Proclamation of Ban Lift and Reinstatement

In the Year of Our Lord Two Thousand and Eleven, We, the Benevolent and Tyrannical Rulers of this Realm, did proclaim a moratorium on our longstanding Ban on Chewing and Bubble Gum within the Borders of Our Home.

Unfortunately, despite multiple allegiances sworn toward Proper Gum Disposal by the Citizens of this Realm, our subjects celebrated the lift of this oppressive Ban by leaving saliva infused gum everywhere.

With great wailing, gnashing of teeth, and use of ice to eliminate matted gum from new carpet, We, the Beloved and Feared Rulers of this Realm, have reinstated the Ban. Probably forever.

To avoid Confusion or Protestations of Ignorance, the following is a list of things We, the Wise and Unreasonable Rulers of this Realm, have prohibited within our Home's Borders:

Chewing Gum

Bubble Gum

Songs sung by Boy Bands and/or over-hyped celebrities of certain children TV stations.

Playdough and all derivatives

Rated "M" video games

Non-Washable markers

Neon clothing

Books based on TV shows or toys (With the exception of Phineas and Ferb)

Scooters

Socks worn with Sandals

Cauliflower

As of this morning, after investigating a Horrendous Smell in the vicinity of The Girls' Room, We, the Exacerbated and Exhausted Rulers of this Realm, are considering the addition of Nail Polish Remover to The List. We will interrogate the Perpetrators and make our decision forthwith. (Creating Fear in the Subjects and demanding a Room Cleaning might be sufficient)

Thoughts on My Cleaning Day

I woke this morning with a jarring thought: I hadn't charged my cell phone. Most days it wouldn't be a big deal, but this is Cleaning Day. The only things that keeps Cleaning Day tolerable are podcasts loaded on my phone.  Instead, today, I was forced to keep company with my own thoughts.  Here is a sampling:

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What is that smell?

How many children used the toilet before any attempt was made to flush?

Did we pack the plunger when we moved?

I shouldn't have bought chocolate when I ran to the store for a plunger.

Having kids has really given me a chance to practice my gag reflex.

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Is every dish/spoon/cup/utensil I own dirty?


How creatively can I load the dishwasher to get them all in one load?

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Who ate chips in the bathtub?

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 What is that noise coming from the dryer?*

How many sunflower seeds could possibly be hidden in a pair of baseball pants?

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What is the best way to get toothpaste out of carpet?

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I concede, it will be a two dishwasher load day.

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If I saved everything I swept off the floor, how long would it take to fill my entire bathtub?

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 I wonder if my sister realizes her kid's shoes are here?

Better text her to let her know. Where is my cell phone?

You'd think I would've plugged it in when I first remembered it was dead.

Who took my charger AGAIN?!?

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I really hate cleaning toilets.

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Why am I feeling lightheaded? Oh yeah, all I've eaten today is that candy bar.

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I think I can ignore the playroom closet one more week.

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Redbox? Redbox?!? When did we last get a Redbox?

Is it worth keeping it one more night to watch since we already wasted $5 to see it?

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Why does ~censored to prevent future embarrassment~ only have two pair of underwear in the wash this week?

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The kids are already home from school? But I'm not done yet!

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After that I am pretty much brain dead. Or maybe I've blocked the memory of what the kids did to the house after they got home.


Rest assured, I will not forget to plug in my cell phone before the next Cleaning Day. Alone with my thoughts is not a fun place to be when I'm cleaning.

*All things really happened today except this one, which happened last Monday. But I was still cleaning seeds up off the laundry room floor today.

Two Types of Green in this World

I posted this a couple years ago, but it honor of gas prices once again making me cry, shrink rays not yet invented, and Earth Day being celebrated today, I thought I would repost it.

I have an announcement: I have decided to go green. You see I like green. I think it is very important. Only the green I’m talking about comes in paper form. You know the kind you might find in a wallet or bank; although not a lot of banks anymore (stupid lending practices), or, for that matter, wallets (stupid spending practices). Don’t get me wrong, I love our environment. The moon would be fun to visit, but who would want to live there? Plus, I’m all about clean air and water. And I’m sure you all realize that SUV’s caused the extinction of the dinosaurs and the Kyoto treaty wasn’t signed during the Little Ice Age of the 1600’s.

