Confession

I have always loved fall--it's my favorite season. A few weeks back, I thought about the coming of fall and felt a familiar tug in my gut. Being in an introspective mood, I analyzed that tug and realized that it is the juxtaposition of excitement and foreboding or otherwise known as CHANGE. Fall just happens to be the time when school restarts--when summer things are put behind us and a march forward begins--when we are suddenly thrust out of our complacency and perpetual peace to a new world. And lots of things are affected by the coming of school.

For example, one of my friends suddenly, without notice, moved to Chicago last week. Her husband had been commuting there and although being previously uncommitted to moving, at the last minute, they decided to make their move now instead of yanking them out in the middle of the school year.

Another of my friends was contemplating breaking up with her live-in boyfriend and finally made her move before school started. She left now so her child wouldn't have to switch schools later on.

I sent my own little first grader off to school this morning. First grade has been much harder to accept than kindergarten, both for me and Nicolas. I know he has to go but there is so much more to be anxious about in first grade. Kindergartners are kept apart from the rest of the school in their own little bubble. Bathrooms, drop-off, and playground are separate for kindergartners. My tiny little boy, innocently asked if he had to have recess with bigger kids and it threw me into a tailspin. If he's worried about getting bullied, I'm worried too. But I'm also worried that he'll get lost on the playground, that he won't be able to find the bathroom, that he won't eat his lunch (I couldn't get him to eat breakfast) and that he wouldn't be able to find his classroom. I'm also worried that the mean kid in our ward that's in his class will make fun of him.
And here is my confession: I actually trekked back over to the school at around 10:30 this morning just to make sure that he made it to his classroom ok . . . and without a breakdown of tears. When I peeked into the window, I saw him tearing into a granola bar and leaning waaaay back in his chair. Par. We're on par for now.

It doesn't help things that he had been dreading this day for months. I dragged him out of bed this morning with him groaning, "nooo, I don't want to go to school." Later he told me, "mom, I am just really bummed about school." Ok. Well. I loved school in elementary school. But it comes back to CHANGE. This is my child that doesn't do good with CHANGE and uncertainty. I am hoping once he develops a comfort zone, he won't be hating it so bad.

So, as I was walking away from the school for the second time this morning, I decided to be grateful that we live where my kids have a safe, nice school and to just accept CHANGE for what it is--something I can't control.

Please Tell Me . . . .

Please tell me you let your baby eat meat like this . . . .


Please tell me your family pictures turn out like this . . .


Please tell me your kids' rooms look like this . . .

Please tell me you have plenty of this . . .

Please tell me you randomly find your butter like this . . .

Please tell me your baby's face looks like this . . .

Because if you do, I might feel better about myself.

Melancholy

Warning: there is absolutely no point to this post.

A string of events have converged upon me making me feel more melancholy than usual. I use that word loosely as sometimes that melancholy rears up to become outright anger--mostly directed toward members of my family. I don't know . . . I just don't feel like myself and I don't like feeling like I have little control over my emotions.

Why are humans wired like that? Why does stress, tiredness, and noise cause our brain to short circuit? I know, I know. You are going to remind me of the flight or fight syndrome. The blood is rushing to our extremities. But I don't need the blood in my extremities . . . I need it in my brain.

So here's the cycle: I'm feeling bad/worried/sad about something and someone comes to me wanting something. My response is short and sarcastic because I just don't have the emotional energy to worry about giving someone extra toilet paper. Then almost immediately afterward, I feel guilty and think what a horrible mother/wife/daughter/friend I am and the cycle starts over.

Do you see how it is a series of reactions with very little positive, calculated action? I'm flopping from one thing to another without much thought. (Sorta like how I clean the house.) I hate that. So then I think, maybe if I read my scriptures it will go away. It doesn't. So I try cleaning something, eating a cupcake, taking a nap, and reading a book, all to no avail.

Hmmm. That's all I have to say. I'll pull out of it . . . when I make the choice to.

