Weekend adventures

My husband was gone this past weekend—off on a bike packing adventure in the mountains. And so I forged ahead with the kids at home with our own adventures.

The fun began on Friday afternoon. Adam's cousin had suggested an evening at the pool, relaxing and talking. I piled all the kids in the car and headed down. When we were almost there, S randomly puked. Nice. I wasn't sure if it was carsickness or something else, but I obviously couldn't take her to the pool. So, I pulled into a parking lot, cleaned things up as best I could, and then started the drive home, amidst the sobs and screaming of two disappointed boys, one pathetic girl, and two whining babies who were tired of the car. I may have cried a little, too.

On Saturday, I was determined to find throw pillows for our new bed, so I put all the kids in the car again and headed off to the store. The kids were reasonably good in Bed, Bath, and Beyond, Wal-mart, and Costco. (And incidentally, why don't more stores have double seat carts like Costco? It makes my life so much easier.) While in Costco, the twins saw a 50-ish man with a goatee and started saying, "Daddy! Daddy!" It's amusing that they think any man with a beard is their dad.

Late in the afternoon, H and T played in a neighbor's backyard. H somehow (details not provided by the party in question) dropped his sandal in the small stream that goes behind this neighbor's house. So, I told him the purchase of new sandals would come out of his piggy bank. He wasn't as upset about that as I expected him to be. I put the kids back in the car once again and drove back to Wal-mart for new sandals. And then, I picked up pizza for dinner, more for my sanity than for any good behavior on the part of my children. I bathed them all and sent them off to bed so I could have a few quiet hours to myself. I ate oatmeal cake and watched Roswell on Netflix until 1 am.

After church on Sunday, I dragged everyone up to family dinner and dropped the three older kids off for a sleepover with their cousins. And then returned home with just the twins to a blessedly quiet house.

My husband biked 160 miles through the mountains, spent two nights in a sleeping bag, and came home Sunday night exhausted.

I'm not sure which of us had the more adventurous weekend.

Heart sigh

You know that sweet sigh that a baby makes after you've been tickling his cheek and nuzzling his neck? After he keeps trying to put his pacifier in your mouth and the sheer silliness of it all produces belly laughs from the both of you. After you stare into the biggest, chocolatey-est brown eyes you've ever seen and then he sighs that sigh of pure joy and contentment.

Yeah, sweet boy. Me, too. Me, too.

Musings

Am I the only one who starts blog posts and then erases everything? I also do this on Facebook, when I think better of whatever I happened to have typed out (whether it be sarcastic, political, or pithy in nature). So, here are a few musings that don't have any other place to go.

Yesterday, the "bribe of the day" was going to the pool as a family for FHE. By lunchtime, the bribe had failed and we weren't going. Screaming, sobbing, wailing, and gnashing of teeth ensued. And shockingly, I didn't give in.

As I have noted before, T is an extremely stubborn child. Extremely. And somewhat random in his thought process. He took an afternoon nap yesterday and when he woke up, immediately began sobbing about why Aunt J hadn't invited them to a sleepover at her house. (In her defense, she did last Friday but we were in the middle of a stomach virus cycle and I wasn't sure who would drop next.) T moaned and sobbed, while I told him I'm sure she would call about it soon. Then I ignored him until he forgot why he was sobbing.

Is almost 2 years old too young to have OCD? Can a toddler really care that much about which bowl he uses, which color of spoon he uses, and every single detail in his life? These tendencies are beginning to frighten me.

After 10 years of sleeping on the same bed, A and I got a new bed. A king-sized one. And every time I walk into my room, I catch a glimpse of my bed and almost weep with a desire to hide under the covers and drift away into dreamland.

I am perhaps (certainly) much too excited about the double-coupon mega sale that starts tomorrow at my local grocery store. I will prepare all my coupons this afternoon so I can get to the store at 7 am before my husband has to go to work tomorrow.

I ate three M&M cookie ice cream sandwiches late last night and I didn't gain any weight. I think a repeat is in order.

The misuse of apostrophes in this world gives me major heartburn.


