Poop.

A versatile word in my family.  It can be at one moment a source of extreme hilarity or at the next a heinous insult. "Mommy, (insert name here) called me a poop-head."  It is often tagged on to the end of words and mentioned too frequently at the dinner table.  It is also Max's favorite punch-line to any joke he might tell.  "Garble, garble, gook......(wait for it)....POOP!"  And then he and whomever he is telling (so long as their surname is Reynolds) are rolling on the ground giggling like they ate cocoa-puffs with skittles on top and shot of Root-beer for breakfast.   Max loves the scandalous nature of the word as observed by his ear-to-ear grin after over-hearing my conversation with a tender-eared three-year-old playmate:

Girl: Sister Reynolds!  Sister Reynolds!  Max says BAD WORDS!!!
Me: Really?  What did he say?
Girl: (hushed tone) Poop.
Max:  POOP!

I. CANNOT. TAKE. IT. ANYMORE.  Last night, I informed my brood that if anyone so much as used the word poop outside the bathroom and in the wrong context they would be paying me a dollar for each violation.  So far, I've made three dollars off of Max and he has cried about me taking his "moneys out his piggy bank".  I know I'm mean, but the potty talk has to stop sometime or they will turn out like their Dad.

Case-in-point:

Earlier in the day:

R:  Tell Max his Dad said poop in a can.
Me: I will not tell him that!
R:  Why not?!!!

(A few hours pass)


Me: Btw- anyone who says poop in our family has to pay me a dollar.  New rule.  I'm planning on making a lot of money off you.
R: Poop in a can.
Me: $1 in my wallet.  I might start charging you more.
R:  Hahaha
Me: You laugh now!  Wait until you are broke! Then I'll be laughing.  And don't even think about asking me for a loan...
R: Shoot, this will be tough.

Soon, I'll have a new pair of shoes....and hopefully they'll be cured of a bad habit.

Toilets: The common denominator

Toilet #1--Inappropriate use
Does anyone else's Husband sing songs about B.M. in the toilet?  Just wondering.  Anyway, on a totally different point.  I consider myself a fairly nice, non-judgemental person--with the notable exception of the lady today in the gym bathroom doing inappropriate stretching.  I did judge her. (Who stretches in the bathroom?  We are at the GYM for goodness sakes.  They have mats and stuff for that.  Also, if you can't do it on a  public mat, you shouldn't do it in the public bathroom.)  Seriously though, I try hard not to judge people and make snap decisions about them.  I like to give them a chance.


Toilet#2--Feeling like one
The two people who read my blog, might remember a post I made a few posts back about a woman, her boobs and her brand-spanking new intimate hardware, ahem.  I would include a link to the afore mentioned post but I am to embarrassed and also very lazy.  Yesterday, while Max was improving his speech, I was reminded of what a shit I can be.  I had a nice conversation with the lady, let's call her Madame M.  Anyway, Madame M is lonely, has learning disabilities and was crying about how bad she feels that her son can't speak.  And the cherry on top, (TA DA) this lonely woman is my NEIGHBOR.  I really wanted to crawl under my chair and hide.  I felt like I was back in High School with zits and toilet paper attached to my shoe.  In my thirty-odd years, I still haven't learned anything.  I invited her to book club and I will no longer hide behind a book during Max's speech therapy.


Toilet#3- Breaking
A couple days ago, I was bragging to my cute SIL about how Max takes himself to the bathroom.  Well, this is what can happen when you leave your 3 year-old alone in the bathroom:  

(Let's not even talk about the aiming issues!)








Toilet #4--Missing 

My heart is literally breaking for this sweet kid.   Jackson is reading a book to Max in this picture.  He is also having his own potty issues of which he is so embarrassed he can't look me in the face to tell me about them.  In fact, he stands behind me so I can't see him.  It is starting to affect him at school and he is feeling ostracized by his classmates and friends.  He cried.  I don't know what to do.  I am trying to help him solve the problem but it is tough.  It hurts me.  It really, really does.