But my green helps with other important things in life, like eating or buying iTunes songs. Lucky for the over the top, crazy environmentalists (you know the ones fighting for the rights of one species of roach or flying in private jets all over the world to environmental conferences), my green happens to correspond with theirs this time.

You see, funny thing about 6 kids, they TAKE UP A LOT OF ROOM. Which is why I drive a huge, gas guzzling, 9-seat Suburban. With the rising gas prices, I am having major green anxiety. Did you know most gas stations have a maximum amount you can buy per purchase? I do. In fact for certain parts of last summer I hit that limit EVERY week. I think it would have been less painful to actually give the station an arm and a leg.

Nowadays, $75 dollars seems to buy about 5 gallons of gas. With my Suburban’s mileage, I estimate that is enough to drive the 3 miles directly home and almost make it back to the station (on fumes, of course). So I have decided I need to find a way to save on my gas budget (which is closely approaching my house payment in size). Here are my ideas thus far:

1- Shrink the children with a shrink ray so they fit in the backseat of a car. This idea was perfect, until I found out shrink rays are hard to find. Did you know that “Honey I Shrunk the Kids” ISN’T a documentary?!? I know, I know, I was shocked, too.

2- Bungee cord one child on top of a minivan. I was in the middle of trying to decide between bungeeing a seat up there or just hooking the cords directly around them when I remembered how our window broke in our 1st house in PA- it involved bungee cords and near eye loss. And a lot of parental yelling. I decided I didn’t want to risk losing my voice (or eye) so I had to retire this idea.

3- Walk. Pioneers did it, why not? I was trying to estimate the size I needed to make my handcart. By the time you added everything I take with me in the Suburban (6 kids, water bottles, snacks, diapers, toys, extra clothes, missing shoes, candy wrappers, old french fries, the kitchen sink, etc.) I found my handcart would need to be, well, suburban size. I tried pushing the suburban. Not so great.

4- Combine outings for fewer trips. Hello, I actually tried this one after the oldest kids started school. Did you know that taking 2 kids to 6 stops is as exhausting as taking 6 kids to 2? And they said I would never need to use 1st grade math skills in real life.

5- Have my husband take the Suburban to work while the kids are in school so I can drive the Audi with my preschoolers. He told me he would get back to me on that one. . .

6- Convert my SUV to run on natural gas, or maybe milk, or uneaten french fries residing under car seats. My kids can come close to producing enough natural gas but not quite (only way to get it yet), milk is nearly as expensive as gas (don’t get me started on my exploding grocery budget), and the science just isn’t there yet for french fries (although I’ve heard some interesting things about used fast-food oil).

7- Buy a transporter. Star Trek isn’t real either? Science-FICTION?!? Totally not fair.

Well I am about out of ideas, plus I just found out that I could only sell my SUV for about $3.67 anyway (apparently no one else wants to spend a fortune on the drive to the supermarket either). I guess I’ll resort to sobbing miserably every time the gas gauge approaches “empty”. It’s not easy being green. Or losing green to my Big Red Suburban. And I think science should start researching shrink rays, transporters, and french fry cars. That would be great.

>Join me next week when I discuss how I am trying to conserve water. Family baths anyone? We can wash the dishes at the same time!

Learning to balance the teenager line

It must have been quite late, that night several months ago, when the creeping footsteps woke me. I could feel her in the room, hesitating by my bedside, hoping to not startle me awake.

"What do you need?" I mumbled, still half asleep.

"Matthew just threw up. I've started a bath for him and stripped the sheets. I'll wash him off, remake the bed and clean it all up. I just remembered running water in the middle of the night often wakes you, and I didn't want you to worry when you heard it."

I felt instant relief as I sank back into dreamland. My teenager seemed to grasp what needed done and had it under control. My precious sleep time could be preserved.

Just as I hit the brink of oblivion, a thought jolted me back; I suddenly remembered that I am the mother. She was a good-hearted teenage girl who still needed sleep before facing a full day of middle school. Just because she is willing to take on responsibility doesn't mean I should make her. So I sighed as I forced my body fully awake. I thanked her for being so kind to her youngest sibling, and sent her off to bed while I headed down to take care of a sick preschooler.