P.S. Aunt J, if you wanted to invite the kids for a sleepover, say, this Friday night, I wouldn't be opposed.

Peace

I've been struggling a lot lately with the monotony of life—the schedules that I have set in place to make my life easier that really seem to make my life one big schedule that I can never escape. And then my husband proposes we take a quick family trip somewhere to get away, and I think of all the planning and packing and I cowardly decide that monotony is ok.

I've also been thinking about patience and how I need more of it. About how my kids need more of it, too. I've gone over all the normal things that I need to be doing better at, kind of gearing myself up to work harder, try harder, and be better. Then, Monday night, I opened my Primary manual to read the lesson for next week. (This is something I'm also trying to do more of, in an effort to be more prepared and less exasperated on Sunday.) The subject for next Sunday is "Blessed are the Peacemakers."

When I read that, I honestly felt like something just knocked me over. Peace. More peace. That's what I need in my home. Peace is what I need to bring—for myself, for my kids, for my family. And I firmly believe that as I do this, the other things—patience, kindness, and ability to handle the day-to-day everything—will come.

As the mom, I'm the very best person to be the peacemaker in the home. And I know I can do it. I can definitely do it... for these little people.

The kids, 2008

Winning and Losing

Isn't it awesome that his team was the Bees? We loved it!

Last night, H played in the championship game of his Rookie Little League series. H was the youngest boy on his team, but he's done really great, getting the hang of real baseball, with fielding and striking out and everything in between.

During the regular season, they didn't keep score. During the tournament, they did. It was interesting to watch the difference in the players and the parents. During the regular season, parents seemed pretty relaxed, having fun, and not worrying about things beyond how their own child performed. But everyone got a little more excited and nervous during the tournament. And really, it was more fun (although, my stomach did flip flops during the championship game.)

During the three games leading up to the championship game, H's team blew everyone else out of the water—even with the five-run limit to each inning. But the big game itself was a nailbiter (obviously, since the opposing team had beaten all of their opponents.) During the game, I kept worrying that H's team might lose, but knowing it would still be ok if they did.

They won. And it was a great win.

I'm glad that H has reached the level of play where there is winning and losing. I like the fact that he can strike out (even though I feel sad when he does). I think it's important to teach kids that there's both in life—that sometimes you win, which is amazing, but sometimes, even though you do your very best, you lose. And that's ok, because there's always another game, another challenge, and another day to try again.

Congrats H!

11

Tomorrow, my husband and I will celebrate 11 years of marriage. Wow. It seems like just yesterday that we posed for this photo. All bright-eyed and innocent, with the dark and threatening clouds in the background that later dumped rain and forced us to have our outdoor reception inside.

Sometimes, A and I will talk about different choices we've made along the way—what if we had chosen a different neighborhood to live in, what if he had chosen a different major, what if we had waited longer to have kids (that one gets a lot of discussion). But deep down, I know that we made the best possible choices for us and our family. And even though life is crazy at times, I really don't think I'd have it any other way. (Well, I might choose to have more obedient children, but that's a blog post for a different day.)

Last week, my mom brought my wedding dress out to me. She's been storing it for the last 11 years and decided it was my turn. I ran it up to my bedroom, almost giddy with excitement to try it on. After all, I'm the same size I was then. It should fit, right? Sadly, no. My husband zipped it up, but only got halfway up my ribcage.

As I looked at myself in the mirror, I thought about the girl who got married 11 years ago and the woman she's become now. At the life my husband and I have built, the family we've created, and the future we're working toward. It's messy and loud and often exasperating.

Yep, it's still about only half zipped up. Half-done. Not completed yet. And that's just as it should be.

Summer break

Here are some fun pictures of the kids at one of H's recent baseball games, plus a fun kids' bike race on Memorial Day. I'm hoping that by posting these pictures, I'll be able to think kind thoughts about these people, rather than muttering under my breath about how year-round school might be a really great thing. I'm working on a list to post on the fridge that will be entitled, "Things To Do When You Are Bored."