Kidspeak

I haven't posted in a while. I have been sleeping. On top of the morning sickness I have a bladder and kidney infection. I've been sleeping a lot. Also, when I have morning sickness, life becomes very UNfunny.

I'm going to Women's Conference this week so I won't be posting for a few days.

____________________________


Mr.Yuke(4): I have muscles. (flexes)
Me: Those are your bones; your ribs.
Mr.Yuke(4): BUT- I call them my biggest muscles in the entire world. ("flexes" his ribcage at me)

____________________________


ThePinkiest(5): Mommy, Antarctica is at the tippy bottom of the earth.

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Me noticing it has suddenly gotten quiet: What are you guys doing?
Silence.
Me: Mr.Yuke(4), MonsterTruck(2), Come in here.
Mr.Yuke(4): What?
Me: What were you guys doing?
Mr.Yuke(4): Ummmmm.... Just looking at this. (Holds up the arm of a Star Wars figure.)
Me dubious: That's all?
Mr.Yuke(4): Yeah.
MonsterTruck(2): We dis' hidin' our pwetzels.
Mr.Yuke(4): GROAN!!!! MonsterTruck(2), why did you do that?
Me: NO. PRETZELS.
Mr.Yuke(4): exasperated sigh.

___________________________


The next day-
Mr.Yuke(4): Daddy! Daddy! We got you birthday presents! Come in so you can open your presents of ties and chocolate!!!
TheRestofUs: Mr.Yuke(4), you're not supposed to tell what's in the presents!
Mr.Yuke(4): Oh. (Turns to dad-) I was just kidding. Open your presents and see what's in them.

A Series of Unfortunate Events

First off-

a.k.a. Deaf Girl
Sorry, ArtisticallySpecificTastes. The video clip is of an amazing rendition of the National Anthem, hence all of the basketball players in the background. They sound like professional singers in their 30's and they're singing a lot of really tight harmonies. It sounds similar to that Christmas cd your sister MoneyBags likes so much. You know, the one with the family of girls singing, some of whom she knows? Only, these harmonies are more complicated and jazzish than that. Oh, and please tell your deaf friends not to send me those emails. Thank you.


Second-

I Forgot My Shirt
No, I'm not sitting here typing in the buff. I forgot my shirt last week. Let me back up.

Phone ringing yesterday.
Me: Hello?
Caller: Hi [Aberjaber], it's Angie.
Me yay! but weird, she's never called me before: Hi! How are you?
Angie: I'm fine. I'm calling because I was wondering if you know- Is the bus going to pick up the kids for the field trip tomorrow, and do you know what time?
Me Huh? Field trip? I didn't know she had a kindergartener. I thought her sons were either older or younger than that. Field trip! Crap! I forgot! I guess maybe the Two Dollars fiasco before had its advantages: Ummmmm. Field trip. Right. That's tomorrow. Yyyyyeah. Welllll, I don't know if the bus is coming or at what time if it is, but I'm actually going on that field trip. (Crap, I have to get a babysitter!) (Thank you Valenzoo!) If you want I could just take him with me when I go.
Angie: Are you sure you don't mind?
Me hey I could get my shirt back at the same time: No, it's fine. Also, I accidentally left my shirt in your car last week.
Angie: Your shirt?
Me: Yeah, the black commando one (I took with me when we were behaving like juvenille delinquents) that I never changed into...(?) I left it in the back of your car, I think...(?)
Angie: ???? My car?
Me understanding dawning: Wait, which Angie is this?
Angie: This is Angie _____.
Me: OHHHHH!!!! Yeah. Different Angie. Different car. You sounded like Angie _____. Um, I can still take your daughter to school if you want.
Angie: Ok. I was going to say, I don't think you've ever even seen my car.
Me: No, you're right. Sorry about that.

Ange- when you read this, I left my shirt in your car. Thank you.

There's Just Something About Field Trips

A few years back, LittleMommy's(4) preschool class attended a field trip at the fire station. I had attended the same field trip the previous year and knew I would be attending it again the following 2 years. Yep. The Bunch didn't overachieve when it came to spacing 'em out. So anyway, when I discovered that Husband was going to have the day of the field trip off from work, I asked if he would pretty please take the kids so I could have a little break. He agreed and so I set off on my little break. ArtisticallySpecificTastes and I were going to Target to spend my birthday giftcard and ooo and ahh over the jewellry. I love earrings. I think I'll say that again. I. LOVE. EARRINGS.

So I went and picked up my favorite AZ shopping partner. I hung out and ate her mom's Lucky Charms for a long time while she got ready to go. Just after we got into the store, a storm began as they only do in Arizona, and we discussed how lucky I was to NOT be on the field trip. I said it was a good thing the field trip was almost over. After about half an hour of "perusing the merchandise" (read it with a Brooklyn accent- threw that in there for you, Kretha)- there was a roll of thunder so loud that ArtisicallySpecificTastes asked me what it was. (Did I mention she is DEAF? Well she is. Completely, all the way, she-don't-hear-no-thunder-deaf.) I told her what it was and her eyes got really big. One of us- and I can't rightly say who it was now, but I think it was me- remarked, "I hope the lightning didn't hit anyone's house." (At certain times of the year, lightning is a pretty common starter of house fires in Arizona. I think it comes from the fact that they plant these stupid trees:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/84077434@N00/378102058/

All the photos I found of them were copyrighted so I couldn't embed them. If you were too lazy/in a hurry (and what mom isn't?) to click on the link, I'll sum it up in two words: lightning rod.)