And to echo my Husband's favorite potty song: "BM in the TOILET!!"

Assorted ramblings.

Writers block/laziness or trying to accomplish all my 2011 goals in January (because we all know that is about how long I remember them.) All decent, if I say so myself, excuses for the sad lack of blogging this month.  I do have some pictures and things that only Grandparents appreciate so I will post those one of these days when January is over and I have accomplished the following:

1) Turn spaghetti arms with Relief Society flab into She-ra worthy examples of perfection.
2) Organize entire house.  Clean out closets.  Attack the junk drawer and junk cupboard and junk closet and that other junk drawer, the one I pretend doesn't exist.
3) Teach children exceptional organizational and bathroom habits.  No more pee on the floor!
4) Re-decorate girls' room, master bedroom, family room and Max's room.
5) Lose 10lbs.  Eat right. Figure out how to run and pay bills at same time.
6) Write The Great American novel and win Pulitzer.  Write thank-you speech.
7) Achieve perfection.  Make life look like blog pictures.
8) Figure out how to have more energy on less sleep.
9) No new wrinkles.

I'm looking forward to the end of January.



Overheard in the elementary school front office while waiting for Max to finish speech therapy:

Woman#1:  When I got pregnant, I gained 55lbs.  I only weighed 90lbs (May I interject here that 20lbs of that must have been boobs.) so I guess the baby needed it or something.


Woman #2: Wow!  That must have been hard.


Woman#1:  Not really.  I was in my skinny jeans 2 months after the pregnancy.  I didn't even have to work out or anything,  It just fell off me.


Woman#2:  (Mouth gaping open) 


Me: Looking for something to throw at her.


Woman #1: (Continuing) I didn't even have one stretch mark, thank God.  I did have some vaginal reconstructive surgery though.  My doctor called it plastic surgery but I don't know why.  It was so necessary.

I have this funny feeling that me and Woman #1 with her brand-spanking new ahem will never be friends.

Brag, Brag, Braggy, Brag, Braggerama.

Introducing the U10 Girls Soccer Division 2nd Place Champions!

Kate, Ella and Kidshine friends pose with Ms. Robin.

Subconscious ruminations?

This is what I wrote in an email invitation I sent out today:

"Please shoot me and email me back..."


Hahahahahahah....I think I need more sleep.

I finished the 1/2 Marathon...and I'm still ALIVE!

Before the Race

My awesome running buddy--Angela.

We made it! Hooray!  

Do I look thinner?  If not,  lie to me--I just ran 13.1 miles!!

Goal: 2:15   Time: 2:08 = Happy!

Some things that have happened since I last blogged:

1) The bleach bottle and I had a falling out.  I'm serious.  I'm not sure we can ever be friends again.  If only she had not spilled her self all over my newly folded basket of laundry.  If it were only my kids' clothes that were ruined, we might have been able to salvage our relationship.  But no, she went for my favorite shirts and destroyed them all.  Rude.

2) My computer got fixed!!  This is happy news indeed.  In fact, we took a jaunt down to the Apple store where Max rekindled his love of all things Apple while I lamented the damage he inflicted upon my sweet MacBook.   But alas, the Apple store employee took pity on me and fixed my computer for FREE.  Yes, all $755 of it was done for FREE.  Did I mention FREE?  I love the Apple store.  I might marry it--I love it so much.  Um, especially if my engagement gift was an ipad.  You hear that Apple store?  An ipad would seal the deal!

3) Ella got baptized.  Lots of people came.  Everyone got fed.  People had places to sleep.  The laundry got done and everyone went home.  Oh, and some lovely pictures were taken too.  I intend to post those next.

4) We spent Thanksgiving in the Frozen North.  Literally.  We flew up to Utah Wednesday night then drove 4 hours to Idaho the next morning to spend Thanksgiving with the Hayes side of my family.  It was wonderful to see everyone and laugh at all the family photos my grandma has on her walls.  Did I mention that my Grandma rocked the pumpkin pie?

