Life After Internet

So, I quit the internet.  At least at home.  And I've been intending to write more blog posts and save them and post them when I have access, but one little thing has been paralyzing my creative flow.  At the end of my last blog post I think I said something about following up with how the "double event" went.  But I'm no longer inspired to write about the double event.  So I am now going to let it go and move on.

As I said, I quit the internet, or rather, we quit as a family.  My husband and I independently, and yet nearly simultaneously, came to the conclusion that internet and television were hindering us from being who we want to be as a family.  Actually, that's a cop out.  We lack the fortitude and self control to responsibly use the internet and television.

I was thinking about taking on the role of the fanatical convert...you know, declaring home-internet and cable TV to be the root of all evil and the primary source of the break down of the American family, etc.  But I can't pull it off.  Life would be much simpler if we could have the internet on hand to responsibly use as a resource and even intermittent entertainment.  Honestly, the TV wasn't a  HUGE problem, but since we were cancelling the internet, we figured we might as well cancel the whole package and save the money.

The first few days were the hardest.  The withdrawals were almost painful.  I was confused, disoriented and bored out of my freaking mind.   I may have actually twitched or spasmed just a tiny bit every time I would normally have been hitting "refresh" or "stumble" (have you tried StumbleUpon??  So fun! (I can't figure out the the proper way to punctuate a parenthetical statement (she alliterated))).  I simply didn't know what to do with myself.  It turns out that there is actually a LOT of time in a day and an hour is actually a significant period of time during which several things can be accomplished.  I had no idea.

So, you ask, what am I doing with all of this new found time?  Are you prepared to be dazzled?  Don't be.  I'm not one to suffer from delusions of adequacy.  My "accomplishments" are likely still far less than what most normal mothers with full access to the internet and television manage to achieve on a daily basis.

1. I shrunk my laundry pile - even though my dryer broke and I was without a dryer for a week!  Lets look at how this compares with before our drastic changes.

BEFORE: Laundry piles up faster than I wash it.  Company is coming and I realize that if they want to use the bathroom (which they wouldn't if they had any idea of the potential disasters they might discover upon entry) they would have to climb over a mountain of smelly dirty laundry.  I shove the laundry out the garage door where it is truly "out of sight, out of mind".  We spend the next several weeks wondering what ever happened to "that one shirt" or the other half of a cute outfit, and "WHERE THE HECK DID ALL THE DANG TOWELS GO???", etc...

AFTER: I do several loads a day.  When the dryer breaks, no problem!  I string lines in the sun room and hang dry everything.  All the laundry from the garage makes it back into the house, hooray!

2. I plan meals in advance and make freezer meals.

BEFORE: Buy a bunch of random stuff at the store. Forget to pull anything out of the freezer to thaw in a reasonable amount of time for dinner.  Realize it's after 5 pm and I have no idea what we are having for dinner.  Either:
A)  Thaw some kind of meat in the microwave, add random seasonings, cook it and let the kids dip whatever it is in ketchup.

B) Order a pizza or Chinese.

C) Declare it breakfast for dinner day and make scrambled eggs or oatmeal.

AFTER: Plan every single meal for a week.  Buy exactly what I need for each meal.  Pull out the meat I need every morning.  Start making dinner every day at 4.  Make a bunch of breakfast casseroles to freeze.   Etc. etc.  Save money!

3. Reading and listening to books on CD.

BEFORE:  Read the occasional cheap thriller over a period of several days.  Primary entertainment in the evening while doing my mind-numbingly boring work-at-home-job consists of watching the murder shows that I have saved on the DVR.

AFTER:  I probably read no less than FOUR cheap thrillers a week now!  Since I have nothing to watch on TV while I work, I've started checking out books on CD.  I thought it would be great to get some morally, philosophically and culturally edifying books that I might not otherwise take the time to read, so I started by getting Mere Christianity, by C.S. Lewis.  It ended up making my head hurt from thinking too hard, so I traded it in for some cheap thrillers and I have now gotten hours of work done while streaming this mindlessness directly into my poor addled easily distracted brain via ear buds.  I'm getting Twilight next.

4. I have been teaching the children to use reference books.

BEFORE: Google it.

AFTER: Get out the dictionary or encyclopedia and work on alphabetizing skills and garnering information from BOOKS!


Then of course, there is the increase in quality time and conversation as a family, better planned school lessons, a more organized day, etc.

We all miss the internet greatly, but much to our surprise and delight, life actually can go on (quite well in fact) without it.

...and if you want to be a good mother, you'll throw out the internet too so you can be awesome like me....HA!  Kidding.

How To Host a Double Event

Event: Sebastian's 8th Birthday Party and Jane's Baptism

1.  Preparing for a double event takes at least one year to plan.

Beginning on the first day of the Year Of Planning (i.e. one day after the previous birthday party), listen to your seven-year-old's ideas for his next birthday party.  Listen to these plans every day thereafter.  Tune out and brush-off birthday planning talk.  State definitively that it is too soon to be making birthday plans.  Firmly declare that at this time you are absolutely not committing to, or even considering any grandiose and fantastical ideas for birthday fun.  Continue in this fashion until about  two months before the actual birthday occurs and then commit to a date at which point you will actually begin discussing birthday plans.  At child's request, help him make a count down calender to the day upon which you are willing to seriously consider any of his ideas.

During this time start seriously thinking about the baptism.  Some suggestions for what kinds of things to think are:

"This would be a good time to get my baby baptized.  I wonder who I should pick for Godparents.  What is wrong with me that I'm not close enough to more Catholic people who could potentially be Godparents?"

"Okay, seriously, I have GOT to get going on the baptism.  Seriously self, I am not waiting until she is two like I did with the twins.  Do you even remember Dominic's behavior at his baptism?  Do you really want a repeat of that?  Do you??"

"Pick up the phone and call the church.  It's not that hard.  I don't care if you are phone-phobic.  Do it."

"Oh my goodness, I am a horrible mother."

Call Loretta at the church and request that she mail you the paperwork you need to fill out.  If you lose the paperwork shortly after receiving it, no big deal.  Just repeat the thought process above until you make the call again.  Don't get discouraged if you lose it again.  Don't even consider the possibility that Loretta might be judging you for your inability to fill out the form and return it over and over and over again.  She wouldn't do that.  Just work through that thought process again.  You can do it!!

If the paperwork by mail option doesn't pan out, make an impromptu visit to the church office, walk right in and request the paperwork.  Stand firm if Loretta suggests that you take the paperwork home and return it later.  Refuse to leave the office until you have filled out the form and picked  a date.

2. Once your child has marked off all of the days on his countdown calendar for "official" party planning day, sit down with child, pen and paper and start listing all of his ideas.  Gently guide him regarding any restraints relating to time, money, location and laws of nature (e.g. gravity might hinder activities that require flying), etc.  Make a shopping list.

3. One week before the party go shopping.  Reflect that having a son who is such a meticulous planner actually isn't so bad as you check off your list.  Enjoy a sense of satisfaction and peace that you now have everything you need for the party a whole week in advance.

4. Four days before party day start making the requested Sonic the Hedgehog piñata.  Don't let the fact that you have never made a piñata before daunt you.  Everyone claims you're artistic.  You can DO it!  Blow up a baloon.  Mix flour and water.  Rip up some newspaper and go to town!


5. Two days before party day leave the house and stay away for two days.  Take comfort in the fact that you have already purchased everything you could possibly need to prepare for the party and will easily be able to throw everything together at the last minute.


6. The night before the party it is time to begin final preparations.  


     A. It's time to paint the piñata!  Be optimistic!  Surely with your artistic talent you can transform this nondescript blob into Sonic the Hedgehog.  All it takes is a little paint, a brush and determination!  If you find that you absolutely cannot find a paintbrush, even after an hour of searching, and even though you know for a fact that you have several, don't despair!  Nothing can stop you!  Use some of your scrap yarn to make a small pom pom and use that as a paint brush.  When it falls apart, just make another.  After 4 more pom pom paint brushes, resort to finger painting.  


