Hello From Quarantine

 

Hello from quarantine.

I just finished Becoming by Michelle Obama, and it gave me like a lot of feelings.

I felt like Michelle was Dr Paul Stubbs from Star Trek telling me that, " [I] will never come up against a greater adversary than [my] own potential." Do you guys remember that episode? Probably not- I only know it because my husband is watching The Next Generation with the kids and I happened to catch this one. Dr. Paul Stubbs is a sort of mega-genius astrophysicist who is running a project on The Enterprise. He meets Wesley Crusher and recognizes in him a fellow wunderkind and gives him a word of caution. He told Wesley that he felt the burden of being a high achiever, and that he would constantly need to top his last accomplishment to keep up with his potential. Except he says it with the emphasis on the first syllable: PO-ten-tial.

Bob Kelso dropping Trek knowledge

Obama's central thesis is that she is an ordinary person who took her situation and applied grit, smarts, planning, energy, and focus and turned it into something extraordinary. That the reader, me, you, every ordinary person could do this.  I determined a long time ago that my children have sapped me of whatever hustle I had. I have to work really really hard just to keep up with all the meals, track meets, science homework (do YOU remember how to determine how many valence electrons are in any given element?), and messes that come with raising 4 kids. So many messes. Plus a dog. It feels unfair to me that she would tell me that I could do more.

Maybe this book wasn't the best pick to read during quarantine. Where all my volunteer opportunities are extinguished and my already very limited social circle shrunk down to my five immediate family members. Plus a dog.

Instead of thinking about PO-ten-tial, with a capital P and the emphasis on the first syllable: First Lady starting several world-wide initiatives, staff of 50, with a personal hairdresser and stylist kind of PO-ten-tial; and just work on being me+1.  Meaning- how I am today, just one point better. I don't have the drive to live Michelle Obama's life, but I can live my life. Plus one. And a dog.

Piano recital

Lillian had a piano recital today, her third ever. This piano thing as been a long road; she really really hated it at first, and it was really hard for her.  I pretty much had to sit next to her at the piano every time she practiced and force her to do it.  There were lots of tears.  I was trusting in the studies that say that musicality helps develop math skills, an area where Lillian really struggles, and plus, I needed to set a precedent for the subsequent children that you WILL take piano lessons from ages 7-12, no buts.  I think she has a normal amount of hate for it now and will sometimes even practice without me bugging her, if she has a song she likes.

But also, she's growing up and turning into a young woman, which freaks me out.  I mean, only six more years until she can get a learner's permit.

Favorite Children's Book Authors

This is not a paid endorsement, I just wanted to tell someone about this.

I have read 5-30 children's picture books a week for almost 9 years now, so I'm pretty much an expert.  There are classics that will always stand the test of time- Goodnight Moon, The Little House, Llama Llama Red Pajama, Ferdinand the Bull.  But, if you read other books by these authors, they don't quite have the same mix of comfort and surprise that makes a good short story.  Or it's the same plot with different characters.

One of the things that is challenging with kid's books is that you, the parent, have to be able to read them over and over again without wanting to claw your eyes out.  The kids have a book called Who Stole the Cookies From the Cookie Jar where every page she asks the titular question and the protagonist guesses an animal, who then explains that they didn't do it because they eat grass, or flies, or antelopes.  At the end, turns out it was the ants who stole the cookies, but they stole them to set up a party and invite all the animals to eat the cookies that they just explained at length that they don't eat (WTH?).  The kids love it, but I hate it, so I hide it on top of the bookshelf where they can't see it.

To make books interesting for parents, authors will often try to be clever, like in the Amelia Bedelia series.  The problem is that with EVERY. SINGLE. PAGE. you have to spend 3 minutes explaining the joke... that pare is a word that no one uses that means peel, so when Mrs. Rogers says "pare the vegetables" and Amelia Bedelia "pairs" the vegetables, it's funny... see?  Times 20 pages.

It also can't have too many words on each page or be too long because either the kids will pick it to drag out bedtime, or it won't hold their attention.  Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs has this problem- it's original enough that it takes like 15 pages to explain the premise before getting to the actual story, which is fun and all, but I just want my kids to go to bed already.