So anyway, I felt bad for the inevitable catastrophe that some poor family was experiencing. We left the store about half an hour later and I went home. Imagine my dismay when I discovered that, sure enough. One of them dern trees was struck by lightning and started a fire. In my carport. And apparently the firetrucks had just left. The tree was burned and the roof on that side of the house was a little charred, but when all was said and done, the neighbors and Husband had all acted quickly, hosing down the house to keep it from igniting and everything was ok. (ish.) The firemen put out the fire, my carport was flooded with mystery foam which had come from their hoses, and my kids were shaken up, but thought it was cool to see the firefighters in action so up-close-and-personal just ten minutes after their trip to the fire station. After a little while, Husband proceeded to tell me how, when the children were permitted to walk through the firetruck, LittleBoyBlau(4) took off the emergency break and put that puppy into gear. The firetruck started rolling. In a crowd of twenty 4 year-olds and their parents and younger siblings. Husband acted fast and scooped up two kids who were inches away from getting squished under the big red truck. So many brushes with death, all before 11 am!

Today, The Pinkiest(5)'s kindergarten class had a field trip to both the grocery store AND the fire station. Apparently the school in This Place That I Live takes a one-stop shopping approach to field tripping. There were about 100 kids and roughly 1 adult for every 4 kids. There was also a teacher on each bus, and two buses went. (4 classes went on the field trip. We have half day K here.) One bus went to the fire station first, the other went to the store.

We went to the store first. We got there, the store took a group photo of all the kids to print out and give them at the end of their tour, and then they divided us into three groups. Each group was given a tour guide and sent to a different area of the store.

Now, before I go on, I would like to say I am well aware of what normally happens on these sorts of trips. MyOwnMother taught kindergarten and did this trip every year for almost ten years. Also, I worked in 2 different grocery stores for a period of three years. I've got the 411 on kindertrips to the grocery store. Normally, they show the kids the loading docks, the area where the produce is washed and banded before it is put out, the trash compacter, the area where the meat is processed, the fryers for the deli counter, and the area in the bakery where the ovens and proofers are. They give the kids a cookie, answer questions, and send you on your way.

Let me tell you how our tour went.

Our group was sent to the Pharmacy first. There, a store manager told the kids how they should NEVER take medicine that they find. Or take more than one vitamin. Or take their siblings' antibiotics. (All good info, but not quite sure why we had to come to the store to learn that.) Next, she walked us over to the section with all the cosmetics and showed the kids the c.c.t.v. cameras in the ceiling, and admonished the kids NOT TO STEAL MAKEUP AND STUFF THAT COSTS MORE THAN FOOD (Things less than food are fine?! Food is ok?!) because there are cameras all over the place in every store you ever go into and they will see you if you steal. See them? There they are? You can look at Walmart or Sears or anyplace you go and find the cameras that ARE WATCHING YOU. (I thought about how although I know those cameras are there, I still occasionally pick a wedgie if it's really bothering me and I'm in an aisle alone. I've got to stop doing that. THEY. ARE. WATCHING. YOU.) The lady was super cute and perky and good at talking to the kids. BUT- after her anti-suicide/theft speeches, she "turned [us] over to Carolyn" for the rest of the tour.

Carolyn was TheSurlyTourGuideWhoHatesChildren. She was mean to the kids and reminded me of the teacher on Pete's Dragon. Seriously. And when the little 5 year-olds didn't make 2 perfect lines in front of her, she clapped her hands real loud and looked at them like they were tomorrow's muggers and rapists. She took them into the refrigerator and the freezer and snapped at the kids, then explained to the adults which products were on sale. She took us to the seafood section. There BrianTheSeafoodGuy told us about how there are farms where they grow sea creatures so as not to deplete the ocean's resources and if we go home and search on the internet for "Aquaculture" we can learn all about it. (This was the interesting part of the tour. I thought I should tell you, since I doubted you'd figure it out on your own.) Then TheSurlyTourGuideWhoHatesChildren regaled the kids with the tale of how she had never had KingCrab before in her life until last year when she went up to Alaska on a fishing boat and they caught crabs (don't go there) and prepared them and ate them and EVERYTHING...! Then she got even grumpier because the expected reaction of awe and wonder was instead blank stares that said, "Whats a Laska?" and "My Uncle has a boat." and "I need to go potty." She stomped over to the bakery section where the baker guy was going to demonstrate to the kids how they decorate the cakes. He opened a mylar package, pulled out a pre-printed, thick, leathery-looking, sugar thing and plopped it on the cake. Then he did a real fancy job of putting a seashell border around two cakes in two minutes flat. And that is why I don't buy cakes at Said Grocery Store. They always appear to have been completed in two minutes. And that is not a good thing. (And how come you have to order your cake a week in advance? He did TWO cakes in two minutes. What are they doing for the other 604,798 minutes of that week? Just wondering.) BakerJose was actually very nice to the kids and talked to them on their level, but his demonstration was ruined somewhat by the constant peppering of comments from TheSurlyTourGuideWhoHatesChildren. Things such as, "DON'T TOUCH!" "STOP TOUCHING!" "BACK UP!" "YOU KIDS NEED TO BACK. UP.!" and my personal favorite, "YOU MAY NOT COUGH ON THE CAKE!!!!" After the cake decorating, came the highlight of the trip. TheSurlyTourGuideWhoHatesChildren took us to the produce section. And this is what she said:

SurlyTourGuide: These are fruits and vegetables. You need FIVE servings of fruit and vegetables each day. Right? Now. There are two kinds of food. Living food and DEAD food. DEAD food has been cooked. Living food has not. Living fruits and vegetables are good for you. I'll tell you- if you eat DEAD food all the time, you ARE GOING TO GET CANCER. If you eat LIVING food, you'll NEVER get cancer.

Kids: !!!! : O

Parents: !!!! : O

SurlyTourGuide: Green vegetables have chlorophyll. That means it's good for you, if you don't turn it into a DEAD food. This is cabbage. These are strawberries. You need yellow vegetables for your eyes. What color is this cantaloupe?

FiveKidsWhoAreStillSortOfListening: OR-ANGE!!!

SurlyTourGuide: Uh, right. So you need yellow vegetables for your eyes. And orange ones. (Walks over to the carrots, picks one up, breaks it in half.) You can always tell which part of your body something is good-for by what it looks like. See the end of that carrot? It looks like your eye.

Kids and Me: ? : o

SurlyTourGuide: See? Right here?

Kids squinting: ???

Me: I wonder which part of your body potatoes look like?

SurlyTourGuide: You want candy, eat peas. That's God's candy right there.

Me: Please let this end soon.

SurlyTourGuide: This is a red pepper. This is an orange pepper. Isn't that beautiful? This is a jalepeno pepper. It cleans your blood.

Kids: : O

SurlyTourGuide: Yup. Them Mexicans use this and cilantro. Cilantro has wonderful, wonderful properties. That's how they stay healthy.

Me: I wonder if she thinks no one in Mexico has cancer?

SurlyTourGuide: This is broccoli. What does broccoli have?

Kids afraid to answer her at this point: Leaves? Little bally thingies? Rubberbands?

SurlyTourGuide: Chlorophyll.! I TOLD YOU. disgusted sigh of exasperation See this orange? Is it cooked?

Kids meekly: Noooo.

SurlyTourGuide: That's right. It's not DEAD food. It's Living food. AND THAT MEANS it's good for you. You remember that.

As we left the store for the fire station, I wondered how many 5/6 year-olds were going to refuse to eat their vegies at dinner tonight. Certainly more than last night. Then I wondered what sort of craziness was going to take place during our fire station experience.

At the fire station we learned to STOP. DROP. AND ROLL. Then, Alex (a kid in ThePinkiest's (5) class), gave a ten minute dissertation on how to check your bedroom door to see if it's hot and then throw a fire ladder out your window and climb down- complete with miming. The fire safety instructor ended with how "houses in [this city we live in] almost never catch on fire because they are built so safely these days." On our way from the fire safety room to see the fire engine, they firemen got called out to a house fire. So much for "almost never catching fire". Luckily, they had double-scheduled firefighters today just in case this happened. I'm thinkin' maybe house fires aren't quite as unusual as he was letting on.

I watched the kids go through the cab of the firetruck, keeping an eye on them to see that nobody put it into gear. After we saw everything in the truck and got the explanation of why firefighters carry Costco-size buckets of kitty litter, we went to Corbin, the EMT. Fire Fighter Corbin showed the kids all the stuff in the ambulance and even took the pulse-ox. of every single kid there. By then we were freezing because, it is NOT balmy out today. And fire station garages make great wind tunnels.

When we finally got home (with Angie ____'s daughter, not Angie ____'s son), I got to see that the call they got for the house fire was NOT for my house. What a relief! I guess the trip to the fire station was uneventful this time. Thank goodness.

I don't know what else to say, other than I'm ready to swear off field trips forever.

Easter

Happy Easter! I hope you all enjoyed the day and remembered to remember the goodness and mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ. He took our sins upon him, he suffered for us in the Garden of Gethsemane, he prayed to the Father in our behalf, he descended lower than anyone ever has, and then he allowed himself to be lifted up on the cross and was crucified. What a joyful blessing the knowledge of the Redeemer's love is to us. I know that through the grace of Jesus Christ all mankind may be saved after all that we can do. I hope you know this too.

We spent the last couple weeks talking with the children about the true meaning of Easter. Starting on Palm Sunday, we discussed what the Savior was doing for the days leading up to his resurrection. I am happy to say that some of it sunk in.