While studying a picture of Sonic, you might discover that he has a flesh colored mouth and green eyes and you only have blue, white and black paint.  Not to worry!  This is where you can really spice up your artistic endeavors and expand your palette:


Yellowish Orangish Flesh Tone - White paint, curry powder, paprika, water.  Sprinkle spices into paint, mix until desired or sufficient color is reached.  Apparently, spices turn paint into a thick chunky paste, so add water until a more workable consistency is achieved.  


Green(ish) - White paint, curry powder (turmeric is presumed to be preferable if you have some on hand), blue paint.  Repeat above steps for combining ingredients.

Meticulously add the details until you give up all hope decide that it's good enough.

     B. Start to bake the cake.  After creaming the sugar and butter and adding the eggs, you might discover that you don't have baking powder.  This may surprise you if you are positive that your husband bought some.  After an extensive search of the cabinets and pantry you have a difficult decision to make.  Do you storm up the stairs, wake up your husband demand to know where the #@$%  *@#$% &#$%@ baking powder is.....or do you resign yourself to getting other things done and hoping to make the cake first thing in the morning?  If you opt for the latter, try not to harbor too much resentment.


     C. Since you no longer have to make a cake at this time, put together the party bags.


     D. Presents - search through the garage for random unopened Woot boxes that you have accumulated and select a couple of appropriate presents for the birthday child.  (Yes, Woot, you may send me complimentary items as a show of gratitude for the free advertising I just gave you.)  Wrap the presents.

     E. Go to the garage and open your hope chest expecting to find a beautiful baptismal gown, because you know you put it somewhere "safe" and "special" and truly believed that your hope chest was the "safe" and "special" place that you picked.  Empty hope chest.  Begin tearing through boxes in garage,  particularly those marked "special" and "keepsake".  Take a few moments to reminisce with your treasures.  

     D. Take a few moments to cry.  Get over it and persevere.  Search through laundry basket and find a couple of mostly white dresses that would suffice if necessary.  Crawl back to big sister (via e-mail) who generously offered weeks before to allow you to use her daughter's baptismal dress and who you smugly refused proudly declaring, "Oh no thank you, I have a lovely baptismal gown in my hope chest."  


     F.  Stuff piñata.

     G. Take a "nap".

 7.  Party Day has arrived!

     A. At 7:30 AM, sweetly ask your husband if he happens to know where the baking powder is.  Find out that he cleverly put it into an empty tea canister and did not label it.  Thank him with a smile and show no signs of resentment.  Visualize life in heaven with all of the other saints and angels.  Ponder weather or not making passive aggressive comments in your blog will tack time on to your inevitable stopover in purgatory.  

     B. Make the cake batter.  Ask your husband if the cake batter is really only supposed to barely cover the bottom of the pan.  Make another batch of cake batter to add to the pan.  Hope for the best.  




...Several hours later.  The Baptism is done and the party is over.  More to come...

The "Magic" of Childhood

On St.Patrick's Day two years ago,  my youngest sister, a.k.a. Super Aunt, planned an assortment of exciting activities for my older three children to celebrate the holiday.  I'm not entirely sure of the specifics of everything they did.  I believe they made leprechaun traps, and did some kind of treasure hunt.  As part of the fun there were stories involved.  Something along the lines of capturing a leprechaun, taking his gold and then giving it back in exchange for magic....I probably have that all wrong.  The kids have corrected me several times on this.  Anyway, it involves a leprechaun, gold, and the end result of having magical powers.

What my wonderful sister could not possibly have anticipated, was that her fun-filled activity would create an obsession.   I don't know if anyone could have anticipated the degree to which my children would become fixated with this concept.

EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. since then at least one of my children has mentioned capturing a leprechaun, having magic, or what they would do if they had magic at least once, and more often several several times.  I'm not even exaggerating.  Seriously. 

The vast majority of the conversations about magic start with, "If I had magic, I would say alacadabra, alakezam make [insert magical fantasy here]."  It started off fairly innocently.  They would make a lot of toys, or candy all day long, or make the house self-cleaning.

I have to say, this created a bit of a quandary for me.  I have quite a bit of inner conflict over being a realist with my kids and letting them enjoy the "magic of childhood".  We do the whole Santa thing at Christmas, and the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy visits our house (albeit a few days late at times).  But then when I least expect it, my kids will get me all confused with what seem like trick questions that I struggle to answer.

It will start off with a fairly benign question that quickly morphs into a trap:

Kids:  Mom, is magic real?

Me: No.

Kids: Can a person really go through walls?

Me: No.

Kids: Why?

Me:  It's simply not possible.  Try walking through that wall over there...see, you can't, you just bump into it.  You have a physical solid body and the wall is physical and solid.  You can't go through it without either harming yourself or the wall or both.

Kids: Oh yeah?  Well then how does Santa get into houses without chimneys?

Me: Oh...ummm...I don't know how he does that....he keeps all those kinds of things pretty secret.

Kids: Well, then you're wrong, magic must be real.

Me: Oh, hmmm, I don't know.

Kids: *annoyed at my obvious lack of logical reasoning*

So, therein lies my struggle.  I want to let them enjoy the "magic of childhood", but I have a really hard time agreeing with or supporting such impossibilities.  Whenever possible I try to answer my children's questions clearly and succinctly, but when the topic of all-things-magical come up, I turn in to an ambiguous bumbling idiot.

However this leprechaun thing has really gotten out of hand.  Now it's, "If I had magic, I would say alacadabra alakazam, make all of your toys be mine."  Which is quickly followed by, "Oh yeah, if I had magic I would say alacadabra alakazam, make all YOUR toys be MINE!"  Which then leads to, "If I had magic, I would say alacadabra aladazam, make you not have magic anymore!"  Followed promptly by, "MOOOOOM, he said he would take my magic away if he had magic, could he really do that??"

Most recently, Isaak told Sebastian that if he had magic he would make himself turn into Sebastian and Sebastian turn into Isaak so that Sebastian wouldn't get to go to his friend's birthday party that only he was invited to.  Sebastian came to us in tears about how mean that was.  We reassured him that since Isaak does NOT in fact have magic, he really has nothing to worry about.  He stormed off, and moments later Isaak came running up to us upset: "Mom, Dad, did you really tell Sebastian that if I used magic to turn me into him and him into me that I would be in really big trouble??"  We assured him that since neither of them were magical there was nothing to worry about, and furthermore, we absolutely refused to speculate on hypothetical parenting decisions that might take place in an alternate reality in which they used magic to plague each other. 

I have to say, initially I was quite impressed by my older boys ability to roll "alacadabra alakazam" off of their tongues so quickly and clearly considering how speech delayed they were and how many words they still have trouble pronouncing.  At this point I'm over it, and would be happy never to hear it again. 

If I had magic, I would say, "Alacadabra alakazam, make my kids never talk about what they would do if they had magic again."

Why I Don't Bathe

If you know any moms, you have probably heard at least one of them say, "I hardly have time to shower!", or something along those lines.  It seems to be a fairly cliche mom line. I don't know if it's true or not for these moms, who like to say it with that happy knowing mom laugh. 

When I had the kids in school it seemed that every other mother at the drop off was showered, perfectly groomed and made up.  Meanwhile, I hid in my car slouched down in my husbands ratty sweats which most likely had food stains, and my clown hair frizzed out to at least a foot from my head,  hoping that no one would try to smile and wave at me (which they didn't, and then I felt rejected).  I was always very proud of myself if I managed to improve my appearance by pick up time.

I don't know that my bathing and grooming problem is so much related to time as it might be to fear of what my children might do to the house while I'm in the shower.  I really do think there is typically plenty of time in a day to shower.  Quite honestly, when I hear other moms talking about not having enough time to shower, for whatever reason I tend to hear it as: "I devote so much of my time to being a perfectly perfect super mom to my 2.5 children that my daily shower is my one and only selfish indulgence." 