However, there are two authors that I can think of that overcome all these difficulties:

Peter Brown and Oliver Jeffers.  Every single book is just right: just the right length, just the right number of words per page, just the right amount of clever, beautiful illustrations.  And every book is good.

Although I love them all, my all time favorites are-

A bear finds a boy in the woods and takes him home.

A little boy gets his favorite shoe stuck in a tree.

If you are wondering what books to get your kids/niece/nephew/grandchild, buy them these.

Or, buy them for yourself, because they are great.

Phineas and Ferb Changed My Life

Last summer, I had a bad attitude, or maybe I was actually clinically depressed?  It was the heat.  I can handle it being hot in the summer.  I cannot, however, handle it being hot in the spring and fall as well.  If the triple digits would mind their manners and stay in their own season, we wouldn't be so much at odds.

Anyway, things started unraveling fast about September.  I remember one specific day, I was in my car, waiting at a light to turn onto the freeway, and the theme song from Phineas and Ferb came on.  This was the extended, album-release by Bowling for Soup and it's actually called "Today Is Gonna Be A Great Day"

There's a part where they sing:

This could possibly be the best day ever
And the forecast says that tomorrow will likely be a million and six times better.
So make every minute count: jump up, jump in and seize the day.
And let's make sure that in every single possible way...
Today is gonna be a great day.

This was the opposite of what I was doing.  My days were not the best days ever.  I was laying down quietly, waiting to be burned to a crisp by the blinding Arizona sun.  (Seriously, though, there is no cloud cover ever, so the sun is always in my eyes... even if it's cold outside.)  I needed to do something to make sure that in every single possible way my summers would be great.

I sort of snapped that day and announced to Tyler that I was leaving next summer.

"So... we're getting a divorce...?" he asked.
"No no no, I love you.  I'm just not going to live here."
"You're moving forever...?"
"I don't know."
"Where are you going?"
"I don't know.  All I know is that I won't be here."

My first plan was that I would get a job as a summer camp nurse and take my children with me.  Tyler said he could come with us and work remotely during those weeks and watch the kids during the day.  I applied with several camps and got accepted at a camp in Maine.

I didn't end up doing this because it seemed likely that Tyler would get a job in California AND HE DID!  We leave in a few weeks and I am beyond excited and grateful once again to Phineas and Ferb for making the world a better place.

Epiphanies, plural

Lillian likes to lay like this when I'm reading to her at night.  The doctor says that her hypotonia is no longer detectable, but she's still really floppy and it's hard to tell if she does stuff like this because she can, or because it takes too much core strength to sit upright.

I don't know what I was thinking or hoping, but I think deep down, I thought that because she had grown out of the hypotonia, she might have grown out of the ADHD and maybe picked up some number sense over the summer.  But in the first few weeks of school, she's shown that this is not the case.  In considering my feelings about having a child with learning disabilities, I've realized a few things.

1. I was thinking about how Lillian could really use a full-time math tutor.  Someone to sit with her every night and do math homework; who was good at math and good with kids and could really get Lillian and explain things to her.  I starting thinking about how much that would cost and how much I would have to work to be able to pay for it when I realized that I do that.  Like, that's what a mom does- whatever it takes.   Your kid needs extra math help?  You're a math tutor.  Your kid needs a special diet? You're a chef.  Your kid needs a soft place to land?  You're a pillow.  It's pretty obvious- of course I'm going to be there for my kids, but it was just a moment of clarity that *I* could help solve this problem.

2.  I loved school.  I loved going and taking tests and learning everything.  Test taking is very easy for me; I could probably take a multiple choice test on a subject that I know nothing about and get a decent grade because I have a sense about what correct answers look like.  I liked to think that I was kind to everyone and respected all the kids regardless of scholastic aptitude, but I'm realizing that I looked down on people who weren't as smart as me.  I thought I was better than them.  Now that I have Lillian, I realize that she works way harder than I ever did at math.  She struggles to complete worksheets in class and then has to finish them at home on top of the homework, plus she goes to extra tutoring in the resource room, plus I practice with her every day and on weekends.  And she does it with minimal complaints.

