometimes orange and yellow. Ivory especially likes the girly colors and it is sometimes a problem. At mealtime, we have a few pink bowls, and Ivory insists that she needs a pink bowl. Now, I just get the bowls down and fill them up with food; I don't really pay attention to the color. But the girls are very aware of what is in front of them. If someone makes a special request, I will usually get them a certain color, but other than that, 'you get what you get and you don't throw a fit'. We have had to use this phrase often. The older girls are proud that they no longer really care what color they get, but Ivory still tends to cry if her sister has a pink bowl and she got some other (lesser) color. I have tried very hard to explain to Ives that the food is the same, it doesn't taste better in a pink bowl. "Would you rather eat, or have the pink bowl?" is a phrase I sometimes use, because I don't mind putting an empty pink bowl in front of someone and see how long it takes them to figure out that they chose wrong.
Like I said, Ivory is the one we have been working on the most. Oddly enough, her cup color doesn't seem to matter as strongly, it is only the bowl. So the other night, we had handed out bowls and Ivory looked down at hers. She then looked up at me beaming and said proudly, "I got the pink one and I didn't throw a fit!"

. . .

Um, I guess we will keep working on her. At least she is starting to get the idea.

Blood Sisters

It is funny how I can't remember everyday things (doctor appointments, dropping off library books on time, etc.) but I can vividly remember names from my childhood. I wish you could say to your brain, "Thanks for holding on to that for me, but I have absolutely no need for it now, so you can remove it and make room for something important." If only. And thus, I can remember two childhood friends: Nicole Savage and Dion Miller.
We were very close in elementary school. I think it was probably fourth grade or so, and we finally decided that our friendship had reached a barrier. We couldn't get any closer...or could we??
I really can't tell you who's brilliant idea it was to become blood sisters, but apparently we all thought it was necessary. I am sure that I had something to do with it, because I remember doling out assignments.
"Dion, you bring bandaids for afterward. Nicole, you bring something to stop the bleeding, and I will supply something to make us bleed." Now, what would you bring to make three little girls bleed on the playground. A pin? A needle? Well, I went for the most dramatic thing I could think of—a butcher knife. I kid you not, people. I knew my mom didn't use it very often, so I thought I could sneak it out for a day to do the deed. I don't think I ever visualized up to the point where I used the knife. My sister said we would have ended up as "stump" sisters; not "blood" sisters.



I remember putting the knife in my backpack and that funny gnawing feeling in my stomach when you know you are doing something stupid and you could get caught at any second. I don't even remember how I got it out of my bag, but I do remember taking it onto the playground tucked under my shirt (I'm sorry, mothers out there, I am sure this is not making you feel any better about your kids' safety at school). Unfortunately, an annoying boy named Lauren (who had a habit of following me and pulling my hair) saw the knife and tried to get his hands on it.
It wasn't much of a struggle, because I didn't want to get hurt. He took my knife and threw it under one of the portables. Hmmm....well that ended the blood sisters, but more importantly, I was now worried that my mom was going to notice that the knife was gone. I couldn't exactly go to my teacher and say, "Um, some stupid boy threw my butcher knife under the building, but I need to get it back before my mom notices it's missing, so could you help me out?" I can just see how that conversation would go. So I did what every smart child would do: nothing.
Then one fateful day, I was called to the principal's office. I knew right away that I was found out. Apparently the janitor cleans under the portables every so often (darn it) and he must have been mighty surprised at his find this time around. And then someone must have told on me. The principal was very kind and considering that I had no previous history, I was let off with an easy sentence. I think my mother was informed (duh), but I don't remember talking to her about it. I must have learned my lesson, because I have never taken another knife to school, especially not a butcher knife.
But now you know my sordid past. I have been to the principal's office; but, I have never become a blood sister. How about you? (Were you ever sent to the principal? I'm guessing most of you avoided the whole blood ordeal).

Who Loves You?

Back when June was younger, I would say to her, "Who loves you?" Her response was usually "Mom", but once to tease me, she said "Dad" and I tickled her mercilessly for her incorrect answer. And so a game was born. I have played it with all the kids, but Ivory has a special spot in her heart for Who loves you. She is adamant that Dad loves her and she will get tickled over and over again giggling with glee. Her laughing is so contagious that I usually have requests from the other children to play Who loves you with them too. Robyn and June are much more cautious. They tend to answer 'Mom' interspersed with an occasional 'Dad' so they don't get tickled too severely.

I also ask my children often, "Who's cute?" and the answer is supposed to be "Me!" Just to make Ivory laugh one time, I said (after her predictable answer) "No...me." She looked at me quizzically and said, "ME!" So now we often go back and forth arguing over who is cute. Just the other day in the midst of "Me...me...me...me...me" she stopped and said, "I cute, and you not cute." It was so funny coming from her little voice, but it was such a stinker-thing to say that I had to give her a righteous tickling. Now she will say it over and over again just to get a good laugh. I have to admit that I love it.

"I cute and you not cute."

And speaking of cute...check her out.

Wednesday Thoughts

I like a clean mirror. We have quite a few mirrors in our house and they are all big. I have to climb on counters to reach the tops. So tell me this...why are there always toothpaste spots at the top of the mirror? If I can't reach up there, I don't see how I could spit up there. One of those puzzles that may never be solved by man. The water spots I understand, from washing hands and Tyler combing his hair while it is still wet, but toothpaste...you got me.

The Beanies!

On Saturday we got out and took some pictures of those adorable beanies that I bought and won. Here's a link to Noggins again if you want it.
This was the best group photo even though it was a bit blurry.



Here's June



Robyn (can I tell you how much I love this picture?)



Ivory



and my baby (I could just eat her up, drool included).