So, as I said, despite having 6 children, I do think I have "time" to shower.  But today was a perfect example of why I often choose not to do so.  Isaak spent the night with his cousin last night and so the rest of us were meeting my father-in-law and Isaak for dinner to retrieve him.  Being rather grubby, as I often am, I decided I'd best shower before going out in public. 

I made sure that Jane was napping and that everyone was peaceful before I made my escape.  I came out of the shower feeling clean and refreshed.  Then I walked downstairs... 

Apparently Alexandra and the twins decided that they should make "hot chocolate" while I was in the shower.  This entailed using unsweetened cocoa powder, water and milk and, I guess because they were unable to find any cups, mixing the concoction by pouring it all over the kitchen floor and rolling in it?  I mean, I really can't come up for any other explanation for the sight that greeted me.

There was wet chocolaty sludge from one end of the kitchen floor to the other.  Alexandra and the twins were brown from head to toe - which would be fine if they weren't primarily German and Irish.  Alexandra looked guilty, but Dante and Dominic seemed quite pleased with their accomplishment.  The pointed at the floor and said, "Look!  We made hot chocolate!" 

Sebastian, meanwhile, was a few feet away on the couch completely engrossed in an animal magazine.  Until I made some sort of guttural animalistic noise, at which point he glanced up and said, "Whoa, what happened?"

I may have started ranting and raving at that point.  I may have said something along the lines of, "Why do you guys use every opportunity to destroy our house??  You don't seem to appreciate having a house at all!  Do you know some people don't even have houses?  Since you seem so hell bent on destroying our house, maybe we shouldn't have a house!  Maybe we should just go live on the street!"

At which point Alexandra started sobbing.  I felt a little remorseful for being so harsh.  But then she said, "If we live on the street then I will get run over by a car!"  So rather than being consumed by guilt like I had thought, she was picturing living, quite literally in the middle of the street with cars coming at us.  I explained that "living in the street" was a figure of speech, and homeless people more often live on sidewalks and benches and parks.  She thought living in a park sounded fun, and managed to make a full recovery from my overzealous lecture. 

I told her to start getting towels to clean up the sludge while I ran back up the stairs to restart the shower.  On the way up I heard Jane awake so asked Sebastian to get her for me.  Apparently he took this to mean "Go get Jane, take her into the kitchen, roll her around in the sludge, and THEN bring her to me."  Okay, he probably didn't really do that, but it seems like the most plausible explanation for how, in two minutes time, she managed to be come a bigger mess than her three delinquent siblings combined. 

Fine.  Whatever.  I got everyone showered and then I mandated that they all sit on my bed and not leave my room while I ran up and down the stairs gathering clothes and shoes.  See, I knew from experience that if I let any one of them set foot outside my room they would magically be covered in chocolate again.

Miraculously we made it to the restaurant, a hot dog joint, early.  After dinner, Grandpa treated everyone to ice cream.  Dante was so very cautious with his ice cream, but after some time, it started dripping.  He panicked and requested napkins, proclaiming agitatedly, "I don't want to get my clothes dirty!"  All I could do was stare at him, mouth agape, before I let out a guffaw followed by a full on belly laugh. 

Was this the same child who just a few hours before was completely coated in chocolate?  Where did his new found desire for cleanliness come from?  My lecture perhaps?  Maybe he was sitting there thinking, "If I get my clothes dirty, my mom is going to make me live in the street where I will be run over by cars."  I watched in fascination as he carefully cleaned every drip, not only off of himself, but also off of the table.  I will be carefully watching tomorrow to see if he continues this new cleanly lifestyle. 

Throughout the afternoon, I was reminded to appreciate Isaak more.  I believe I have mentioned before that he has a tendency to be bossy.  While it can be a bit overdone at times, he does frequently prevent disasters like this from occurring.  The next time he comes storming up to me with a bottle of barbecue sauce, or bottle of shampoo, or bag of cocoa powder and says, "LOOK what those naughty twins and Alexandra were getting into," I must make sure to thank him profusely and remember today (and the other day, and a few days before that, etc.), and appreciate that this is one less disaster that I have to clean up (or look at, storm off angrily, avoid it as long as possible, and THEN clean up).

Mugshots and Handcuffs and Lessons Never Learned, Oh My!

I've had some qualms about making this post, but after the events of last night I decided to stick with the true spirit of this blog and just go for it.  I'm extremely frazzled right now so hopefully it's not too disjointed.

Let me preface this by saying that I am the most irresponsible person on the planet.  Okay, that's not quite true, but certainly when it comes to rules, regulations and procedures that I just can't seem to bring to the forefront of my mind and flag as "this is very important".

This story begins in August of 2008.  I had just dropped the boys off at school and decided to drive through Starbucks on the way to Alexandra's school (this was before I started homeschooling, obviously).  As I was pulling out of the drive-thru I got pulled over for having a tail light out.  It also turned out that I had forgotten to put my proof of insurance in the car.  So I got a ticket and a summons to appear in court and prove that I did indeed have insurance.  I stuck the ticket in the glove box and promptly forgot all about it.

I still don't remember when the original court date was, but I know it was at some point before December.  So, at some point in there I missed my court date.  Also, at some point during that time I received a notice in the mail that there was a warrant out for my arrest due to missing the court date.  I was advised to turn myself in.  I believe my entire thought process was, "Oh shoot, I need to make sure to take care of this when Josh gets home."  I know I mentioned to Josh that I might get arrested if I didn't turn myself in soon, but that was probably the last time either of us thought about it.  Besides, who has time for such trivialities as outstanding bench warrants when you are pregnant with your sixth child and preparing for Christmas with 5 little ones, am I right? (Don't answer, that was rhetorical.)

So it was few days after Christmas when all of my irresponsibilities finally caught up with me.  It was quite late, probably around 1 AM, when I decided to make a quick run to the store.  I don't remember why. I probably needed a doughnut or something.  As I was pulling back into my driveway a police car pulled up behind me.  Suddenly, all those pesky things that I didn't have time for previously became very present and important to me.

Cop: Do you know why I'm here?

Me: *shuffling my feet and staring at the ground* Yeah, I think so.

Cop: So you know you have a warrant?

Me:  Yeah.

Cop: Okay, I'm going to have to take you in, do you have anyone who can come down to the station and bail you out?

Me:  Um, yeah, my husband is here, he's sleeping, I'll have to go wake him up.

He then wanted to know if there was anyone else in the house (yes, 5 sleeping kids), if we had any weapons in the house (no) and my husband's overall disposition (asleep).  I didn't understand what he was getting at with the questions about my husband, so it was possible that I was not giving the most helpful answers.

Cop: Does your husband have a temper?

Me: Not usually...I mean occasionally, but not too often.

Cop: Is he going to be upset about this?

Me: Oh, I'm sure he'll be pretty irritated.

Cop: Am I going to need to call for backup?

Me: What?  No!  It will be fine!

I politely asked the officer to wait outside, along with his ride-along friend, while I went to wake my husband.  However, apparently this was not an option and he was going to have to come inside with me .  I'm sure I looked terribly distraught, which I think he mistook for fear of my husband because he said, "Look, I don't want any surprises in there, if you think this is going to be a problem you need to tell me now."  In actuality, the look on my face was the result of me trying to call to mind just exactly how messy my house was. 

Once we got inside I again politely asked them to wait downstairs while I went to retrieve my husband, but again, this was a no go.  They had to come with me into my bedroom in case my husband decided to barricade us in there with the shotgun that we don't have. 