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I know I lucked out with my teenagers. So far, they still like my husband and me. In fact, they still model their behavior on us. I guarantee you if I'd heard how she comforted her brother that night, it would've been exactly what I'd say. They crave responsibility and often thrive on it.

My struggle is finding the balance. Where is the line between teaching them to be a grown up and letting them be a kid a while longer?

The hard thing is I suspect that darn line is moving around. Not only is it vastly different for every child and age, it is different from day to day. Sometimes it's movement can be measured in minutes. At times, I realize I've heaped too much responsibility on and other times I've let the load become too light. Tracking our proximity to this child-teenager-adult line is often near impossible.

But even I knew midnight sick duty for a four-year-old jumped far over the line. Despite what my sleep addled mind whispered in the moment.

Dinner tonight, however, will be up for you-should-know-how-to-do-this grabs.

Not my finest trait- The Reluctant Baseball Mom

A Baseball Mom by protest. That is what I am. My kids asked passionately, I relented. I wish it were my favorite thing to do: go to three 1 1/2 hour practices a week and two 2-3 hour games a week, almost all right over dinner time, all so I can watch, if I'm lucky, 1 minute of performance by my child. But try as I might, it just isn't MY thing.

Still, I go. I try to watch when it is my kids' turns. I try to notice things to talk about on the way home. I try to smile and appear like I am enjoying myself. I'm pretty sure my kids know better, though.

It would help if things went a little easier.

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First some definitions:

Scrimmage: A mean trick where they turn a drop-off-and-leave-the-child practice into a game-you-must-stay-to-watch, at least part of, even though it isn't a REAL game.

Scrimmage BONUS: Peter is working so I get the job of being the parent who stays. For some unknown reason I decided to bring my youngest two children with me. Extra fun that he worked every night this week which meant I got to run all three kids in baseball to their practices all week.

Scrimmage DOUBLE DOWN BONUS: Is there some Law of Baseball that the temperature, hovering near 70 all day, must DROP and the wind must PICK UP during games or scrimmages?

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So we are at the scrimmage. My six-year-old, Joseph, wants to know if we can go to the Concussion Stand. Well, it does feel like you've been hit in the head when you see the prices. It is another unwritten Law of Baseball that you buy food at the Concussion Stand, so I buy nachos and a pretzel. I also get two cups of hot chocolate to counteract the falling temperature. My 4-year-old, Matthew, proceeds to dump half of one cup on my jacket, while I am wearing it. Joseph manages to dump half the other cup on the ground. Maybe we were all hit in the head.

Actually last week I WAS hit in the head at a game. Luckily it was after the ball hit the ground and bounced.  But still, getting hit in the head did not foster an appreciation of the game.

After some time at the nearby playground with the younger kids, we head over to watch some of the (not really a) game. My son stands in out field. He stands at second base. I'm 90% sure he never touches the ball. You see, a lot of the kids are just learning to play in the kid-pitched league. That means many of the pitchers are new. That means almost every kid on base is there for a walk and almost every run is the result of stealing to 2nd, 3rd, and home plate. I think there's an average of 3 actual hits a game.

My son has taken note and decided that his chances are higher of getting to base if he stands there and never swings. The pitcher will get to 4 balls before he gets to 3 strikes. It would be easier to correct him if he weren't correct. (I asked him and I am right. He did the math and liked his chances.)

After 5 1/2 innings (rules are flexible since it isn't a real game) and an extra 30 minutes past the scheduled time, it is over. I am cold, hot-chocolate-ed, tired, and hungry. As we head toward the car, Ethan chatters excitedly about his scrimmage, his two runs, and all the nuances in the game that I seem unable to pick up.  When I look at his face, lit up with excitement, I think maybe I could learn to love the game a little more.

Have you learned to support your children in things you have no interest in? Does it get easier? Any clues on how I can be a better sport? I've done baseball for at least 3 seasons and can't seem to enjoy it. I can tolerate other sports, but baseball is SO BORING.