Dearest Blog,

I am avoiding you.  Sigh.  I cannot keep up with laundry, bills, groceries, blah, blah, blah and blog about it too. Here, look, see what I mean...the following is my schedule yesterday (yes, yesterday while you were mercilessly teasing me and calling my name.  Why haven't you posted Max's birthday pictures?  It's been over a week!  Don't you love him as much as the rest of the kids?  You manage to post their birthday pics on time.  What kind of Mother are you? Ack, the torture! )


6:00 a.m.-- Good Morning, Max.  Time for a pee-pee and Mom to put on clothes.
7:00a.m.-- Let's have a mad dash around the house looking for lost socks, missing shoes and that darn shirt.   Make three lunches, feed 4 children breakfast, listen to some whining, explain why we don't kick soccer balls in the house,  HAVE YOU BRUSHED YOUR TEETH YET!!??
8:20-Big Kids out the door, hopefully with their lunches, water (with ice, of course), healthy snacks (cause just lunch isn't enough), shoe laces tied, hair combed, and Jackson with new shirt since the first one didn't survive breakfast.
9:00- Gym.  5 miles on the treadmill.  Fast.  Well, everything is relative.
10:00-- Grocery store, gas and bank. Don't forget to drive to CVS because Albertsons doesn't have what you need.  CVS doesn't have it either, of course.  Max uses the bathroom at each place.  Nothing makes me move faster than "Poo-poo, Mama."
11:30--Home.  Unload groceries and feed the Max-man.
12:00--Lunch.  Decide I need a vacation and start researching before I realize that I should be prepping food for my food group dinner, finishing up the laundry and calling my visiting teachee's to set up an appointment (Only two more days!).
12:30--Spend half an hour convincing Max that naps are good.
1:00--Give up on nap.  Make pizza dough and let rise. Work on sauce and start baking cookies.  Make salad. Try and do a crap load of dishes.  Field a few phone calls and texts from Hubby who is out of town.  Wonder why people always have crisis that involve me on Tuesday?  Why not Monday?
3:30--Jackson doesn't arrive on school bus with sisters.  Piano teacher arrives to give Ella lessons.
3:45--Run Kate to activity days and meet neighbor who agreed to  pick up Jackson from school.  Run him and neighbor's kid home.
4:00-Homework, snacks and general chaos.
4:30-- Half an hour on phone with School district because bus wouldn't bring Jackson home because it was "too crowded" leaving my first grader without his sisters, alone and scared!
4:45-- Still on phone, run to pick up Kate from Activity days early so she can make piano lessons.
5:00--Pick up Ella, Jackson and Max.  Take them to park for soccer practice.  Drop off Kate for piano lessons.
6:00-Rush home from soccer practice because Kate is alone.  Start making pizza like a crazy woman.
7:20-Deliver Neighbor's dinner and start to eat our own.
8:00- Kitchen a wreck with flour everywhere, pizza sauce smeared on cabinets, quizzing Kate on times tables while ordering other kids to get ready for bed.  Max asleep in his high chair.
8:20- Max in bed, Jackson still needs to brush his teeth and has spent twenty minutes talking about, well, I can't even remember.   Ella annoying Kate.  Kate crying. "I want my Mommy."  Enough.  Everyone to bed.  NOW!
8:30-Prayers, skip scriptures and stories and straight to bed. Carry six cups filled with water out of Kate & Ella's room.
8:45- Clean kitchen, wipe counters, wash all the dishes that wouldn't fit in the dishwasher.  Go through all the papers from school, sign stuff, finish laundry, pick up toys, clean tooth paste off Jackson's bathroom mirror.  I"m not going to say a bad word.  I'm not!
11:00- Go to bed.  Set alarm for 5:30a.m.  Try not to fall asleep while praying.


The End.

What's on my mind:

The butcher's knife stuck in a tree in the front yard of the house where Max goes to preschool.

I want a cookie.

I paid my taxes today. I feel poor.

My friend. She will have a baby today that won't live.

Oliver Cowdery. Thank goodness he was ambitious because we have D&C 9.