Dejectedly I led them up the stairs to my room.  My husband was asleep, and of course he was au naturel.  Thankfully he was under a blanket.  I tried to block the view of the police officer and his buddy (who I was extremely annoyed about having in my bedroom. I mean the cop was one thing, but who the hell was this guy?), and gently woke Josh up saying, "Honey, this nice police officer is here to take me to jail because of that warrant I never took care of....do you think you might be able to come and bail me out?" He looked at me groggily and said, "Yeah, sure how much is it?"  I informed him of the $300 fee, which he thankfully had in his wallet, and he told me he might be a little while since he had to get the kids all ready.

I bit back the urge to ask the officer if that reaction was mellow enough for him.  Quite honestly, had he been more awake, he would probably have offered them coffee and invited them to join in for a good laugh at my expense. 

When we got back out to the driveway, the police officer informed me that I would need to be handcuffed.  I thought he was joking, but apparently not.  I found it highly unnecessary, and I still think he was simply amusing himself at my expense.  I mean really, I had already led them through my house, taken them into my bedroom, and introduced them to my naked husband all with out incident, and now he was worried that....what....I was suddenly going to become belligerent and needed to be restrained?  I'm sure I looked shifty eyed as I glanced around nervously at my neighbors darkened windows wondering if any of them were up and watching the spectacle.  Maybe that was what did it.  Maybe I looked like I was getting ready to bolt. 

Anyway, we made it to the police station where I was fingerprinted and photographed.  At some point during this procedure I guess he determined that I wasn't too much of a threat, because after taking my shoes he left the cell door open.

Then we waited and waited and waited.  I knew it would be awhile.  Rousting five children from a sound sleep and getting them ready to go at 3 AM is no small task.  Still, after an inordinate amount of time, the officer decided to call him on his cell phone.  A good thing too, because Josh had gone to the wrong police station which seemed to be completely dark with nobody around.

Finally my husband and 5 small children arrived to bail me out and take me home.  What a fun and unexpected family field trip!  When the older kids asked what we were doing there, we told them that the nice police man had to give me a ride (why?  because I needed one), and now I needed a ride home.  They still occasionally say "Mommy, remember that time we picked you up at the police station?"  Which is met with a nod and a smile a quick change of subject.

 So in January I finally went to court, in the midst of a howling blizzard.  By this time I was clearly showing, which perhaps made people more sympathetic.  I brought in my proof of insurance and the DA dropped all the charges.  I only had to pay the court costs.  My license, which had been revoked when I was arrested, was reinstated and I headed directly to the DMV (new model citizen that I was) to get a new one.

Everything was right in the world again!  A few days later I misplaced my new license.  I searched and searched and I couldn't find it anywhere.  I did have my "revoked" license with the hole in it handy though.  I placed it on my key chain as a back-up and vowed to get a new one really soon. 

Fast forward a year and a half to now.  We are staying at my mom's house while we get new hardwood floors put on the upper floor of our house.  Bear hangs out with us here during the day, and every night we take him home to put him in his kennel for bed. 

Last night was my turn to take him home.  As I was pulling back in to my parents' neighborhood, I saw those dreaded familiar flashing lights once again.  This time it was a female cop.  Her first question was, "Where are you headed tonight?"  Frankly, that annoyed me.  If there is no warrant out for my arrest, which as far as I knew there wasn't, why does a traffic violation entitle the police to know where I'm going?  But I contritely told her I was going to my parents' house.

She informed me that my front headlight was out and that my tags were expired.  My sister just told me two days ago that my headlight was out.  But I misplaced the information in one of my mental filing cabinets.  Then of course the next question is to see my license, registration and proof of insurance.

*PANIC*

I take my bad license off of my key chain and hand it to her, fumbling to explain that this was my old license, but I had a new license, but I lost it. 

Coplady:  *noting that old license is not expired* How did you lose your license?

Me: Wait, no, I am licensed to drive, I mean I did lose my license for not going to court when I was supposed to, but then I got it back and got a new license but I physically misplaced it so I'm just carrying my old license around with me. 

Coplady: *looking at me with quizzical amusement* Okay, registration and insurance?

Eager to please, I quickly opened my glove box to discover that it was completely empty, except for two baptismal candles from the twins' baptism a year prior.  I knew the insurance wouldn't be there because when I received the cards in the mail I put them on my bookshelf and reminded myself a few times to put it in my car before completely forgetting about it.  I'm still baffled about the missing registration.  It's always in the glove box. 

Unfortunately I can't recount the rest of the story because at that moment my head exploded.

Okay, fine.  My head didn't really explode, but that is how I felt.  The best I could offer was a weak, "I'm sorry, I'm very disorganized."  Happily for me, she was a very nice coplady.  Despite having no valid documentation she only ticketed me for having expired tags.  I don't even have to go to court!  Well, I had the option if I wanted to contest the ticket.  After some careful consideration, I decided that would not be in anyone's best interest.

Next question was a skeptical, "Does your mom really live in this neighborhood?"  Tremendously relieved and grateful about the minimal consequences I was no longer annoyed by this seemingly irrelevant question I quickly assured her that it was just around the corner and up the hill. 

It turns out that her question was totally relevant as she was apparently supposed to have my car towed, but wouldn't if I was really just going to a nearby house and not leaving again.

I don't know why everyone is always complaining about cops.  Despite my regular encounters with being in trouble with them, I have always found them to be very kind and lenient (except for the handcuff thing).

Kiss and Tell

My kids spend a good deal of time antagonizing, annoying and abusing each other, and at least as much time telling me about it.  I have been trying to teach them which things they should be telling me and which things are just obnoxious tattling that I just don't need to know, but they have a hard time differentiating.

Need to know:

"Moooooom......

...Isaak is playing with the candle lighter!"

...the twins are pouring honey all over the floor, adding oatmeal and rolling in it!"

...Alexandra is throwing eggs at her window!"

Don't need to know:

"Mooooom.....

...Alexandra is dancing!"

...Alexandra is singing girly songs!"

...Alexandra is sitting near me!"


These are all from Sebastian, who pretty much finds the existence of his sister to be a grave annoyance - unless they are playing the "puppy game", in which case they get along very well.

...Sebastian is making stupid faces at me!"


...Isaak is telling on me!"

...Sebastian won't follow the rules of the game that I made up!"


By far, the most horrendous and unforgivable offense that one of my children can perpetrate on another is to kiss them.  This is probably the offense that gets the least satisfactory response from mom upon tattling.  I get that one is kissing the other for the sole purpose of irritating them, but I just have a hard time taking it seriously.  Some of my most common responses to "Moooom, so-and-so kissed me," are:

"Awww, how sweet!  He/she must really love you!"

"What?!  That's terrible!  How dare he/she do something so awful!  Are you going to need a bandaid?"

"Was it like.....THIS?!"  *Mom proceeds to smother tattler with kisses.*

These responses generally result in the child stomping off grumbling, vowing to kiss the kisser back at all costs, which starts the cycle over again. 

Kissing aside, I'd like my kids to learn self-directed conflict resolution.  I try to explain to them that they can't control anyone but themselves.  If they have a problem with a sibling's actions, faces, breathing patterns, etc., the onus is on them to walk away, ignore, get over it, etc.  Except I've never used the word "onus" with the children.  Perhaps I will add that to their next vocabulary list. 

Speaking of crimes against each other, the twins are by far the most brutal when it comes to their attacks on one another.  They bite, kick and punch without mercy.  It really is quite distressing to see my little three-year-olds with bite marks and bruises all over.  From what I understand, it's a fairly common twin thing though.  Last night, Dominic came to me looking like this:

He was delighted, by the way.  He announced proudly, "Dante made me bleed!"  He insisted on looking in the mirror before we cleaned him up, and so, like any good mother, I took a picture so we could immortalize the happy occasion.  Dante was jealous of course, so he tried hitting himself in the face a few times in order to qualify for a photo op, but no such luck.

I took a picture anyway, just to be fair.  It was blurry though, so I'll post this one instead:

I can't think of a good conclusion for this post, so....The End.