On Saturday before Easter, we had the opportunity to attend the baptism of a family member who lives about an hour away. It was a wonderful afternoon and it was so nice to see our family in happier circumstances.

When we arrived, they were still filling up the baptismal font and my younger children were very interested in this. The baptismal fonts in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latterday Saints are very large, tiled, usually sunk into the ground, and have steps that lead down into them. The fixtures where the water comes out resemble bathtub fixtures. Maria (the girl being baptized), was glowing. My children were all dressed in their Sunday best and (wonder of wonders-) sitting quietly and reverently (MOSTLY) on the back row.

Maria's aunt gave a talk on baptism. She was saying something about following Jesus' example by entering the waters of baptism. I guess (also wonder of wonders) that Monster Truck(2) was trying to pay attention to what she was saying because he stood up on his chair and SHOUT-whispered to me (I was sitting next to him), "JESUS COME ALIVE IN THAT BAFFTUB!" (So good to know he got something out of our family home evening discussion about the resurrection.) I chuckled and tried to get him to quiet down. Then the aunt said something about a prophet in the Book of Mormon named Alma, who baptized a large group of people in the wilderness at a place called The Waters of Mormon. He jumped up again and said, "NO!, THE WATER'S IN BAFFTUB!!!"

We talked a little afterward about how Jesus was baptized to set the example of perfect obedience to the commandments for us, even though he never sinned. We talked again about how Jesus knelt in the garden, was betrayed by one of his closest friends, taken by the soldiers, was beaten, mocked, humilated, and crucified. And he was resurrected. He lives still. "There.", I thought. "Confusion cleared up."

So we got to church Easter Sunday morning, and as we're going inside, Monster Truck(2) is bounding through the door and he looks up at me with shining eyes and faith in his heart and says, "WE GOING TO SEE JESUS!!!!". He was so happy about it, it was a little heart-wrenching to have to tell him that yes, Jesus is alive, but no, he won't be putting in a LIVE appearance at church today. At least not that I know of.

I guess we should all be looking to the day with the eyes of a two year-old. He IS coming. And Monster Truck(2) can hardly wait. : )

Slots and That Dirty Slut: Mr. Yuke(4) Goes Vegas

Slots:

A couple months ago, during our last round of dominoes, Mr. Yuke(4) called me to the bathroom.
"Mom, I slotted."
"What?!"
"I slotted. I tried to poop but lot of slot came out."
I have not looked at a slotted spoon the same ever since.


Now for the other:

In January our local grocery store parking lot became a quagmire of thick not-exactly-snow-more-like-soft-slush. It wouldn't go away and had become quite deep; deep enough to cover Mr. Yuke's(4) shoes in fact.

Husband took Mr. Yuke(4) to the store one night. When Mr. Yuke(4) jumped out of Max, his feet were instantly immersed in ice-cold mush.
Mr. Yuke(4): Ughh! I hate that dirty slut!
Husband: WHAT?!
Mr. Yuke(4): That slut- (points)- I hate it.
Husband trying not to laugh: Oh. Slushhhhhhhhhhhh.
Mr. Yuke unable to hear properly due to wind: Don't shush me! I HATE THAT DIRTY SLUT!!!
Man Walking By: sputter choke gasp guffaw

ISMs

I haven't posted for a while because my children are still being posessed and I am at a loss for what to say about that. I have a post that is an unfinished work in progress which I can hopefully soon publish. In the meantime, here are some isms of late.

Mr. Yuke(4): I have erasers between my toes.
Me: Erasers?
Mr Yuke(4): Yes. Look. It's like erasers. (Shows me toe-jam.)

Monster Truck(2), removing wet pull-up: Yookit dis. Dis is wet. SMELL IT. (Only boys, I swear.)

Bubba(7) whose last doctor appointment was several months ago, CRYING: I don't WANT to get a shot!
Me: What are you talking about?
Bubba(7): I don't WANT to get a shot?
Me: You're not going to get a shot. You don't have an appointment.
Bubba(7): I know. But SOMEDAY.

My girls have not been very funny. Little Mommy(9) I think, has (sadly) grown out of the funny stage and has not yet grown into her teen-angst-driven-humor years. I await that with eager anticipation. And dread. More dread I think. Here is one of her greatest hits though:

Little Mommy(3): What's that? Are we having soup?
Me: No, it's stew.
Little Mommy(3): What's stew?
Me: It's kind of like soup, but thicker.
DogMom: Oh, good! Brochen!
Grampa: Hey! Brochen!
ArtisticallySpecificTastes: We're having brochen? I love brochen!
Little Mommy(3) indignant that all these grown-ups are so stupid: It's not BUTT-CHOSEN! It's STEWP!

Home Schoolin'

I recently had an epiphany in which I realized that I should be a librarian when I grow up. I was ecstatic. The long years I've spent narrowing down what I want to do with my life, finally at an end. Now, a path. That starting place, a jumping off point, a direction to a determinded destination. I called That College I Sometimes Go To, to inquire about which classes I could take online while I am waiting for Muhloo(10mo) to go to school. I discovered that Library Science is actually a Masters program. One which, incidentally, is not offered at Said College.