Will I have to wash poop out of Max's underwear today?

(And maybe a few other things. :))

The mother of melt-downs--mine.

With a title like that, I feel like I must set the stage a bit, you know show you why I felt the need to melt. My day started at 5:30a.m. with an hour long sweat-fest at the gym. It seemed like the way to go since exercise had be nil over the weekend and eating had been in the abundance category. I arrived home at 7:10, in plenty of time to make breakfast, pack lunches, search for lost socks, argue the merits of brushing vs. mouthwash, explain in detail what was in their lunch for the day, find the lost homework stashed in the bathroom and gel the hair.

It's my turn to drive carpool and it is an auspicious day for it, as the roads in the neighborhood are closed for a slurry seal. What is that you ask? I think it's just more asphalt but really I couldn't care less because it's kept the neighborhood association off my back for a week, and that means they haven't had time to notice the dead plant in my front yard. It's number 97 on my list of things to get done in my lifetime, in case you were wondering. Actually, this slurry seal is more than a little annoying as I have to park a couple streets away. That means dragging the neighborhood children to the bus the old-fashioned way: walking.

I rush because I have to get home to shower the stink off me before I take Kate to the doctor at 9:30a.m. I also need to wipe Max's nose, fix his wayward hair and change him out of his pajamas that have soggy Golden Grahams glued in various locations. I shower, apply a coat of mascara and lip-gloss and manage to stick the milk in the fridge before we leave. We are late.

Max said poo-poo as I was buckling his car-seat so we retraced our steps at lightening speed. A successful plop was made and our lateness was solidified.

We wait, wait, wait while Max checks out the floor with his tongue, names all the colors in the room, turns on and off the light switch until time out, climbs on the chairs, rips the paper on the table, plays cars, kicks the wall, and sings songs. Katie is diagnosed and it's not one of the two horrible diseases that I was sure (from my internet research) she had. I am relieved and so it's back in the car to drive her across town and back to school.

After a quick stop at the pharmacy, it's time to go home and feed Max lunch. I only have a half-hour to get him to eat before his nap. This may seem like plenty of time but really, you probably don't have a toddler who feels that eating at meal time is optional. Why eat what's placed in front of me when I'm perfectly capable of opening the fridge whenever I'm hungry or climbing the shelves in the pantry for the good stuff? He eats satisfactorily and I wrestle him down for his nap because he has (drum roll) his very first speech therapy appointment.

I have been anticipating this for a month. I have! You see, I am frustrated. My sweet, yummy Max is clever and I can tell he has a fabulous personality but I can't understand him. I want to be able to write down all the cute baby things he says and thinks but really most of the time I have no idea. The clock is ticking, he's getting older (almost 3) and I'm missing how he is discovering and understanding the world. This is a gigantic tragedy in my book and I really want to get him some help.

I have prepared for this day. I have negotiated with Robert to be home (not easy) AND to pick up the neighborhood kids from the bus stop. He's more than willing to do these things but it comes at a busy time for him and I realize that I am not going to be able to hold him to his end of our only gone 3-nights-a- week deal (this week) because of this. Sigh. More time to blog and blog and bore everyone with my stories. I have looked up the address, map quested it and am ready to go. I even wake Max up early from his nap so I can arrive on time.

I get lost. Really. It's in a part of town that I rarely venture. I blame Map Quest but I'm not positive it's the map. A recipe for disaster in my family is Robert at the wheel and me in the passenger seat, map in hand, directing. I frustrate Robert with my creative interpertations of maps, signs, roads, etc. He always asks, " But WHY did you think that?" I can't explain it. It always seems like a reasonable option at the time.

Anyway, I made so many u-turns with my car, I was starting to get sick. I called to let them know I was running a little late. I apologized and even laughed with receptionist about Map quest. Two minutes later I pull into the parking lot and my phone is buzzing. It was her. The receptionist but without the friendliness in her voice. She's all business now.

"I'm afraid we are going to have to reschedule your appointment. You are 15 minutes late and we can't accomodate you now."