Attack of the Naughties

Ahhh . . . . summer. A time to relax, spend some time together and enjoy the outdoors. A time to enjoy my children unhindered by the schedules and work of the school year. Carefree . . . no worries. Ohhh, scratch that last part.

We are less than one month into summer vacation and as I see it, there are two ways to look at it: "oh no, we are a 1/3 of the way done and we haven't done anything we wanted to do yet" or "are you kidding? two more months to go?" As it turns out, my children LOVE the freedom of summer vacation. And although I make them do chores and various other obligatory acts, they have way, way too much time on their hands. And they seem to have taken that "freedom" theme a little too far. In the last month or so I have had to endure the following:

• A bottle of green food coloring. Taken to church, snuck in a pocket, and discovered in the nick of time at the beginning of primary. I wonder what the plan with the food coloring was?
• A broken basement window. I swear to you the child said, "I didn't think a rock would REALLY break a window."
• A bleached pink beanbag. One child found the Clorox bleach pen in the laundry room and went to work on Alisa's pink beanbag. I'm sure it must have been really fun to watch the color fade away right before his eyes. Sorta like "color wonder" markers in reverse.
• A hole in the drywall. Something about a game that involved a chair with wheels and pushing really hard. I hereby solemnly swear to not buy anything nice or new until my children are grown.
• Potions. Numerous times. Involving any attainable household materials: dirt, water, yogurt, fingernail polish, shampoo, vinegar, FOOD COLORING, toothpaste, bugs, and soap, soap, soap. By the way, if you are a germaphobe, please don't come to our house as our children are not allowed to use soap any more. Just kidding. Sort of.
• Almost calling the police. When my children decided to head to a friend's house without permission. I thought they were running through the sprinklers in the common area and after numerous trips around neighborhood without finding them, I was sure they had been stolen. Gee, a fence would be nice.
• Ruining a brand-new windshield. Diego had his windshield replaced and hours afterward, one child was found climbing on the car, sliding down the windshield, and removing the tape that was supposed to remain there for 24 hours. Fun slide. Not a fun mom. Sure the insurance paid for the first one but I'm pretty sure they don't want to pay for the second one.

And the crowning achievement!

• The toothpaste war. They were supposed to be SLEEPING and they were so quiet that I really thought they were but the next morning I found toothpaste on bedspreads, in sheets, in hair, on the floor, on the bunk-bed ladder (I must say, an ingenious move as it made the ladder slippery, thereby debilitating the opponent) filling shoes, smothered on toys, and ground into the carpet. There was no explanation for this other than "the war." So now, toothpaste is banned too. Just kidding. Really. Just kidding.

I feel it is my duty to list these acts all committed in such a short period of time so that I have a record for posterity. So that in 10 years or 5 years or two weeks when I am accused of being a grouchy, mean, lazy mom, I will have this list to point to and say, "cut me some slack." And the next time someone asks me what I do all day, I will hand them this list and shake my head knowingly.

This and That

As I downloaded pictures of Disneyland, I noticed that I still had quite a few pictures that I wanted to post. Many things have happened which is very interesting in light of the fact that I feel like I never do anything.

March 30th: Nicolas' Kindergarten Progam

. . . in which he decided that he hates headbands.


April 6th: St. George

. . . where Jackson discovered sand and we took pictures that look identical to pictures we already have. I also discovered that it's impossible to take bad pictures with such a perfect subject. What does that say about all the bads pictures of me?






April 7th: Apapa's Funeral

. . . . where I discovered that it is really awkward to take pictures at funerals. Pictures just feel too jovial. Sorry if I appeared cavalier to everyone.


April 24th: Tulip Festival

. . . where I used my season pass for the first time. Good investment.

April 24th: Thanksgiving Point Half Marathon

. . . in which I managed to average under nine minute miles--if just barely. Baby steps.

May 2nd: Alisa's Fouth Birthday

. . . in which I discovered that frosting consistency makes a big difference. That's why I'm not showing you the front.

