Scaredy-cat mom

I'm not exactly what you would call an adventurous person. I get nervous around heights. I get frightened watching even mildly scary movies. I also get physically ill at the thought of going on roller coasters.

I still remember my first experience on a roller coaster. It was at Kings Dominion on the Grizzly. I had no idea it was an old rickety wooden coaster. I didn't know it would go up a HUGE hill, only to go DOWN a very steep hill seconds later. I screamed like a baby and thought I was going to die. A family friend laughed his head off when he saw me stagger off the platform at the end. There was also another trip to KD in which I stupidly went on one of those swinging boat things and then a spinning room thing. I threw up when I got home.

This past weekend, A's mom and I took the kids up to an amusement park about an hour away for my company's annual summer party. My husband wasn't able to come, but I figured, "Hey, we survived four days of Disney World with the kids. We can do one day at a park." And actually, it went pretty well. The kids kept the whining to a minimum, which was a welcome relief. It was only about 80 degrees, so we didn't swelter in the heat.

There was, however, an incident with a new ride called the Jumping Dragon. It pretty much goes around in a huge circle, faster and faster. Then it slows down and then goes backwards, faster and faster. The kids were all chomping at the bit to try it out. My mother-in-law braved it the first time, and looked a little worse for wear afterward. At the end of the day, the kids wanted to go on it one more time. S had already discovered that I don't love twisty roller coasters (mostly because I talked her out of the Ferris Wheel and swinging boat thing). But since I didn't want to look like a baby in front of my kids, I agreed.

What S said to me while in line for the Jumping Dragon:

S: Mom, I really don't think you'll get sick on this ride. It doesn't go that fast. Really, it doesn't. And when it goes backwards, it's not too scary, I promise. Ok, Mom? Ok?

What she yelled during the ride:

S: Mom! Are you ok? You're not scared, are you? Mom?!

Nice picture this poor child has of her mother. Although, I have to say that forcing myself to go on rides I wouldn't normally go on—just because my kids want to—has been a good thing for me. Nothing like laughing up the mildly scary elements of the Haunted Mansion ride at D-World so that T (and me, too) don't get scared.

And yes, I hated the Jumping Dragon. It gave me a horrible nausea headache that lasted for two days.

T last year at the park. I know the feeling, bud.

T-ball boy

I realized recently that I never posted about H playing t-ball last year. I guess I was too busy complaining about being pregnant with twins to remember to do it. He's playing again this year and loves it, of course. For H, baseball pretty much is life (well, in addition to legos and superheros, too). He'll even watch baseball with his dad for a lot longer than I ever do. He's on a great team this year and he's been smacking balls as usual. Plus, he gets to work on his catching and fielding skills, which is a good thing. My husband always frets that playing t-ball makes H forget how to hit the ball normally, but then they'll go out in the back with just a bat and ball and H will hit the first one out of the yard. Yeah, I think he's still got the general idea down. Way to go, H!

Climbing monkey

While his sister has been busy mastering walking (actually, walking whilst holding a toy or maybe even chewing on a book), A2 decided he really needed to explore more of the house on his own.

In a 24-hour period, A2 climbed up onto our entertainment center (it's somewhat low to the ground), climbed out of his high chair onto the kitchen table, and climbed onto the couch via a kid-size recliner chair. He also enjoys turning the stereo system on and off, and on and off, and using his pudgy fingers to try and move the gate at the bottom of the stairs so he can scamper up.

I definitely think it's a good thing this kid isn't walking yet. Crazy little monkey.

Maybe I will try this walking thing.

Look, Mom! I can walk and hold this bigger-than-me light saber at the same time!

Dad

When my sister Brooke had her twin boys last February, my mom decided that my dad should come out to help for a week. My dad was a bit nervous, ("I'm really good with two-year-olds. Newborns? Not so much.") but he came anyway. And he was a fabulous amount of help.

When my twins were born, I was thrilled that my dad wanted to come and help for a week. And he was awesome. Like me, my dad likes schedules and order. Perfect for helping take care of two little babies. And he played baseball in the backyard with H and T. The best part, though, was that he happened to visit during the height of the Presidential election, which made for some excellent conversations in our house every night.

I love my dad. He's the coolest old school conservative I've ever met. I love that even though he's a "guy's guy," he still gets emotional whenever he hears certain Primary songs or even just when he gets a particularly excellent Ronald Reagan gift for his birthday. And when he cries, I cry.

Happy Father's Day, Dad. Love you.Mom, Dad, and the five girls—2007

Frosted nostalgia

Recently, I've fallen in love again with frosting graham crackers (although, I don't think I ever really fell out of love with them.) If you have no idea what I'm talking about, then you had a sad childhood indeed. Frosting graham crackers come about when your mom has frosting left over from a birthday or other holiday. She spreads the frosting on one graham cracker square, slaps the other side on the top, and voila! A delightful and tasty treat.

Lately, I've even gone so far as to make double the amount of yummy frosting, so we can have extra amounts of deliciousness afterwards.

Eating these with my kids after lunch makes me think of a hundred different times when I did the same thing growing up. I'm so glad that my kids can grow up with some of my favorite childhood memories.

Angie's frosting
½ cup shortening
½ cup butter
1 teaspoon vanilla
4 cups powdered sugar
2 Tablespoons milk
Cream together shortening and butter, then add vanilla. Add sugar, one cup at a time. Add milk until light and fluffy.

We have a walker!

After a few weeks of taking a few steps here and there, N really took off over the weekend.