"Whaaat?" I sputter. "But I'm here. RIGHT NOW."

"I'm sorry, we need the full hour to do an evaluation of Max."

"Okay, so can we do half of the appointment now and then I can come back later. I just drove a long ways to get here. I left in plenty of time, I just got lost."

In her best screw-you voice she answered, "You were late and not we can't do half now and half later. It doesn't work like that. We are on a tight schedule and have an appointment at 3:30p.m."

"Okay, could we see if this next appointment would mind starting a little bit later since I am HERE NOW?" I ask.

The conversation begins to deteriorate from there. She is unwilling to do anything to help me or be sympathetic to my situation. I get really upset and before I start to cry I tell her in my wobbliest voice that we will have to discuss this later. She answers, "Fine," and slams the phone down like I deserve to live life without speech therapy because I was 15 minutes late. I start to cry. I think about the day I've had, the week, the busy, busy, the awful, awful and the unfair. I sob. I get home and scare the crap out of Robert. He can't understand why I am so upset. I can't explain it to him. Except that I really just want to clean my car alone. In peace.

I want to scrub the dirt off the seats and wipe the windows because you see, I feel like I am my mini-van. I am dented, scratched and need a new paint job. On the inside, I'm not much better. I have kid finger prints, clutter and a broken windshield wiper. So he watches the kids and I clean. It's cathartic and practical as I am the one driving tonight for our monthly GNO and I am embarrassed for anyone, even a friend, to see the state of me and my mini-van. Thank goodness I had a night off. I think that if I hadn't, Robert might have had genuine cause for concern. And yes, I do realize there are bigger problems and worse days, but that line of reasoning has yet to work on any of my kids in the middle of a melt-down. The same holds true for me.

Am I a bad person if I wish that receptionist a couple of bad hair days and a huge zit on her nose?

Happy Birthday to Me. Seriously, can we forget about it?

The girls made me a cake. Jackson helped as only boys can.

The girls made me a sweet card.

Bedazzling the cake because a plain cake just would not do for celebration such as this.

The cake was fabulous. Extra delicious. The kids insisted on celebrating correctly. I was selfishly trying to convince them to forgo the candle tradition until Ella sweetly said, while patting my back, "I know you are worried about how many candles Mom, because it makes you feel old. We'll just do one." She's already quite the negotiator. Then, because I feel that there should be some evidence that I exist on my birthday, I played with photo booth, while waiting for Robert to finish combing his hair. The following are the results:
I liked this picture because it made me look chesty. I think you should look chesty when you are as old as I am. It should be a law.

But maybe not so chesty when going for your Temple Recommend interview? We were late for dinner because the Bishop invited me to go to the Temple so many times. He must of thought I needed it. Note to self: Skip VS half-yearly sale next year. Extra minutes spent in Bishop's office instead of dessert bar at buffet NOT WORTH IT.

Happy 4th of July!

I know it's still the 3rd but I am working on my personal righteousness and I've decided that blogging on Sunday is EVIL. So, after some serious self-reflection and a few virgin margaritas, I have decided to seek more glory, eh, righteousness by not blogging on the most Holy of days. Don't cry, we'll see each other again on terrestrial Monday and I'll be back at my blog, diet coke in hand, ignoring my children to inform you about the important details of my fascinating journey. (In all seriousness, do you not LOATHE, how reality show contestants constantly use the word "journey"? It's completely ruined for me now. Such a shame. It had such potential.)

Anyway, Happy 4th of July. Wish you were all here in Heavenly Hana celebrating with me. Well, maybe not, because that could create a crowding issue and where would everyone go to use the toilet? And if everyone peed in the bushes then it would probably kill all my plants, right?

Peace out.

13 Years and Alligator teeth

I have yet to train him. Or kill him. (I might have thrown a pillow at him once.) And I still quite enjoy his company. I guess it's a good thing I love him. I think I'm in for the long haul.