Deep breath. "Okay, well do you have any idea what sort of Undergraduate degree I should pursue with that Masters in mind?"

"Oh, pretty much anything. Of course something with English or Literature is always good, but really any field that interests you would work."

So much for narrowing down what I want to do with my life.

So I go in and meet with an Advisor. She tells me that I can choose between Comparative Literature ( YES!) which she is advising me against (NO!) and English, which she thinks would be my best bet. Why would English be better I ask? Well the Comparative Lit. degree doesn't have any major classes available online. English on the other hand has tons.

"Explain to me the difference between the two."

"Well, Comparative Literature would be studying and comparing literature (oh, really?), while (and this next part came in hushed and reverential tones-) English would be studying the intracacies of the English Language. (Enter the choir of heavenly angels now). Hmmm. I wonder which classes SHE teaches?

The intracacies of the English language. Hmmm. Semicolon 101? I don't think so. Thanks, but I get all the English Language learnin' I need reading the "Blog" of "Unnecessary" Quotation Marks. Ok, Comparative Lit it is. And actually I still have some G.E.'s to get out of the way so I can do those online while I wait for Muhloo(10mo) to grow.

Thinking about the general education I am soon to receive at home got me thinking about the general education I have already received there.

Since we're already on English, let's just start there:

Pronunciation of Consonants (PrCn160)-
Me: Wwwww-ipes
Monster Truck(2): Yyyyyyipes.
Me: Wwwwwipes
Monster Truck(2): Yyyyyyipes.
Me: Wwwwwwwww
Monster Truck(2): Wwwww
Me: Good! Do it again!
Monster Truck(2): Wwwwww!
Me: Now say, wwwwwipes.
Monster Truck(2): WwwwwwYipes.

Try to say that. It's really hard.
(Note: Monster Truck(2) graduated this week from wwwwYipes to Lipes. Also, I think speaking toddlerese 6 times earns me a Minor in Foreign Language.)

Zoology 100 (ZooL100)-
Little Mommy(9) informed me today that she is pretty sure she broke her toe at school because she dropped something heavy on it and then just kept "slumping around" all day.

Mr. Yuke(4) popped his knuckle night before last while wrestling with his dad.
Mr Yuke(4): OH NO! I broke my ANKLE BUTTON! It WASN'T WORTH IT!!!!
[I actually think I should get double credit for this one in Drama 120 (Dra120)]

Economics For Small Business (Econ160)-
Me: No one in this family is allowed to charge for breakfast or lunch at school under any circumstances whatsoever. Do you understand me? (Collective nodding of heads.) Charging is not a good practice to get into and we do not have the money for that. I have already talked with the lunch lady. Her computer says you guys can't charge. Okay? (Nodding again.) We have perfectly good food at home you can eat for breakfast and take for lunch. There is no reason ever to charge. Got it? (More nodding.)

-----

Me: What do you mean you owe $10.45 to the school and they're kicking you out in January if you haven't paid it yet?! What have you been doing with ALL THOSE LUNCHES you took to school?! ... Uh huh. ... I see. Well you are paying those charges with the money from your own piggy bank. ... Yes, it is fair. ... No, I provided you with food the first time around when you chose to throw it away. You owe money too?!!! How much do YOU owe? $6.80? How can you owe $6.80? Lunch prices don't even add up to that! (STUPID LUNCH LADY!) You TELL that lunch lady that I want an itemized receipt for that. ... It means a list of all the charges. ... Yes, she can. ... If you can't remember "itemized" then just say 'my mom wants a receipt.'. ...WHAT?!!!! YOU aren't even AT school for lunch time!!! HOW CAN YOU POSSIBLY HAVE CHARGES AT SCHOOL?!!! ... Breakfast? You eat breakfast at home. ... I don't CARE if you like french toast better than cheerios, you're not allowed to eat at school without taking money!

I should get an honorary degree in Social Science for that one just on the grounds that no one got maimed. : )

Psychology 210 (Psy210)-
One of Husband's roommates was a Psych major. Not my favorite person come to think of it. The reason for that was that he was constantly doing/saying/encouraging things solely to elicit a reaction and then to analyze all the people involved. The world was his laboratory, the human race his lab rats. In honor of the roommate I'll call Dozen Roses, my psych experiment:

Monster Truck(2): You're taking a BAFF?!!! (Read: Have you LOST YOUR MIND?)
Me: Yep.
Monster Truck(2): Why aye you taking a baff?
Me: Because my back hurts (stupid cheap Walmart junk...).
Monster Truck(2): Because yo-ee back hurts? You takinga baff because yo-ee back hurts?
Me: Mmhm.
Monster Truck(2): Hmm. Nice and Yarm.


I'm also pretty sure I've already earned at least a minor in Children's Literature and probably Early Childhood Development as well. I can offhandedly quote Dr. Seuss, Shel Silverstein, e.e. cummings, and Mem Fox. Sad, but true.

I've learned how to fix baby beds, action figures, boo-boos and dinners. I've written journals and blogposts and permission slips and excuse notes. I've made costumes and messes and excuses and FHE lessons; done homework and housework and yardwork and God's work. I've made babies and a family. I've made a home.