The Fickle Heart - A Tragic Love Story

I have had a serious phobia of ants for as long as I can remember.  When we moved to the Grand Junction area, I had to face my fears head on, daily.  I'm fairly certain that our house was built upon what might possibly be the largest most insidious ant-hill in the whole world.  We had a large variety of ants, too.  There were some that were so tiny they couldn't be seen without looking very very closely.  I called those ones butter ants, because if there was a dab of butter on the counter they would line up all the way around the outer edge of the butter spot, and at first glance they appeared to just be a grease ring around the butter, but upon closer inspection you could see that they were moving.

I learned a few things about ants while I lived there.  For example, they they like dog food but not cat food.  They loooove peanut butter, but honey, not so much.  They seem to love a freshly mopped floor.  If left to their own devices, they can clean up copious amounts of peanut butter in about two weeks.  I know this, because one time the children smeared copious amounts of peanut butter all over the master bathroom.  When I went to clean up I found that the ants had already arrived.

 I was so traumatized by the swarming, undulating, writhing black river of ants traveling back and forth from the vent in the floor to the counter and back that I just slammed the door and decided Josh would have to take care of it when he got home and I used the kids bathroom instead.  When Josh returned home I sent him to deal with it and miraculously, the ants and the peanut butter were all gone.

The most horrific thing I discovered about ants by far, however, was that my daughter loved them.  She could sit for hours playing with her little ant friends.  My typical method of dealing with ants was to suck them up in the vacuum hose.  When I would do this Alexandra would rush around trying to save as many as possible screaming "NO!  Don't kill my friends!"  One time after sucking a pile of ants to their doom I heard her comforting a survivor, "I'm so sorry baby ant.  Your mother is in the vacuum.  My mommy killed her, but I will take care of you now."

Moving back to Arvada was such a relief.  I can now pick up the floor with my hands instead of tongs, it's so much quicker this way!  We occasionally get a few ants in the sun room.  Prior to the Grand Junction experience, I would have been paralyzed with fear, but I guess you could say that my condition has improved somewhat.  Alexandra, of course, was delighted to find new "friends".  I told her she could play with them in the sun room or outside, but if they come in the house they are getting squashed.  She's been known to tell people that her friends are not allowed in the house because her mommy will kill them.  I always rush in to explain that she's talking about ants, and of course their daughter could come over to play without mortal fear.

A couple of things my daughter has told me about ants:

"When my ant friend crawls on my arm it tickles and it makes my heart pump with love and joy."

"Mommy, my ant friend just spelled out a letter to me on my arm!  It said that it loved me so much and would even love me when I'm dead!"

*sigh*  That's nice dear.

She has passed along her love for ants to her very impressionable little brothers.  They build little houses for them in the back yard and take turns standing guard to protect them from their mean older brothers who will kill them without mercy.  They cry when one runs away.

Until last week... 

They caught a caterpillar last week and put it in an open jar with some leaves.  They were planning on keeping it to see it make a cocoon and become a butterfly.  Of course I made them keep it outside.  The next day Alexandra went to check on the caterpillar and discovered that it was dead and covered in ants.  She was devastated.

She called the twins out to show them the travesty and declared "Ants are NOT our friends any more.  We HATE them!  They KILLED Snow White!"  The three of them proceeded to grab their shoes and went out back to perpetrate a brutal ant massacre filled with vengeance.  For about an hour I could hear them: *WHACK WHACK WHACK*  "Die ants!" *WHACK* "We hate you!" *WHACK*  "Kill them all!" *WHACK*  "How DARE you kill Snow White!"  *WHACK*

I had mixed feelings about this.  On the one hand, maybe I should have explained to them more about nature and the ecosystem, and it not being the ants' fault they were just doing what was natural to them, and perhaps they hadn't even killed the caterpillar, perhaps they found it dead and were simply cleaning it up.  On the other hand, I really hate ants. 

The downside, is now the twins freak out whenever they come across an ant outside.  Despite totally relating to their reaction, the complete 180 is a little hard to take seriously.  I tell them that they are silly and of course they aren't scared of ants.  They tell me quite sternly, "Ants scary, ants kill Snow White."  So now I have to carry them past any ants in the driveway getting in and out of the car.

Freaking ants.  One way or another they are always causing me trouble.

The Big Cover-Up

We spent the last few days of Josh's time at home painting the upstairs bedrooms.  We are getting a brand new wood floor up there, courtesy of my very generous parents, and we wanted to get the walls painted ahead of time so we wouldn't have to worry about getting paint on the floor. 
When we first moved in I let each of the three older children pick two colors for their bedrooms for the wall and the trim.  Isaak chose blue walls and orange trim, Sebastian chose blue walls and yellow trim, and Alexandra chose pink walls with purple trim.  Overall it was a little gaudy, but I had this idea that they would love and cherish their rooms with the colors they picked and it would make for fun kids rooms.

The plan seems to have been doomed from the beginning.  While I was painting one room, my sweet Alexandra (then three) somehow managed to pry open the can of bright orange paint (which had never been opened before) and poured it all over our living room carpet which had just been professionally cleaned the day before.  Frantically we called George, the carpet cleaner, and begged him to come back.  I wish I'd taken before and after pictures because it really was amazing.  He got it completely out.  Of course, the carpet was subsequently mercilessly destroyed by the very presence of our family.

A few weeks later, Sebastian decided he needed to cover up a spot that I had apparently missed, and got the blue paint out of the garage and did this:

I only took this picture a couple of days ago.  At the time it was a much "cleaner" blue.

Alexandra covered her walls in permanent marker.

Due to all of the brilliant colors of paint and marker we started with 2 coats of grey based primer.  The permanent marker was still quite clear.  Then we did 2 coats of "Butterscotch", which turned out to be much more yellow than we intended, but oh well.  After that I used the paintbrush and specifically went over the marker spots again. 

It's faint but it's still there.  Poor Alexandra.  After every coat of paint, we called her in there and lectured, "Do you see this??  This is after 1/2/3/4/5 coats of paint and we can still see the marker!  You must NEVER do this again.  If you destroy your walls again, you will be in sooooo much trouble!  Major consequences missy!"  She appeared quite remorseful.

So now with freshly painted walls, and a new floor to come perhaps we will turn over a new leaf.  Hopefully the destructobots will see how nice everything looks and decide they just don't want to be the kind of people who destroy everything they breathe on anymore.  Alternatively, I'm contemplating turning the basement into a dormitory and individual children can earn the privilege of having an upstairs room by demonstrating that they know how to inhabit a space without completely destroying it.

Inadequacy at The Gym

Today Dante and Dominic and Jane and I went to "Pint-Size Playtime" with Aunt Gina and Emma.  It's in a big gymnasium used for gymnastics with all kinds of equipment for all sizes, a rope swing, and big soft wedges and blocks and things to play on.  We had gone before and had the entire place to ourselves, and the triplets (nickname for the twins and cousin when together) had a blast.

When we arrived, I sat down with Jane in the area with all of the soft climbing and playing things and nursed her and let her cling to me until she gained enough confidence to explore on her own.  Gina helped each of the triplets with a few turns on the rope swing and then sent them off to do other things.  I was perfectly content to sit there with Jane and watch them play while promising to help them with the swing when Jane was ready to let me go.

Quite honestly, I'm having a low-energy day, and was quite happy to use Jane as an excuse to sit in one spot without moving.  I'm perfectly capable of being energetic.  When we go to Pump It Up, I think I might be more active than the children.  I'd like to say that I'm normally very energetic and today was an off day, but really it's just random.  Sometimes I'm very high-energy and sometimes I'm utterly lethargic.  Occasionally I find a happy medium.  In my mind, I was doing a great thing for my kids by taking them for some active self-directed play time when I was so low energy.  Apparently this is not what other mothers have in mind when they take their kids for Pint Sized Playtime.

Shortly after we arrived, another mom showed up with two little boys.  Immediately she was climbing all over the equipment, standing, jumping, balancing and running.  She went and got out jump ropes and started running with the end trailing behind her while her boys chased her.  She was all over the place, and the only thought I could muster while watching her play was, "Huh.  Well good for her I guess."