Jackson and the Alligator tooth caper

We found the perfect gift for Jackson: real, certified-Florida Alligator teeth. He was overcome with excitement and declared the teeth, "the best gift ever". He proceeded to show them around the neighborhood and insert them into water balloons and blow them up. Who would have thought one could have such fun with decaying teeth? A few days later, Jackson got to thinking. He had a whole bag full of these teeth and you can only insert so many into a balloon at a time... so he wondered, perhaps the Tooth Fairy might be interested in them. Perhaps, he could make a little dough on the side. This seemed a brilliant scheme to him. The tooth fairy likes teeth, right? Why wouldn't she pay some good money for the Alligator teeth? Besides, he was tired of waiting for his teeth to come out...

I thought nothing of it, until the next morning when I walked into his room and I saw his tooth fairy under his pillow with a few Alligator teeth strewn around it. Do you think his plan will work?

Random, saturday night thoughts with guilty, chocolate colored feelings.

I'm obsessed with these: :) and these: !!! I never considered myself a person for which an exclamation point or a visual cue would be necessary communication devices! :) See??? I am extremely concerned with what this says about me! Why, oh, why do I feel that I need these two? :) Perhaps my vocabulary isn't as stellar as it once was? Maybe I need to proclaim to the world that I feel happy? :) Maybe as my mother once said, (at least I think it was her...oh, that should be a post of it's own. All the things my mother used to say. Okay, sorry back to my point. :)) "You can say anything with a smile." It's true that I have precious little in the way of an edit button when it comes to the words that come out of my mouth or frankly from my typing fingers! :) This madness must stop! It must! :)

Jackson's Leapster (think educational, electronic babysitter) has been MIA for the last couple of weeks. Today he decided he was on a search and rescue mission. He would not stop until it was found! (Or at least until his attention was diverted elsewhere: lunch, more interesting toy, snack, underwear, book, ball, why does____?,---you get the idea.) Okay, okay, he was fairly diligent about looking for it. He spent about an hour tearing the toy closet apart to find it. (I spent two trying to put it back together, in case you were wondering.) Amazingly, it was found tonight underneath the couch or as I call it the black hole abyss. (I'm just glad it wasn't one of Max's curdled milk sippy cups like I found last time I looked under there. Seriously, EW!) The discovery of the Leapster affected Jackson so greatly that he took time tonight in his prayers to thank Heavenly Father: "Thank you for helping me find my Leapster. That was very nice of you." I smiled to myself at his colloquial way of speaking to God, you know, as if he were a nice uncle or the neighbor down the street. Then I realized how differently we must think of God. You see, I've prayed and prayed for something for years. I am not exaggerating, literally years and not "found" it. I'm not sure if I ever will "find" it. But Jackson made me think. Perhaps, I am approaching Him in the wrong way. I am so caught up in what I want, what I need, what my family/friends need, I am praying but not thinking of Him. I am not thinking of His all encompassing perfect love and goodness. Maybe if I was better at my end of this relationship, I would be more inclined to say, "Thank you, that was very nice of you."

Word to the wise: While trying to lose weight, do not eat milk chocolate brownies...especially 5 of them. Also, do not have fat rolls bigger than your boobs.

Sorry, about the self indulgent post Mom and Dad. I'll have Katie's Kidshine pics/video up tomorrow. Promise.

Mom strikes back...

What is Max so unhappy about, you ask?

What does that pouty face mean?

It means that Max will not be able to exit the house anytime he feels like it. He will no longer force his mother to chase him down the street.

He will no longer play with the garage door opener. Open, shut, open, shut, open, shut, open, shut. It never gets old.

All in all, I'm quite pleased with m'self.

Jackson's birthday party... Is it over yet?