I am so thankful that I had the opportunity to comtemplate what I wanted to do with my life. In taking the time to contemplate it, I did it.

Dirty Words

Human anatomy has become a favorite topic with the pygmies around here lately. Apparently certain body parts are the pinnacle of funny and I was just unaware. Not cute little words like "Bum" and "Knickers McFanny" (thank you Nanny McPhee). No, I'm talking the real whoppers that Brother has a hard time with. I have no idea how to handle that. It seems like it's only more gratifying to them if I react to it and remind them ever-so-gently that it's best not to say those words in the middle of the grocery store AT THE TOPS OF THEIR LUNGS! Oh, yes. That brings on gales of laughter. On a related note- does anyone know what a pee-nit is?
Kids-4, Mom-0

There are some other dirty words I've been contending with lately. Closely related to the human anatomy issue is the ever-dreaded potty training. Now, in the name of good personal hygiene, I have always had the child who has an accident take a quick shower. None of my other kids thought much of this. Well, it turns out that Monster Truck(2) really likes the shower. A LOT. He is quite joyful when he announces that he has peed/pooped himself AGAIN so "I need a shower!". The enthusiasm with which he delivers that sentence just can't be captured in the written word. Suffice it to say, he could just as easily be saying, "I'm going to Knotts Berry Farm! With Santa Claus!!!" Anyway, I don't really know what to do. As long as he keeps getting to get clean after an accident he's not going to try to stop having them. Do I let him walk around smelling like a port-a-potty?
Kids-5, Mom-0

Mucous is another dirty word I've been contending with. There seems to be a surplus of it in the world. Sadly, my children got my genes and therefore will most likely not learn to blow their noses until they go to college. (True story. I just couldn't do it.) They try. Several of them blow out their mouths into a tissue expecting to expectorate the junk in their noses. That's kind of funny, actually. I will continue to wipe their noses I guess. For the next 12 years.

Chores. SIGH. What can I even say about that? Ah. I know. To quote a (cyber) friend:

"Frickin' farker frickafrack!!! Scream."

Yep. That about covers it. Bubba's(7) friend came over the other day to get Bubba(7) so they could go play at the friend's house. Bubba(7) had not quite finished his chores and he had to finish before they could leave. His friend stood there and watched with disdain while Bubba(7) unloaded the dishwasher. After a few minutes the friend said, "I don't have to do any chores." Bubba(7) shot me the stinkyeye and said, "That's because your mom is nice." (Slam the bowl down.) Me: (No, that's because your mom doesn't think you can do anything yourself you big baby.) Ok. So I admit it. That wasn't a nice thought. But really, do you have to come into my house and make my slaves start having thoughts about the injustices of their lives? I have already been dealing with a near-revolutionary uprising the past few months, no thanks to my next dirty word: Cabin Fever.
Kids-6, Mom-0

Ah, cabin fever. The current bane of my existence. I don't know who has it worse- me or the kids. No one wants to do any chores. No one wants to listen to the parents. No one wants to stay in this house for ten more seconds. I'm just sayin' is all. You know the other problem with being cooped up all winter long? Dirt.

Yes, Dirt. That is my last dirty word for this post. I never realized that Cabin Fever is the reason for Spring cleaning. I always had a vague impression that spring was just some arbitrary time someone picked because the weather is neither too cold nor too hot. WRONG. The reason spring cleaning is in the spring is because with a bunch of kids and no Alice in the house for almost 5 months straight, the house is dirtier than the garden. There are mystery handprints on the walls that have no explanation other than that their origins could not possibly have been any one of my children. ("It wasn't ME!") My children have managed to get crumbs in corners that no human (or vacuum) could ever fit into (behind the bunkbed, under the bookshelf, etc.) The kitchen floor hasn't been scrubbed in I'm-not-going-to-say-how-long (in part because of my feelings about mopping but also) because the kids haven't been able to be outside long enough for it to dry, so what's the point? Yesterday spring finally got here. I hope beyond hope it stays. The weather in This Place That I Live is a little unpredictable this time of year. I remember one June that it was 95 degrees one day and THE VERY NEXT DAY IT SNOWED. I am not making this up. Anyway, if the weather holds out at least for the weekend I'm going to get the dirt (and the dirty kids!) out of the house. Ooooo! It's going to be so great!