Disneyland. What . . . . Again?!

I'm crazy, obsessive, compulsive, neurotic about Disneyland. Sure, it makes me tired and cranky. Sure, it makes my kids even more tired and cranky. Sure, we had to drive ten hours straight through. But after last week's trip, I can't help but have happy images in my head of places and things in California. I had so . . . much . . . fun. We had perfect weather, short lines, and my mom to help with the kids. I was quite worried about getting all the kids to sleep in one hotel room. We tried it a few weeks ago in St. George and it wasn't all that succesful. But . . . this time, we wore them out so completely that they were all BEGGING to go to bed. Alisa was asleep before we even got home most nights. Ahhh. Bliss.

Jackson wasn't so crazy about the whole thing at first but then once he realized what we were waiting in line for, it was hard to keep him from jumping the gate to get to the ride. He loved it. So here is a barrage of pictures (not even remotely all of them) in which we take may too many "carousel" shots. By the way, I don't think I had ever ridden the carousel before we started taking our kids. I remember thinking, "Oh my word, who would ride a carousel at Disneyland? They should take that thing out." Ah, my young naive self. It rates as one of my kids favorite rides.


Happy Birthday Alisa!


Traditional photo. The extra people are my mom and brother, David.


Waiting for Dumbo. That rides actually pretty thrilling. If you don't get dizzy at least.

Alisa and her cousin Isabel. She just happened to be there with her family. They love each other.

Carousel

See, more Carousel

Alisa and Isabel

Alisa and Alice

Tigger. Duh.

Look at the motion in those hands. Toontown.

Toontown firetruck.

Three-tiered fire truck?

Uh, more fire truck. (I swear, this isn't even all the pictures.)

Jackson checking out that huge mouth on a car. He must be thinking, "well, wonders never cease."

King Triton's Carousel. Notice they are the only ones on it. Fun times.

Chew Chew Train

Hi Mickey!

More Carousel. Are you kidding. See how Jackson is petting the horse now. Not trying to get off.

Yes, six year olds like the Carousel too.

Pixar Play Parade. Big Hit.

"I love you, big scary monster."

Big Wheel on the S.S. Rustworthy.

We've never had a picture here before. By the way, I am never wearing this outfit again. How unflattering.

We spent our last day at the beach (yes, pretty chilly) and at my Grandma's house in Anaheim.

One . . .

Two . . .

Three!

Random Thoughts

Ever since having children, my brain no longer works in complete thoughts. It's more like this:

• Oh man, I've got to send an amended tax return.


• What's up with the snow? Snow, really?


• I think my tummy has gotten bigger since taking a few days off from running. Or maybe it's that entire carrot cake I ate.


• Thinking of running, who can I get to train for the marathon with me.


• That's weird that my neighbor thinks it's dishonest to not pay for a three year old to get into Disneyland . . . but she uses her friend's season pass.


• Is it a bad sign that the Pioneer Woman was in my dream last night?


• I don't feel like cleaning up the house. It's so completely pointless. It never stays clean. But oh yeah, I read an article once that said that children grow up better with order. And oh yeah, I took a class in college that taught that it wasn't the clean house but the cleaning with family that was worth it. Sigh.


• I just want to read a good book. But I can't find one. That's free, at least. I only read books that I borrow (or steal.)


• Thinking of stealing . . . I think I stole that pen from that Realtor at Daybreak.


• Wow, Daybreak . . . that was a tiring waste.


• Thinking about moving/buying/building/selling a house stresses me out. What does this say about me. I must have neurotic tendencies.


• State convention is next week. I sure hope Neil Walter wins.


• I just read that article that said that delegates are more conservative than the voting base. VALIDATION! We've been saying for years that we've gotta get less psychos going to the convention. He, he.


• Families can be whacked. I wonder which things my kids are going to think are whacked.


• Man, I am a lazy bum for sitting here instead of doing something productive.

See, I should write a Faulkner-esque book because I can only think in stream of consciousness anyway.

Hungry?