Enter mother number two, and her little girl.  She's wearing spandex work out clothes, and is in great shape.  Now she starts playing.  She is swinging on the rope swing.  She's picking up and rearranging the little kids' equipment to maximize the fun experience for her daughter.  She picks up a huge foam circle thing and puts her daughter inside and rolls her across the gym like a hamster in a wheel.  They are just go go go non-stop!

Another mother arrives with a little girl.  Quite honestly, I don't recall exactly what extraordinary mothering feats she was accomplishing because I was too busy trying to decide if I should get up and pretend to be just as athletic as these other women, or if I just hated them all, but I know she was doing something energetic because at one point she ran up to us out of breath and said, "Don't you wish you had that much energy?!" before running off to play some more.  At first I thought she was bragging about her own activity level and that of the other moms, but then I realized it was just one of those cliche statements that adults always make about children.

I was forced to get up when Dante and Dominic began trying to kill each other over whose turn it was on the rope swing.  It turned out that Jane didn't need me sitting right there next to her anyway, she smiled and wandered off when I got up, so my cover was blown.  I gave the triplets all some turns on the rope swing, and then Dante and Dominic decided that I should engage in some of the games that the other mothers were playing.  They grabbed jump ropes and demanded to be chased, so halfheartedly I complied.

That's when I turned around to discover that MY OWN SISTER was jump roping and crossing the jump rope doing fancy tricks.  I stood there with my mouth agape, dazzled and impressed and only the tiniest bit resentful.  I weakly tried a few jumps, but it looked more like I was half hop-skipping with a gimpy leg and I couldn't stay in one spot.  I decided I'd better quit, lest I trip and flatten a child.  She says her mad skillz were the result of public education, and homeschooling was to blame for my ineptitude at jump roping.  Oh well.  I will have to make sure to get my kids some jump ropes. 

I glanced around the room again, and I saw a mother doing push-ups.  I'm not kidding.  She was doing push-ups.  Then she did some cartwheels.  Another mom was walking across the high-beam.  Another mom started jump roping too.  That was when I decided to just give-up and went back to "taking care of Jane".  Fortunately play time was up right about then so we packed it in and headed home.  In the future I will have to make sure to really psyche myself up for Pint-Size Playtime.  I swear, I'm going to be so active those other moms are going to go home and cry at their own comparative inadequacy.  Really.

Family Road Trip Itinerary

Yesterday we went on a family road trip to get our new puppy in Lander, Wyoming.  Theoretically it is a 5.5 hr. trip each way.

4:45 - Wake up.  Rush around like crazy trying to get everyone ready, locate missing shoes and dress children in other children's clothing because we can't find theirs.

5:20 - Start loading kids into the car.  Discover that Jane is bleeding profusely from the forehead.  Get towels and bandaids, clean her up and find a small cut on her forehead that nobody knows where it came from.

5:32 - Josh grumbles that we are 32 minutes behind schedule.  Silly Daddy.

5:40 - Starbucks.  Remember that we forgot to have the big kids go to the bathroom before leaving the house and take them all in.

6:00 - 9:00 - Driving

9-ish - Sebastian and Alexandra desperately need to go pee.  There is no rest stop for miles.  Pull off the road.  Try to help Alexandra position herself so as not to pee on herself.  Discover that no amount of positioning will help if the pee just dribbles down her leg.  Put Alexandra's wet pants into a plastic bag, wrap her up in a blanket and hit the road again.

10-ish - Dominic starts screaming that he wet his pants.  Parents are confused since he has a fresh diaper on.  Mom risks her life to check it out and discovers that he has indeed wet his pants.  Throw his pants into plastic bag with the others, give him a fresh diaper and start rethinking our picnic plans since we now have 2 pantsless children.  Alexandra needs to pee again.  Give her a diaper.

12:30 - Puppy time!  He is soooo cute!  The kids all love him and fight to hold him and brush him.

1:00 - 2:00 - Picnic on a blanket in the car to accommodate pantsless children.

2:00 - Embark on completely unintentional side trip in the wrong direction that adds an extra 80 or so miles to our trip.

3:30 - Back in Lander, hooray!  Start heading home.  Make many stops to try to get puppy to go to the bathroom, nurse Jane, change diapers, etc.  Decide to name the puppy Bear.  Sebastian has a melt down because he had his heart set on Dexter. 

6:00 - 7:00 -  Rest stop.  Carry Alexandra inside wrapped in a blanket because I don't really want her using a diaper.  Kids go to the bathroom.  Diapers get changed.  Jane gets nursed.  Puppy gets walked.  Josh takes a short nap.

8:30 - Arrive in Fort Collins and go on a Starbucks hunt.  Lament the stupid town that has no Starbucks.  Call 1411 and find out that Fort Collins has multiple Starbucks, and apparently *we* are the problem.

9:02 - Find a Starbucks.  Rejoice!  Find out they closed at 9:00.  The opposite of rejoicing.

9:30 - Buy bottled frappuchinos from the gas station and get back on the road.  Sebastian decides he can live with the name Bear. Mom allows him to monopolize the puppy for the rest of the drive because she is so relieved that the name will not prevent Sebastian from ever bonding with Bear.  Other children complain about the unfairness.

11:00 - Home again, hooray!

*Note - Obviously, the pictures weren't taken in the car.

Two for Two

Mothering twins regularly puts me into a dilemma of "fairness".  It is pretty much impossible to do all things equally all the time.  Instead, I try to be in tune with their individual needs so that even if they are not getting the same treatment all of the time, hopefully, they are each getting what they need most.

When I was pregnant with Jane, I encouraged them to wean.  My main motivation was that I felt I couldn't handle nursing three babies.  I had done it before and it was exhausting.  Dante was already weaning himself.  He only really thought of nursing when he saw his brother doing it, and even then his sessions were quite short.  Dominic took a little more persuasion.  Had it been overly traumatic for him, I would not have forced the issue, but for the most part he was disgruntled yet accepting.

After Jane was born they both wanted to try nursing again.  Sucker that I am (literally), I allowed it to help ease any jealousy of the new baby.  I was relieved that they had both forgotten how to latch.  From there on, I allowed them to "nurse" whenever they asked, once every other day or so, initiated by Dominic and copied by Dante.  It was a 2 second event and an easy way to reassure them that they were still my babies.

One day, Dominic got a latch and man was that kid thrilled.  Now he wanted to nurse all the time, so we had to establish some boundaries.  He is allowed to nurse during the night - because I am to tired to do anything about it - or first thing in the morning if he hasn't already nursed all night, but during the day time they are sole property of Jane.

When Dominic started nursing regularly, Dante asked a few more times.  He still could not latch, and almost never tries anymore.  On the one hand, I'm relieved - nursing two kids is a piece of cake, 3 is just a bit much - on the other hand I feel terribly guilty about the "unfairness" of it.  Dominic naturally snuggles more because of his nursing time.  Dante is missing out on all of the benefits of breast milk that Dominic is getting.  (As a side note, I think they would make wonderful candidates for a breastfeeding study on the effects of long-term breastfeeding. If you know anyone who would like to pay us lots of money to observe the differences between the twins I would be happy to exploit that.)

To make up for the disparity, I make a point to invite Dante to come have snuggle time all by himself every day, and I feed him raw unpasteurized milk from an organic free range goat.  Just kidding.  I don't give him goat milk, but I do try to give him extra snuggles.

Last night I slept in my recliner chair and Dominic nursed all night.  Early this morning I was awakened suddenly by the feeling of flying, falling and thudding.  Naturally I was alarmed and discombobulated and I shrieked with terror.  Apparently Dante had tried to climb up the head rest to sit with me and tipped the chair over backwards.  Dominic had already gotten up, so I was the only one overturned.