Bedtime Tourette's and Music to My Ears

Every night when it's time to get ready for bed, we go through the same routine. At 7:00, everyone gets their p.j.'s on, brushes their teeth, the girls put their hair up so it doesn't get all tangled in the night, and everyone comes downstairs. They all (even Monster Truck(2)) write in their journals while we read aloud for half an hour. Currently we are reading The Tale of Despereaux. At the end of reading time, we sing a song, say a prayer together as a family, and everyone gets to choose a book to take to bed. They read in bed quietly for another half an hour. Then they say their own prayers, get tucked in, and it's lights out. And then I check to make sure the carbon monoxide detector is still working because clearly I am hallucinating. This is the routine that we all agreed to as a family and is posted on the dining room wall. It's the routine that is a thing of beauty once every new moon. The one which is nearly always the same that I referred to up there at the beginning is:

At 7:00 I say, "Okay, guys. Go get ready for bed." They all run (shrieking at the top of their lungs) up the stairs like a pack of howler monkeys and proceed to do any- and every- thing. Except get ready for bed. They laugh and I yell, "Get ready for bed." They fight and I say, "Get your p.j.'s on!" Someone gets hurt and I yell, "It wouldn't have happened if you weren't screwing around. Get ready for bed." (Fill in the blank) comes downstairs and says, "I can't find my toothbrush." After about ten minutes of intermittent reminders from me to "GET READY FOR BED!", I call everyone downstairs for journals, etc. and send whichever two children who are still wearing their jeans and t-shirts back upstairs to get their jammies on. For real this time. ("GET READY FOR BED!") The kids who are in p.j.'s get sent back upstairs to really brush their teeth this time. ("GET READY FOR BED!") The child whose toothbrush is lost and (if by some miracle there IS a child who did what was expected) the child who is ready for bed get out their journals and write or draw about their day depending on the age of the child. ("GET READY FOR BED!") If Mr. Yuke(4) is one of these children, there is a predictable conversation about how our journals are not regular art paper and he needs to just use one page each day and if he wants to do some artwork while we read he needs to get some different paper. When everyone finally comes downstairs truly ready for bed, we are out of time for reading, writing, or singing. The children who didn't get to journal have a hissy fit to which I answer that they chose to use up their time acting like pygmies upstairs. We have a prayer and I send them to bed. And then one or the other of them inevitably asks me with an angel face and puppy dog eyes to "Tuck them in? Please?" (music to my ears) and once again my heart melts and I tuck everyone in (because of course one or the other of us is going to do that every night). And I sit down and sigh at my sweet little people and how much I love them. And then Little Mommy(9) comes out and says that (random body part) hurts. EVERY SINGLE NIGHT. And it's never the same one either. And it's never hurts until it's time to go to sleep. And Mr. Yuke(4) needs a drink. And then The Pinkiest(5) needs one too because it's NOT FAIR if Mr. Yuke(4) gets one and she doesn't. And then Monster Truck(2) doesn't WANT to be in bed and Little Mommy(9) has some other random pain. And she wants to know what exactly is going to be done about it?! And then I tell them that the next person out of bed is going to be dead meat and I better not hear one more peep out of anyone. And then it's quiet.
And then Monster Truck(2) gets out of bed again. For the 27th time.

Last night Husband called during this period of chaos and I really miss him so I kept him on the phone and conversed softly with him while all this was going on. The result was that after a few minutes he said, "It sounds like you have 'Go to bed!' Tourette's. Because of this, I started playing some Christmas music on the piano in an effort to drown them out while I talked to him as the kids were (NOT) getting ready for bed. One of the songbooks I have is a hand-me-down from my mom called "A Peanuts Christmas" (Snoopy). She went through a Peanuts phase in the 70's which she does not remember. Anyway, the book is just basically a bunch of easy Christmas carol arrangements with pictures of Peanuts characters on the tops of the pages. Being the token ready-for-bed-child, The Pinkiest(5) was sitting on the piano bench next to me, listening to the music. I stopped playing after a couple songs and Little Mommy(9) came bolting down the stairs and said, "Mommy, will you please play more Peanuts Christmas Songs?" The Pinkiest(5) got a funny look on her face, pulled her fingers out of her mouth and said, "Penis Christmas Songs?"

"Twinkle, twinkle little star, do you know how loved you are?"

Sweet Potato Queens and Foofs

I love the Sweet Potato Queens. I do. I think Jill Connor Browne is very funny, even though at least half of what she writes is completely inappropriate and not worthy of my time. I am aware of this and I have not read any of her work for several years. Consider her my guilty pleasure- like Superbowl ads, and CNN2 or The Weather Channel are for some other people. In one of her books, Jill talks about how much she loves Deviled Eggs (I know! Eww gross, right?) Anyway, she says she loves to eat them but they are WAY too much of a pain to make "her own self". Her solution to this quandry, is to periodically make the rounds until she can find someone who already has some made up or else will make some for her. It is so lazy and yet, I see the merit of this slacker strategy when I have to, say, change a diaper for the four millionth time in a week or something needs to be ironed. Once upon a time, Little Mommy(9) found this slacker approach particularly satisfying when it came to "Foofs".

"Foof" is the term Little Mommy(9) used (when she was Little Mommy(18m)) for "bubbles". The reference is obvious if you had ever seen her trying to blow bubbles with the little plastic wand from the bottle. She would try over and over again but all she could manage was, "Ffffffff!"- hence, the name. Going "Fffffff!" directed the air from her mouth straight down her chin and almost never resulted in bubbles wafting away on the breeze. She became so frustrated with the whole process that I eventually got out the oscillating fan and showed her how to hold the bubble wand in front of it so that the fan did all the work. The result? A happy 18 month old who requested we play Foofs every single day for nearly three months, and a mom who was not passing out from hyperventilation due to blowing bubbles for 2 straight hours every time, while being pregnant with Bubba(6).

