It's great to be 8

Frank is 8, and that means he's old enough to be baptized.  The big event was today, and it really was great.  Almost all of our family was there, we had wonderful talks on baptism (in which repentance was explained using Captain America as a metaphor!) and the Holy Ghost, and got to spend time with good friends.  We remembered dry underwear -yay!  We forgot towels - boo.  I borrowed my sister-in-law Pam's idea and made a little video for us to watch while we waited for Pete and Frank to dry off and rejoin us.

Yes, I would like a cookie. Two, in fact.

So I think I solved two big problems this week. (Knock on wood, I don't want to jinx it by celebrating too soon.) 

Okay, first problem:  Boys are disgusting.  And there is no solution for that.  After a good year and a half of trying, without one single instance of success, to get my children to pee in the toilet instead of all around it, including on walls and shower curtains, I finally had to admit defeat.  We decided it just isn't feasible to expect little boys to be clean or hygienic or anything less than repugnant.  So, after some scheming and strategizing, we came up with a new plan of attack.  Maybe if we couldn't teach them to be clean, we could teach them to clean up after themselves.  So we introduced them to the Clorox wipes, taught them to close the tub so they don't dry out, made sure to mention they are not under any circumstances to be flushed, and that they have to wash their hands after using because of the mysterious-and-feared chemicals on them.  Six days into it, there are no soap puddles on the counter, no globs of toothpaste in the sink, and most amazingly of all, no urine-soaked stenches emanating from their bathroom.  Looks like I won't have to dig a latrine in the backyard after all. 

Problem the second: Since Elaine's birth, my biggest concern each day has been "How and when will I shower today?"  You would not believe (or maybe you would) the amount of plotting and planning required to make sure my daily toilette wasn't accompanied by Elaine sobbing and screaming outside the bathroom door.  I thought I had all the time in the world today to shower, that it could wait until her nap.  But a little after 10, I remembered I had a piano student coming in less than an hour.  I was almost in a panic, until I had the most amazing idea.  I took the toilet paper off the roll and put it up on the sink, along with the trashcan, used a laundry basket to weight down the toliet lid, left the door open for Elaine, and hopped into the shower.  It worked like a charm - even had an unexpected reverse-psychology effect.  I thought she would pull back the curtain and jibber-jabber to me the whole time, but since she knew she wasn't locked out, she didn't even want to be there.  I heard the pitter patter of little feet a few times, I assume she was just checking up on me, but mostly she stayed in the living room and played.  THIS IS GOING TO BE LIFE CHANGING FOR ME!!!  I wish I'd thought of it three babies ago.

For those of you with baby boys, may I share a bit of wisdom that I really wish someone had shared with me:  Teach them to pee sitting down. 

Happy Father's Day. Yeah. You're Welcome.

Ahh, Father's Day.  A special day for expressing love and gratitude.  A day for serving breakfast in bed and preparing favorite desserts.  A day for taking Dad down a peg or two.

Frank made this card for Pete.  It begins innocuously, with a traditional and familiar wish:

But housed within is a lethal blow to the ego:

In Primary, George filled out an adorable little questionnaire about Pete:

But upon closer inspection, it too packs a punch:

And since George knows I'm older than Daddy, he guessed I must be 66.  Two parents, one stone.

We don't need no stinkin' appendix

George woke up about 9 last night saying his belly hurt. I sat with him in his room for a while, but when I could see he was very uncomfortable and not going back to sleep, I let him come lay on the couch and watch a cartoon. He was completely absorbed and didn't make a sound while he watched, so I figured it couldn't be too serious, and I put him back in bed. I could hear him squirming and tossing and turning, and after a while he came back out and said his side hurt. I was afraid it could be appendicitis, so I called my mom to come sith with Frank and Elaine. George said he felt like he might throw up, so we took a bowl in the car. My big, wonderful, roll-making bowl. He used it. Alot. We threw it away when we got to the hospital. I'll have to get a new roll bowl. Even though I told Pete on the phone that the vomiting made me certain it was appendicitis, I still was shocked when the cat scan confirmed it. Deep down, I expected it to be a false alarm (we had an appendicitis false alarm with him last summer). He was in a lot of pain, so they kept him on morphine until the surgery this afternoon, and he's basically slept since the surgery.


The OR nurses said they would keep us informed during the surgery and that it wouldn't take too long. About 20 minutes in, the phone rang in the waiting room, and I was sure it was for us. But the old man sitting by the phone answered it, talked very briefly, and hung up. An hour into it, I kept thinking they surely should have contacted us by now. A few minutes after that, Natalie called my cell phone laughing to tell me that a nurse had called her (as the emergency contact) and they were looking for us. I went and knocked on the OR door and a nurse let me in. Turned out, the old man in the waiting room told whoever called that there was no one there but him.