Overall, the ordeal was more traumatic for Dante than it was for me.  Between the chair falling over and my screaming, he was quite startled.  He stuck out his sad little lip and said, "I'm sorry mama, I help you!"  Getting up was an ordeal in itself.  I lay there, halfway upside down and floundering, kicking my  legs and trying use the the banister behind me to pull myself up with my arms. 

Once righted, Dante was still pretty distraught and asked to nurse.  Since Dante doesn't actually know how to nurse, and misses out on all the nursing that his brother does, I readily agree to "nurse" anytime he wants, which is almost never.  He gave it quite an effort, squeezing and pulling, but as usual, was not able to manage a latch.

Dominic came along and saw the activities and demanded to have the "other mamas".  I gave him a big smile and reminded him that he had already nursed all night, and now it was Dante's turn.  He climbed up to sit next to me and pout.  Of course I felt guilty that this was unfair, because Dominic didn't understand why Dante was not subject to the established nursing schedule.  I whispered to him that Dante wasn't really nursing, that he was only pretending to nurse because he didn't know how.  Far from appeasing him, he first suggested that he also pretend to nurse, and then, helpfully offered to teach Dante how it's done.

I resisted and he sullenly lay his head on my shoulder.  I watched Dante's antics some more and when I turned back to Dominic I was startled to see that he was nursing.  I'm not sure how he managed it.  It was through the neck hole of my shirt and his approach must have been in super-stealth mode because I never felt it coming.  Dante didn't seem to have any reaction of "Hey, he nurses all the time and I don't even know how, why can't I just have this to myself??" and I figured that I could probably make the stipulation to Dominic's nursing schedule that he could nurse at night or first thing in the morning OR when his brother is pretending to nurse without totally blowing the established boundaries, so I just let it go.

Destroying The Evidence

Today we are doing a thorough clean on the main floor of the house.  The kind that involves moving furniture and scrubbing the floors.  I doubt I'll get to the bathroom or shrink the laundry pile enough to be able to clean the floor underneath it, but that's okay.  We are still making major progress.

I used to be amazed at how quickly the house could become a completely horrifying disaster.  If we skip chores for ONE day the state of the house is beyond horrific.  When we work hard daily on our chores our house is a mess.  Which is something I am learning to accept and not be TOO embarrassed by.  As long as it is a living mess as opposed to a stagnant mess, I'm okay with it.

We have a chore chart that is quite detailed, including daily chores for Josh and I.  A chore chart is only as good as its enforcers though, so again, if I have a lazy day or two, or I get sick, or 4 out of 6 kids begin projectile vomiting on a 20 minute rotation, we dip back into the level of unspeakable horrors.

A couple of years ago I saw an episode of Oprah and she was talking to a woman who had her children taken away.  She was showing pictures of the woman's house which was certainly a disaster.  Oprah was asking the woman how she let her house get that bad and the woman said she hadn't cleaned in a couple of weeks.  Oprah staunchly rejected her claim and stated that that was more than a couple of weeks worth of mess, that it had clearly been months.  Now, this woman lost her children for many more reasons than having a messy house - she was abusive and negligent - but that part about the mess stuck with me, because my house can really and truly look that bad after a couple of days. 

So of course, my imagination kicks into overdrive.  I imagine myself standing before a judge pleading my case, "No really judge, two days ago it was spotless, for at least five minutes, I swear!"  And I imagine having my defense staunchly rejected and having to be put on a list of registered housekeeping offenders.

So, on a day like today, when we are cleaning so thoroughly, I keep thinking I should take photographic evidence with a digital time stamp to prove, "at this date and time, the house was this clean" and begging the court to submit my photos to digital forensics people or whoever would be able to examine my digital camera card and declare that I had not altered the date and I had indeed had a very clean house on that date.

So, back to mopping for me, and maybe I'll actually get around to photographing it this time before all of the physical evidence of cleanliness is destroyed.

The Family Bread Line

I don't know if this is true for other large families or if my family eats a disproportionate amount of bread, but we go through bread ridiculously fast.  If I buy three loaves of bread, I am lucky if it lasts two days.  Bread is the kids go-to snack.  Even though I try to keep stocked up on cheese sticks and fruit and such, I often stumble upon the remains of some sort of pitiful, disgusting "sandwich".  In addition to traditional sandwiches, like peanut butter and jelly, these are some of the things my kids put on bread and call it a sandwich:

1. Peanut butter and mustard

2. Mustard

3. Mayonaise

4. Ketchup

5. Barbecue Sauce

6. Pickles

7. Re-fried Beans

Sebastian is the worst offender.  I will walk into the dining room and find him guiltily looking at me with ketchup smeared all over his face and oozing out the edges of two soggy, ketchup soaked slices of bread.

Me: What is that??

Sebastian: *nervously* It's a sandwich.

Me: That's not a sandwich, it only has ketchup on it.  That's disgusting! This is why we never have bread in the house!

Sebastian: I was just hungry, Mom.

Me: Why didn't you eat a cheese stick, or a piece of fruit, or a granola bar, or the left over roast beef from last night?

Sebastian: *sullenly* I just really like sandwiches.

Additionally, it is not uncommon for me to walk into the kitchen to see the bread bag open, hanging partially off of the counter with two or three pieces spilled out onto the floor.  I deliver a lecture about "respecting the bread", they blame the twins, I tell them that they need to put the bread up when they are done with it so that the twins can't get it, they insist that they did but those darn twins are wily little monkeys who can climb to get anything, I concede the point, and we still don't have enough bread. 

So, we have come up with a new approach to attempt to slow down bread consumption.  Before Josh left for work, we stocked the outside freezer, the one that locks, with about 20 loaves of bread.  I told the kids that the new rule was that I was only bringing in a new loaf of bread every other day:

"If we run out before 'bread day', you can do without.  There is plenty of other food to eat, and maybe you'll start thinking about how much bread you use and how to conserve it better."

So far they have gotten a little better.  Miraculously, they have managed to find places to put the bread that are not so accessible to the twins.  They have started making single pieces of toast instead of full sandwiches when they are snacking.  We still haven't managed make it last for the full two days before "bread day" hits again.  The other day Isaak came to me, raging:

Isaak: I went to make myself a sandwich, and I haven't had any bread today, and the bread is ALL GONE, AND WE AREN'T GETTING ANY MORE UNTIL TOMORROW!! *seething*

Me: That's frustrating, isn't it?  I know how you feel.  I have often gone to make myself a sandwich only to find that there is no bread left.

Isaak: *storms off and eats a cheese stick*

Now he is the self appointed bread-police: "How much bread have you had today?", "Is that your second sandwich??  Give me that, I'm cutting it into four pieces and distributing it to the other children."

What the kids don't know, is that I'm willing to up the family bread allowance if necessary.  But not until they can consistently demonstrate self-control in the bread department.  Only then will I be able to assess what is a *reasonable* amount of bread for 5 children (Jane doesn't eat much bread at this point) to go through.

I know I should probably start baking my own bread, but I'm not there yet.

How to Stop Sucking At Life in 10 Steps or Less - At Least For One Day

That's my objective for today.  I've heard that, in addition to low standards, a key to success is making short term goals.  So my goal is to not suck at life today.  I may or may not suck at life tomorrow, I'll figure that out when the time comes.  For now, not sucking today would be a great success,

Step 1: Take a shower, put on real clothes and apply mascara.  Now you won't be mortified if someone delivers a package.  DONE

Step 2: Wear your magic apron.  I can't find my magic apron.  In lieu of magic apron decide that lack of magic apron will not ruin  my day and hope to find magic apron during planned productivity.  Change into clothes that you don't mind becoming filthy.  Mortification at being seen by outsiders will be minimal as I still have my mascara on. DONE.

Step 3: Explain to children why spiders are important to the ecosystem even though we don't like having them in the house.  Consider it a "school lesson".  DONE.