I lost count of the kids after 10. It was Star Wars all the way, at least I was seeing stars by the time it was all over. I am so tired that I am not sure I am writing anything coherent right now. Is that even spelled right? It looks funny to me. Another sign that Max is getting up too early. I can't even concentrate on my spelling. The little stinker crawled out of his crib/cage at 6:00a.m. this morning promptly waking up everyone in the house. I guess that was okay because the people delivering the bounce house for Jackson's party came at 6:30 a.m. They were suppose to come between 7-11:30 a.m. It just isn't decent, you know. Well, at least the kids got some bouncing in before breakfast.
Jackson initially wanted a cake shaped like a light saber. I was looking forward to that like I look forward to someone scraping their nails down a chalk board. So after agonizing and consulting various sources on how to produce said cake-- I asked him what he thought about cupcakes. He shrugged and said, "Sure, Mom." He may have a unnatural fascination with scissors but he is an easy going boy--a great quality to have in a son.

Since I bailed on the cake, I tried to make the cupcakes a little extra special. We had green and blue cupcakes and red and purple. The kids thought they were cool and I thought they were cool 'cause I didn't have to make a light saber cake.
Max liked the frosting. He liked sticking his fingers in the already frosted cupcakes. I like straight jackets for two year olds. I think that there would be a market for that product, I really do. Okay, CPS, before you decide to come and pick me up and take my children away, I did not put him in a straight jacket but I did bribe him with this beater full of sugar, butter and saturated fat. I'm not helping my case, am I. Oh, I am rambling here. Tired. Did I mention that? What was my point with all this? I know I was going somewhere with it.... Hmm... Anyway, I think Jackson had a good time at his Star Wars party. I can't believe he is going to be 6 already. Oh, did I tell you that Ella lost her tooth 2 minutes before the party started. She was thrilled and can't wait to get some money from the tooth fairy. I hope the tooth fairy has some money. She might have to go to the bank.

My favorite highlight of the party: When Max rejoined the party after his nap with his pants around his ankles and his legs smeared with poo. It was fun. No, No, wait. It was the bloody mess in the bathroom from Ella's tooth that I had to clean in a panic before everyone came. I should have waited to clean the bathroom until two minutes before the door bell rang anyway. I should have known not to clean it 15 minutes before. Of course it would get dirty, duh.

On the first day of Easter...

The Easter bunny brought to me: A sugar-high, 5 extra pounds, and too much introspection leading to a self-diagnosis of being an "emotional" eater. Thanks, Easter Bunny. Maybe some sugar-free candy next year? Or just a nice dress?

The kids faired a bit better:

Until... Ella broke her thumb. It all kind of went down hill from there.

1 splint, 1 blue cast and $800 (ish) dollars later, we decided that the Easter Bunny is banned from our house. To emphasize this decision, Jackson cut up his brand new (for church) Gymboree polo shirt and I almost threw away my stash of cadbury mini eggs.

Max strikes AGAIN!

Hi,

I am posting this while hiding under my bed with the covers over my head. No, not really but I do wish that Harry Potter's invisibility cloak truly existed and was in my possession for a few hours today.

How is that you can watch your two year old every second as he benignly plays and the minute you glance at another one of your children he is in mischief so deep there is no way out but utter embarrassment? Embarrassment for you that is, your two year old will think the whole affair is great fun.

Let us just say that a fire alarm was pulled at a public place that contained a hundred or more people. This one teeny fire alarm was somehow connected to about 200 flashing lights and 50 more fire alarms that were all going off in unison. If that wasn't enough warning that a two year old was not properly being watched by his mother, a recorded voice over the PA system announced that everyone needed to evacuate the building immediately. I had to make a counter announcement to the lady at the front desk that the chaos was nothing more than a two year old desiring to see what would happen when he pulled the red lever. Oh, and was she irritated. Apparently, she had no clue how to stop the sirens, lights and general noise-making. (I also don't think she has ever had a two year old.) Luckily, the humiliation only lasted about twenty minutes and thankfully the fire department did not arrive. (Although, on second thought, that might not have been such a bad thing. A little eye candy amidst ear-popping, mind numbing noise might have been nice, a silver lining even.)

A few other parents gave me a conspiratorial smile but I could not see the humor. I'm sure I will... in a few decades. As for Max, he was chastened for a moment at least. I'm pretty sure when he told me a few minutes later that he needed to go pee resulting in a dry pull-up and a successful potty moment that he was apologizing.