Thanks for the idea, Nat

We've lived in our house for just over a year and a half, and
for about the past 12 months of that time, my sister has complained that when she uses our bathroom, she feels like she's in prison.  It's bare...stark...echoey.  I patiently explained to her that I was simply waiting for the right sequence of events: Being in the right store at the right time, seeing just the right thing for the bathroom decor, having the money for it, and Mercury aligning with Jupiter. 

The last time she was here, she'd had enough.  She came out
of the bathroom like a woman with a purpose and told Frank to use the art book she gave him for his birthday to draw some pictures for the bathroom.  He took her up on it, and it was a really fun project.   

Thanks, Nat!

His drawing book has hundreds of pictures, but no sea creatures.  So we found a "How to draw" website with just what we were looking for, and the boys got to work.

Okay, so, honestly, we found a website with just what I was looking for.  I wanted cute little cartoon-like whales and octopi, Frank wanted to do Jaws, the Kraken, piranhas, etc.  But I explained to him that I was commissioning this project.  He felt very professional.  One day he'll figure out that artists are usually paid for commissioned work.

This was Frank's first serious work with watercolors, and we
had some artistic differences.  I  finally convinced him that "bleeding" is not only acceptable, but desirable, with watercolors.  Once he finally wrapped his mind around it being okay to get outside the lines, he happily told George all about the "bloody" animals he was going to paint.

He drew them all, and painted everything but the whale.  He was ready to go play, and I was sort of itching to paint, so I picked up the slack for him.  He worked hard, and the pictures look adorable hanging on the wall.  Now I just need Natalie to come use the facilities and let me know if it's a little cozier.

 

These are the octopus and crocodile that
George drew and painted.

 

Validation

After General Conference today, I asked Frank what his favorite moment during the conference was.  He said, "Will's talk."  Somebody (I think it was Elder Maynes) read a primary talk that his grandson, Will, had given.  In his talk, Will said that all the people in a family, even the children, have to help make their family strong by working hard and having a good attitude.  This is, practically word for word, a concept that I teach my children often - pretty much every time they're less than thrilled that we're folding laundry, pulling weeds, or unloading the dishwasher.  So I asked Frank what he'd learned from it, and he said with a sheepish smile, "That it's actually true."  Guess he had to hear it from someone other than mom to believe it.

Park Adventure

Today was one of those days when the weather is just so beautiful you can't bear to stay inside.  When Frank got home from school, we loaded the car with our tennis gear and headed out.  Unfortunately, all the courts were full, which I'd anticipated, so we went with plan B and headed to the park instead. 

Side note...Before we left the house, I had put a pair of adorable white sandals on Elaine, and she was almost as proud of them as I was.  I swear she held her foot out and admired the pink flowers on the strap.  Even George noticed how cute they were.  And the best part is they're hand-me-downs and look brand new.

Back to the story...We walked around the duck pond, watched people fish, looked for turtles, talked about Moby Dick battling a squid.  We stopped on a bridge, and I decided to get Elaine out of the stroller so she could look at the water.  As soon as I lifted her out, I heard a plop.  I knew exactly what it was, but I looked anyway.  Her beautiful little sandal, floating face down in the water like a corpse.  (Too dramatic?)

With patience, perseverence, and a very long stick, 15 minutes later we rescued that little shoe from the water.   And then I had one of those wonderful moments when your words come back to haunt you.  Neither Frank or George was willing to pick it up and put it in the stroller basket because I've told them time and again how nasty that water is (every time they say they're going to swim in it), and of course I didn't want to touch it either.  So we used the long stick again. 

And now here's Elaine saying a little prayer to show her gratitude for the miracle of the white sandal:

Playing Catch-up

 I hope I don't get flogged for what I'm about to admit.  My baby is 9 months old, and I have yet to have any pictures of her developed.  But I finally dumped all the pics off my camera tonight, uploaded it to Snapfish, and put in the order.  So I don't feel quite as guilty now.  Plus, I got free shipping, so I saved $20 (that's how much it costs to ship 310 pictures).  It was smart of me to wait so long, right?  So now, here are some highlights over about the last 6 months, or so. 

This is an outfit my mom bought when I was pregnant with Frank, before we knew he was going to be a boy.  I held on to it for 7 years, just waiting for a chance to put it on my little girl. 

 The bigger the bow, the better!

 Cousins.  Making goofy faces.

Playing under the blanket fort with the big boys

What are you looking at?

No, don't kiss me, Daddy! 
(Can you see that their hair is identical?)

Dogpile!

They're at that golden age where they're more help than hindrance, and they're excited about it!

There's a baby under all that bunting, watching the Christmas parade.

Channeling James Dean

Only 7 years old, and already the ennui is setting in.

Santa's Village

The tree is dark because the plug was impossible to get to, so we never unplugged the lights.
(It's not easy being green.)

                             And they gradually burned out, one     row       at         a            time.

This dress was adorable, but dangerous.  She was as slippery as a BP oil spill (oh snap!).

DO

I

HAVE TO?

Christmas morning in the Christmas pjs!