Step 4: Make many grandiose plans for cleaning, cooking freezer meals, teaching Isaak to write an outline, and read up on fun simple science projects to do with the kids.  DONE.

Step 5: Look at the minimal things I have done today, label each one a success and start composing a list on how not to suck at life. DONE.

Step 6: Get off of computer and start dishes. I'm going....more to come.

Update:

Step 7. Get dishes done. Done.

Step 8.  Give children motivational speech when they start whining that they can't do their chores because they are so hungry even though they have eaten within the past 30 minutes:

"When I lived in Mexico, I saw 2 little boys who didn't have houses to live in or parents to give them food.  They were very hungry and hadn't had anything to eat for 2 or 3 days.  One evening they went into a McDonald's and were told that if they cleaned up the floor they could have a meal.  The two little boys were very grateful and worked hard and fast to clean up the floor so they could eat.  They didn't whine and complain that they were too hungry to work.

The End"
DONE.

Updated:

Step 8. Attend a eulogy for a worm and discuss weather or not worms go to heaven.  Explain the temporal nature of earth and purgatory vs. heaven.  Consider it a "school lesson".  DONE.

Step 9. Make 3 freezer meals. (almost)DONE.

I have determined that it is late enough in the day to look back at my accomplishments and officially declare this a day where I did not suck at life.  Therefore I succeeded.  So there.  

What has he got in his pocketsssss?

Yesterday Dante and Dominic came to me excitedly to show me their new "pet".  It was a dead fly.  Dante had scooped it into a Tupperware lid.  At first I didn't understand that they were attached to the thing and I insensitively responded by saying, "Ewwww, gross!  Throw it away and make sure that lid gets put in the dishwasher!"  This was not well received.  I was met with two identical indignant pouty faces and rapid-fire objections:

Them: *in unison, discordance and repeatedly repeated LOUDLY* Pet fly not TRASH!  Pet fly NICE!

Me: Oh, it's a pet?

Them: Yeeeeaaaah (this is always said as a long drawn out two syllable word, 'yaaaay-yaaah')

Me: But it's dead!

Them: *gleefully* Yes!  Alexandra kill it for us!

*sigh*  I decided it wasn't that big of the deal if they wanted to keep a dead fly as a pet.  Having been a pet owner to living things for many years now, I figure why not, what's one more pet?  Especially one that is so low-maintenance.  They named it Cinderella. 

Today they upgraded.  The kids spent a lot of time playing out in the backyard today and at his been raining quite a bit lately.  They came inside gleeful and muddy and giddy.  Dante had his hand protectively covering his jacket pocket and Dominic was shouting excitedly, "New pet!  New pet in Dante's pocket!"  Meanwhile I could see Dante's hand clutching tighter and tighter around the outside of his pocket (I hoped that whatever was in his pocket was either already dead, or at least would be just as loved and cherished as Cinderella if he accidentally squeezed the life out of it) and defensively denying all such claims:  "No!  No pet in my pocket!  Quiet Dominic!"

I've learned that when the kids are trying to be secretive or deceptive, the best way to get the truth out of them is to act like it's no big deal and there's nothing to worry about and basically convey a tone of "Punishing you or stopping you from what you are doing is the furthest thing from my mind!"  Of course I don't actually say those words as the possibility exists that I might actually have to stop and/or punish them for whatever it is they are trying to hide, I just imply it with my facial expression and tone....that's not really dishonest is it?  And besides, at least 51% of the time it ends up being true.

So I put on my happy excited face and said, "Ohhhh, you have a new pet in your pocket?  What is it?!"  My tone positively beamed the message "I'm so excited that you found a new pet, and I think it's wonderful that you decided to keep it in your pocket!  Please share this joyous news with me!"

Hesitantly Dante reached into his pocket and pulled out a big fat worm, that miraculously had not been smooshed to a wormy pulp.  *whew*  Well that was no big deal.  Fortunately I am not squeamish about worms, and I could use this opportunity to demonstrate that 'fessing up to mom really doesn't always lead to being stopped and/or punished - which is vitally important so that they continue to let me in on what's going on in case I need to stop and/or punish them.

I got them a container and told them to fill it up with some wet dirt from outside, explaining that the worm would be much more comfortable and likely to live in this environment than stuffed into a jacket pocket.  They spent the rest of the evening excitedly watching the worm squirming around in his new home.  Three-year old excitement at little things is a wonderful thing to witness.

Dominic - But it was for their own good!

Dominic has a way of explaining his assaults on his various siblings that leave me wanting to sympathize and reassure him that everything is okay, and of course it is perfectly understandable and reasonable that he took a pair of child's scissors to the flesh on his sister's back while she was sleeping, or bit his twin brother repeatedly in the face.

Meet Dominic:

Stats: Age 3,  part of a matching set, wildly mischievous, hyper and downright silly.  Also incredibly sweet when he puts his mind to it.

(You can stop staring at my overflowing laundry basket in the background now.  Yes I'm aware of it, and yes I'm planning on doing something about it....at some point...)

Last night Alexandra (age 5) comes running down the stairs shrieking at what can only be described as banshee decibels,  that Dominic was cutting her back.  Actually it was more like:

Alexandra:  AAAAAAAGHGHGHGGHGHGH D'mic cuh-uh-uh-uh my ba-ha-ha-ha-ha-aaaaaaack! *sob* *sob* *sob*

Me: Wait, wait, WHAT??


Alexandra:  D-d-d-dominic cut my back. *sniffle*

Me: With what??

Alexandra: Remember we were making snowflakes before bed and you said we could use the kid scissors and I was teaching them how to make snowflakes and I can teach you how to make snowflakes, Oh! Let me show you the snowflakes we made! *begins to run off to retrieve snowflakes*

Me:  Hold on, so you're saying he cut you with the kid scissors?

Alexandra: *remembering and resuming hysterical sobbing*  Ye-he-he-he-essssss and it really hurts really ba-ha-ha-haaaaaad!

I look at her back and see the faintest evidence of of some red scrapes.  So having assessed that she will live and no, despite her protestations, she does not require a band-aid (stop judging me for not giving her a "feel-better" band-aid, I can hardly keep them in the house for more than a day because the kids want them on everything) I call Dominic down and sternly demand to know why exactly he "cut" his sister while she slept.

He gets this sad tortured forlorn look on his face and tells me most sincerely, "Alexandra not wake up, I say 'wake up Alexandra, wake up', and she not wake up and it was scary."

Me: So you felt your only option was to cut her with scissors?

Dominic: Yeah....

Me: Well then....you must never never never cut another person with scissors (I felt momentarily conflicted here, because if he was being attacked by a bad guy and scissors were his only defense, of course he should use them, but I decided that this addendum would only confuse the lesson I was trying to impart in the moment which was basically, 'don't cut your sister in her sleep', and if necessary I could later go into possible scenarios where cutting someone with scissors might be appropriate) even if you are scared because they are sleeping...(which apparently can be terrifying enough to inspire such drastic measures).

After some debate about the validity of his approach, Dominic acknowledged that his action was wrong, apologized and I confiscated the offending scissors and sent everyone back to bed.

Lesson Learned: Taking scissors to someone's back is a highly effective method of getting a reaction out of  a sleeping person.  I must remember this approach for the next time I am trying to determine if my husband (who can sleep through pretty much everything), is: a) merely pretending to be asleep,b) actually sleeping or c) possibly dead.  Although I guess it is actually only useful in ruling out option 'c'.  I wonder how convincing I would be at the "you wouldn't wake up and it was scary" defense.  I have a feeling that Dominic may have a slight advantage there.

P.S. -  Similarly, tonight, Dominic bit his twin brother, Dante, repeatedly on the face because he *thought* Dante had a penny in his mouth and was concerned that he might choke. Dante *refused* to spit out the penny (that turned out not to have been in his mouth in the first place), and really what else can a concerned brother do in that situation but bite his brother's face until he submits to having his mouth checked for choking hazards?