Just your typical Friday night (picture working now, I hope)

Just Another Parenting Mystery

What is that word that means something like conundrum? Only it takes a lifetime to even begin to understand how to balance the enigma, without ever really solving it? Oh yeah, that's right. It's called parenthood.

I have this child.  When faced with food he didn't like, he complained his stomach hurt. Then one day it became a tooth ache.  Every couple of days he would mention his tooth hurting, but then, when prodded, would stop complaining and eat.

Finally, after complaining while eating  a meal where all the options began with Mc-, my husband decided it might be more than a food-avoiding gimmick. He looked into the deep pit of our son's mouth and found hiding in back a severely abscessed tooth. He should've been writhing in pain for at least a week.  That is when we learned he has excessive pain tolerance; for all he complains, a small stomach ache could be appendicitis!

On the other hand, I have this child. A papercut is the end of the world. Stubbed toes elicit animal like howling and scraped knees warrant headache-inducing screeches. I must hear him holler from stepped on feet, small pinches, or simple stumbles a hundred times a day. He has zero pain tolerance (and excellent vocal skills).

Just what is the mystery, you ask? I am describing the SAME child.

Got it? Screaming and crying = fine, calm or slight mention of pain = might be dying. My child with the highest pain tolerance happens to have no pain tolerance at all.

• So ... if you see my child complain of something small and he doesn't even seem upset, yet I give him a full history and physical, don't think I'm an over-hovering mom.
  
  
• On the other hand ... if you see my child come up to me practically wild with pain and I just roll my eyes and send him on his way, don't think I'm completely detached.

I'm just practicing balance with a personal parenting enigma.

That time I gave my eyes an accidental overdose

I'm rather fond of my eyeballs. Sure, they require super strong lenses to see past the end of my nose. And they did once got a serious tissue-destroying infection that caused me severe light sensitivity and pirate looking eye patches. Oh, and allergies once caused the white part to swell like a blister. But I can't complain about what my eyes have done to me, as I once almost killed them.

What? I never told you how I almost accidentally murdered my own two eyeballs? Well, I can fix that right now.

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It's all the fault of the TSA. Or is it the terrorists? Whomever you choose to blame for the "only 3 ounce liquids on an airplane" rule. We were travelling to Texas for my brothers wedding. (Maybe it is his fault for getting married and making me travel by plane?) Wanting to see more than the end of my nose, I brought my travel-sized contact solution and case. At the time we lived in North Carolina and by the time we traveled to the airport 2.5 hours away and then flew to El Paso with all six kids, we were a little tired. I dug through the luggage, took out my now-glued-to-my-eyes contacts, washed my face, and went to bed.

Something I've done a thousand times, right? Not the travel to El Paso part. The take out my contacts after a long day part. In the morning I completed the ritual by reinstalling my contacts. There was the not-unusual burning the first blink or two, and then... and then ...

The burning seemed to intensify? Ouch! It hurt so badly! When I ran back to the bathroom to take out the trecherous contacts I realized what I had done.

You see, ever since the allergic eyeball swelling incident, I have been very good at using allergy eye drops. Nothing like Frankenstein eyes to learn that lesson. But, the normal small bottle of eye drops was almost the exact size and shape as the contact solution bottle. In my exhaustion the night before, I had grabbed the wrong bottle. I had soaked my sight-giving, water absorbent pieces of plastic in allergy eye drops all night. And then worn them on my equally absorbent eyeballs for 5 minutes. (What can I say, I'm a little slow to respond. I kept thinking the burn would just go away. If I'd realized what was causing it earlier, I would have acted sooner.)

I had just given my eyeballs a major overdose, and they were MAD at me.

You might be asking what three months worth of eye drops absorbed in 5 minutes feels like? Well, my pupils completely overtook my irises. If I didn't know better, I would think it went past my irises. My eyes went from hazel to pure black for over a day. Light became my enemy.

The next day or so, I was the idiot rocking sunglasses indoors. Over my normal glasses (which were held together with tape and wire). It was a beautiful way to meet everyone coming in for the wedding. Luckily, by the time the actual wedding came, I was able to put contacts back in, but I still couldn't handle bright light. Good thing we weren't in the middle of the desert. Oh yeah, we were. I could at least pull off my sunglasses for short amounts of time, long enough to not look dorky in the wedding photos. More dorky than normal that is. It's been a few years for my overworked mind to forget, but I think I did okay in the temple without the sunglasses, too. That would be something I'd remember, right?