I have mixed feelings about this. On the one hand, I'm not sure if a tiny-for-her-age 10 1/2 month-old baby has any business toddling around. But on the other hand, it is SO cute when she throws her arms up in the air, giggles crazily and takes off. And she always looks around to make sure people are taking note of her achievements.


Whenever I start to fret that N keeps passing milestones before her brother, precious A2 gives me one of his trademark grins, as if to say, "No worries, Mom. I'll do it soon enough. And if she keeps (not) eating like she has been, I'll still be able to knock her down for a long time to come."

Sorry, Mom

A few weeks ago, I was talking to my mom about some behavioral woes of my children, specifically some not-so-great attitude lately from S. I told my mom, "Well, at least she's never told me she hates me, or that I'm the meanest mom in the world."

Then my mom said that when I was four years old, I told her I wanted her to "just die."

What?!!

My mom said of course she knew I didn't mean it, that I had no idea what I was saying, but still... ouch.

I've thought about that a lot since then. How we as moms get kind of battered sometimes by the awful (at the time) things that happen with our kids. The exhaustion. The more-often-than-not hundreds of thankless tasks we do every day. And apparently, sometimes being told to "just die."

But also... the little random kisses. The arms thrown around my legs in a big hug. The baby eyes that light up when I come into a room, and the cries when I leave it.

All of it—the good, the bad, and the ugly—is all part of molding and raising little minds and little hearts into real people.

Sorry again, Mom. And thanks.my parents, 2007

Playing house

Two new things to know about me: I have a vivid imagination and I have problems jumping to conclusions.

As a kid, I used to spend much of my time in imaginary land. I think a lot of kids do this, but I was really good at it. Also, my dad told me I too often got my exercise by jumping to conclusions. (Ha ha.)

In recent weeks, these two habits have made for an unfortunate combination.

We are becoming too big for our current house. The five kids can technically fit in two bedrooms, but we would never have room to put the babies in actual beds or their clothes in an actual dresser. While baskets of clothes under their cribs work fine for now, and I can keep them sleeping in those cribs for maybe another year, we're trying to plan ahead. And since our house is a split level, finishing our basement wouldn't give us much extra room.

We'd love to stay in our current neighborhood, but there are only a few homes that would accommodate our family (without having one of the kids have to sleep downstairs, which I don't really want to do for a few more years if we don't have to). And strangely, no one has volunteered to move so we can live in their house. (So much for living in a friendly neighborhood. Hmph.)

We've been casually looking here and there for the last little while, but nothing serious. In the last few weeks, though, we've had a few different new house scenarios present themselves, and every single time, I immediately start planning, scheming, and practically moving us in. And when things don't work out, I get totally sad about it—unrealistically and ridiculously sad.

The worst time happened last week. I found a house online that was 15 minutes away. It was a short sale, so the price was reduced. Beautiful, hardly ever lived in, almost new home. Four bedrooms upstairs, 3 car garage, finished basement with 2 more bedrooms—over 5000 square feet. I started to get excited as I looked at pictures of the house online. My husband kept cautioning me to not get ahead of myself. And I tried (but not very hard).

Then I made the mistake of piling all the kids in the car to go look at it. It's in a gorgeous and quiet neighborhood, in a cul-de-sac, on a lot that's over 1/2 an acre. Got even more excited. Called the agent to schedule a showing.

It's under contract.

*Sigh.*

I asked the agent to call me if the contract falls through, but I'm not holding my breath.

I keep reminding myself that there's no rush, no hurry to move. And frankly, it could take a long time to sell our house, so I'm sure this will all be a lovely lesson in patience. And hopefully, next time I will have learned my lesson to not let my imagination completely take over...

we'll see.

Ten

Ten years ago, on a cold and rainy day, A and I got married. The only time it didn't rain was at the temple. I always took that to be a good omen for our marriage. We've had our storms, but thankfully, they've been brief, and we've come out of them just fine. Happy anniversary, babe!

Babies update

Yesterday, the babies reminded me that I hadn't updated the world on their recent conquests. Both of them crawl all over the place and get into a lot of trouble on an hourly basis. They have teeth (A2-3, N-5), and they wave, clap, and dance. They don't fight over toys yet per se—it's more of a continual change in ownership as they pass a toy back and forth, back and forth. N stands by herself all the time and takes one or two steps every now and then. And Brooke, your boys better watch out, cause A2's been working on his fake laugh and clap routine... it's pretty dang cute.

Let us out now!

This scenario happens approximately 24 times a day. Usually, both of them are sitting in the middle of the pile.

Go ahead and try to not be charmed by their plaid cuteness. Go ahead. Try.

Swimsuit shopping

As a woman, trying on clothes can be depressing. After you've had kids, it's even worse. And I think there are few things that are more torturous that trying on swimsuits after you've had children.

About three years ago, I broke down and got a new swimming suit. I hate how expensive they can be, but my suit at the time was old, sad, and stretched out—a potentially disastrous combo when you're already fighting with gravity anyway. I got a tankini/skirt combo with an extra higher-waisted swimsuit bottom underneath so that no one gets an unfortunate viewing of my belly area. I do like it but I find that I'm always adjusting the top, which can be annoying.

The other night, I went to Target to look for a new tankini top. There was sagging, drooping, and just general unattractiveness. After trying on several, each with worsening results, I gave up and left as quickly as I could. All I have to say is, thank goodness I wasn't trying on bottoms! I bought two cute short-sleeved sweaters to make me feel better.

When I got home, I told my husband that going swimsuit shopping is a mean reminder that my body is broken. "It's not broken!" he said. I said, "Ok, then, damaged? Used? Fallen?"

Take your pick. Any of the above adjectives will work. :)