It's complicated...

So I was tossing my husband's stinky socks into the washer reflecting on what to tell all of you about my trip to Hawaii. It was good, it really was! But sometimes, I feel like good is to general an answer. I think it's complicated might be more accurate. Do you ever say what you really mean? Do you ever tell people how you truly are? Was my trip perfect? Does it live up to what you imagine? Probably not but I guess that depends on your imagination.

But can I really tell you, the unsuspecting blog reader, who simply wants to live their own lives and dream of their own sunny, blue, sand-themed vacation the actual, nitty-gritty truth? It's much simpler to say that it was good. If I say, it was complicated, one would naturally assume that it was bad. But it wasn't. It really was complicated. I would them be forced to mention that instead of many sand-filled, sunny days that we only had one and a whole 24 hours was spent by my partner for whom I desired romantic time with building a chicken coop. Chicken coop does not spell romance by any stretch of the imagination. Maybe for some? I could mention the family friend who took a day off work to spend time with us after already spending the weekend... That was nice except when you want to be two not three and you didn't ask the friend to take time off! Now I worry that you think I am complaining. I'm not, really. It's Hawaii for goodness sake. It's beautiful! We discovered a gorgeous beach and hiked to a magnificent waterfall.

It's like when you see someone and they ask how you are and you answer in the standard, "Good" or "fine." But really, you have a hang nail that is bothering the heck out of you or you're sad because you daughter told you a huge lie or you have been dealing with circumstances beyond your control for years and sometimes you feel sad or your husband would decided to build a chicken coop instead of sitting in the hot tub. But see, I would normally never tell you this. I would simply say that my Hawaii trip was good and all that it should be and we would move on. I wonder what is better? But never fear, to paraphrase Jane Austen: "The feeling will pass and most likely quicker than it should." But in case it doesn't, consider yourself warned, if you pass me in the hall at church and ask me how I am, you might get more than you bargained. I might feel inclined to start a long diatribe on how irritated I am by all the silly romantic ninny's who think they can write books about becoming Jane Austen or finding their Mr. Darcy! Argh!

The dichotomy of Motherhood.

The other night, I was laying in bed thinking about the day and I couldn't help but giggle about two moments that I had with Jackson that perfectly capture my experience with motherhood.

Scene #1: Jackson rushes in from playing outdoors. He hollers, "Mom, don't look at me!" I, of course, immediately picture him covered in mud with only his blue eye-balls peering out of the big brown glob that used to be my son. I am upstairs and so I yell back, "Why?" He answers,"Because, you don't want to look at me, Mom!" I sigh as his answer is not particularly descriptive and gear myself up for the second scenario I have imagined. What's worse than mud? Permanent Marker! I imagine his sweet little face with a villain-esque moustache or worse, a goatee like his dad! I am practically running to him by this time thinking it best to arrive on the scene and control the damage. And that's when I see him, his hands covering his forehead and tears threatening. He didn't want me to see the enormous bump on his head because he knew that I would as he put it "freak out." I tried to keep my "freak" to a minimum and quickly got him some ice. He explained that he got beaned in the head on the trampoline by the rock his friend kept in his pocket. Ouch!

Jackson wanted to spare my feelings. He intuitively knew that I would be hurt by his being hurt. His sweetness felt like an earthquake to my heart. How I love him!

(This picture was taken per Jackson's request. Apparently, once the pain wears off, it's pretty cool to have a gigantic lump on your head.)

Scene#2-(2 hours later) A white, smelly bottom with bits of dried poo stuck to it. I was alerted to the problem by his sister Ella who could not stand to be around the stench. Ostensibly, intuition does not teach you how to properly wipe your bottom. And so, I found myself a few hours after the above incident with a baby wipe in hand, demonstrating to my five year-old how it is done. All the mushy feelings I had towards Jackson earlier were hiding in the recesses of my heart, while I explained how you should keep wiping until the toilet paper comes back clean.

And there you have it folks, motherhood in all its sweetness and its poo. Like I said, "Perfect."