On the plus side, I had no itching or redness in my eyes the entire time. My eyes may have never been so black, but they had never been so white, either.

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So the next time your packing all your 3-ounce-or-less liquids for a trip on the airplane, remember to be careful. All those bottles may  look alike, but they are definitely not the same thing.

Strangle enough I also learned about under/over exposure on my camera this trip, too
Carlsbad Caverns and White Sands.

Just a post until I can post for real

I didn't mean to leave you hanging, thinking I was recovering from Joseph being sick for all this time. I wasn't. I was recovering from Joseph being sick, me getting the same stomach bug, then Ethan, Kirsti, Ethan again, and Elise. And then a sinus infection for me which resulted in a 3 day long medicine-only-makes-me-barely-functional headache (which included items 7-11 below).

Oh, yeah, and

1. Mom in town,
2. Elise's birthday,
3. Peter out of town (for #'s 4-8)
4. school project for Ethan, Kirsti and Joseph,
5. Young Women project for Elise,
6. ward activity where I brought potato soup and homemade bread all dyed green
7. subbing as Primary chorister (I didn't know it was called music leader?),
8. taking kids alone to church on Daylight Savings Day after forgetting and letting them stay up late,
9. elementary kids out of school for three days,
10. pi day (one of my kids favorite holidays),
11. parent/teacher conferences,
12. and Ethan's pinewood derby.

But, you know, no big deal. I'll be recovered enough to post soon...

Next time I'll just stay in bed and read all day.

I like Mondays. There I said it and you can think I'm nutty all you want. For me they are a new beginning; a chance to start things off right. One I get every single week!  Unless in the process you start the week out by ripping your favorite jeans, of course.

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That being said, Tuesday could be considered my stereotypical dreaded Monday. It is shopping day, and recently became gym day, too. This week I met my goal on distance during my elliptical workout. It felt wonderful! And by wonderful, I mean I felt like my legs were going to fall off. Then I walked around the grocery store and took Matthew to lunch with his cousins and Grandma (who is in town watching some of his cousins).

As if that weren't exhausting enough, because, trust me, it was, I also finished my laundry and mopped my floors three times (in an attempt to find a system that didn't leave streaks on my floors and/or instant footprints afterwards).

And I cleaned my pantry. Emptied, wiped down, organized, and labeled. By that time I was really ready for the day to be over.

Then dinner and running my older half of children to church activities. Anyway, it wasn't until I got back home that I realized the slight headache and scratchy throat I'd felt all day was quickly descending into a full blown cold. I put the kids to bed and then took some Flonase for the building mucas, IBprofin for the headache and Melatonin for its- possibly placebo- sleep producing abilities. 'Cause I don't care why it works if it works and I figured that was the only way I was going to sleep when I felt so awful.

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On my way up the stairs to bed, exhausted and drugged, I thought I heard the washing machine over flowing. As I ran the rest of the way, I realized the sound was coming not from the laundry room, but from the hall where Joseph was stumbling around half-asleep.

Was he walking through celaphane, my denial asked? The hallway light quickly dissipated those hopes. He was christening our new carpet with his stomach contents.

After my husband and I cleaned him and the floor up we went to tuck him and a barf bowl into bed. There we realized we'd only found the secondary explosion, his bedroom received the initial shock. So did several toys and clothes. More cleaning up. Joy.

Another load of laundry and I was finally able to stumble to bed myself.

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 Wednesday was a needed Tuesday-recovery day, but...

•  my cold hit full force,
•  I found out the laundry I tossed in half asleep somehow contained a bottle of nail polish,
•  and, in his own words, Joseph "farted throw up." 
• I cleaned it up.

At least I found, after another 3 mopping attempts, that Windex works best on my wood floors. And Peter bought Joseph and me Powerade with an additional dose of Peanut Butter M&M's for me. Also by nightfall Joseph was well enough for us to grab some Mexican food for dinner.

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Still, I think next Tuesday I'll just stay in bed and read all day.