The reason I was reminiscing about Foofs today is that Muhloo(7m) discovered her own version of bubbles this afternoon. She is starting to switch over to baby food and she's pretty excited about it. The trouble is that she also gets bored with the repetitive motions of scoop, open mouth, swallow, repeat. In response to the tedium, today she came up with a way to mix things up a little. She figured out that if she waits to baby-babble right when the spoon is just about to go into her mouth, it blows bubbles in the sweet potatoes and effectively sprays them EVERYWHERE. She wouldn't talk to me when the spoon wasn't at her lips. It was like she was speaking into the microphone. I thought maybe she was not hungry and was therefore more interested in playing with her food than actually eating it. NOT SO. When I tried to gently remove the food items from in front of her, she had a huge fit because she was still hungry, apparently. She just happened to be hungry AND entertaining herself with her lunch at the same time. (Is that a problem?) By the time her interest in eating had dwindled, I had sweet potatoes all over my face, shirt, pants, and hands. Her clothing was remarkably clean, come to think of it. (Maybe I ought to do the rounds and see if someone else in the neighborhood has a hankering for feeding babies?) No, on second thought, I would much rather enjoy this experience "my own self". Getting to be in the stories of The Sweet Bubble Queens and the people who hang around them is so much better than anything Jill Connor Browne has to say. I love being a mom. What more is there?

Photos: "5/19/07 Baby Shower Food" by Nodame; "Untitled" (Bubble Wand) by TeraRoop11; "Deviled Eggs for Easter Dinner" by Tojosan. All photos found on Flickr.com. Incidentally, I had a hard time finding a deviled egg picture that wasn't copyrighted. How weird is that? There were like ten zillion of them but they were all exclusively copyrighted. This is one bizarre cyberworld we live in.

Now I chow my A-B-...Z's?

Mr. Yuke(3) loves to sing the A-B-C song. He sings it often and at the top of his lungs. It goes like this:

"A-B-Z-D-E-F-G,
H-I-J-K-L-N-N-O
PEEE-
2-R-X,
T-U-V,
W, X, Y and Z.
Now I know my A-B-Z's.
Next time won't you sing with me?"

Every time he sings it, I gently correct him that it is A-B-"C", because the song has "Z" at the end. He looks at me like I am stupid and corrects me back that it is

"A-B-Z-D-E-F-G
H-I-J-K-LNNO
PEEEEE-
2-R-X,
T-U-V,
W, X, Y AND Z!!!"

I try to convince him that no, it is "C" (I'm saving the battles of "M", "Q" and "S" for after I win this one). He won't have any of it.


The Pinkiest(5), I fear, is going to be dependent on some substance or the other for the rest of her life. Currently she is hopelessly addicted to anything sweet. She steals them, hides them, and eats them every chance she gets. It is quite sad actually and I am at a loss for how to help her. This is such a problem that any time we go anywhere, she scavenges the parking lot for gum any moment my eyeballs are not directly on her. Then, all of a sudden I see she has gum in her mouth and I know she didn't get it from home because she has had gum in her hair (and the car upholstery, and the baby's hair...) so many times that she is banned from chewing gum at all. So I ask her, "Where did you get the gum?"-

The Pinkiest(5): I don't know.
Me: Well, that gum didn't just appear in your mouth.
The Pinkiest(5): I don't know.
Me: What do you mean 'you don't know'? How can you not know?
The Pinkiest(5): I don't know.
Me: Just tell the truth. You get in more trouble for lying.
The Pinkiest(5): The ground.
Me: Was it already chewed up?!!!
The Pinkiest(5): Yeah.
Me: Well SPIT IT OUT!!!!!

This exchange is usually followed by a lengthy conversation about germs and how disgusting it is to pick up ABC gum and that she should never, ever do that, at the end of which she promises never to do it again. Until the next time.

So I'm doing battle with Mr. Yuke(3) over "A-B-C" and the only explanation I can come up with is the one foremost in my mind: ABC gum. This of course will do me absolutely no good whatsoever and I am rendered impotent in both situations.

Score: Kids-2, Mom-0

More in common than you think

Mr. Yuke(3): Gramma?

Motherinlaw: Yes?

Mr Yuke(3): Chuck-Gr-Ama has the same name as you.

Motherinlaw: ???

Mr. Yuke(3): You both have the same name. Of Gr-Amma.

Makes you hungry just thinking about it, doesn't it?

The Donzerlee Light

The other day I went to Weight Watchers. Little People stayed with Mother-In-Law. When I got home we went to the Visitor's Center at Temple Square in Salt Lake City. We went into a rotunda that has a beautiful statue of the Savior and the ceiling has stars and planets painted on it. Mr. Yuke sat still for 7 whole seconds and then said, "Can we go now?" I, knowing there would be a recorded narration in a few moments said, "No. We need to wait. There is going to be some talking in a minute."



PAUSE. Wheels turning. Light dawning. "Wait. Is this WAIT WATCHERS?'



"No."



"Oh. Because you said we have to wait so I thinked this was weight watchers."