When I got to AP Physics in high school, it was hard for me, and instead of sticking it out, I arranged with UCSB (to which I had already been accepted) to drop out with an F on my transcripts.  I had no coping skills built up to tackle a difficult subject because no subject had been difficult before.  For a long time, I congratulated myself on my clever solution to my problem, but I realize now that it was a total cop out.

3.  I need to be more sensitive about bragging about my kids.  Nora is very smart, and sometimes I get carried away telling people about it.  However, it's totally the pot calling the kettle black because when people brag to me about their Lillian-aged kids, I want to punch them in the face... or just cry.  That's great for you that your 8-year old has read all 7 of the Harry Potter books (Lillian can barely read Magic Treehouse and that's only if I'm sitting next to her to remind her of where she is when she gets distracted) but that doesn't make your child better, or mean that you are a better parent than me.  I'm sure this is just me projecting my insecurities, but I don't want to make other parents feel bad because their 5-year old can't count by 3's (which Nora likes to show off).  IT'S NOTHING I DID, she's just like that.  Its also something I need to remind myself- My parenting can't and shouldn't be measured by the achievements of my children.

Living Within Our Means

This is what my fridge looks like right now.

In 2011, I started working full time.  Before that point, if we budgeted carefully, only went out to dinner on special occasions, and considered our purchases, we had enough money for our needs.  After 2011, we didn't have to worry about budgeting.  If I wanted something, I bought it.  If I didn't feel like cooking, we went out.  I fell out of the habit of checking how much I was spending every month.  Don't get me wrong, I wasn't going crazy; all those years of being a poor college student and thrifty bargain hunter definitely left their mark, but I wasn't being careful either.

Then in late 2012, I got pregnant and started throwing up, so I switched to working only one day a month. The only thing on my radar was survival.  Then 2013 comes and I have this small human who DOESN'T STOP CRYING FOR 3 MONTHS.

At the beginning of this year, once everyone started sleeping through the night, I started thinking, "huh, I wonder how our bank accounts are doing."  Turns out, we were spending at 2011 levels, but only making 2010 money.  Whoops!

We weren't in the red because we had money saved from my full-time days, but every month, we were spending way more than we were bringing in.  I freaked out and launched a family-economy sequester; buckling down, cutting spending, and asking around for someone to watch my kids so I could start working 1 day a week.

I made a food budget of $800 a month.  It's so high because I was including our Costco trip wherein I might buy socks or a new swimsuit or something, and our grocery store has pretty much everything you could ever need (lamps, pillows, huge toy aisle, art and craft supplies, baby clothes).  I have no idea what I bought, but we maxed out our grocery budget 4 days ago on April 26.  I decided I was going to see if we could stick it out.  I did make an emergency run for milk, apples, and bread, but other than that, it's been slim pickins.

We've eaten every piece of frozen meat in our freezer (I even MADE hamburger rolls to avoid going to the store), eeked out soups with questionable bottom-of-the-bag vegetables, eaten several tuna dishes, and forced my family to eat oatmeal when the cereal ran out.

I've learned several things- 1. Wow, food runs out fast when you're not constantly going to the store to replenish your stock. 2. Man, I'm thankful for the grocery store and I don't have to somehow otherwise procure food.

And 3. I waste so much food!  Most of the food we've been eating these last 4 days has been less than perfect.  Let's just say, I've been cutting some brown spots off.  If I had been able to go to the store, I would have totally thrown that stuff out.  Or, more likely, ignored it in favor of the fresher food and waited until it became completely inedible and then thrown it out.

Also I'VE NEVER BEEN THIS EXCITED TO GO TO THE GROCERY STORE!

I am not a flexible woman

I'm not naturally flexible.  This is me, giving it my best effort to touch my toes.  I'm not joking.

After I had Lillian, I took a Mommy-and-Me yoga class.  It was fun but I was so totally not as flexible as the other women in the class.  I asked the instructor how long I would have to do yoga before I would be able to do a simple down dog pose with my heels on the ground.

Ten years is what she guessed.

Ten. Years.  We're coming up on 8 years, and still I'm nowhere close.  She underestimated the power of my hamstrings.

The thing is- I hate yoga.  The whole time I'm doing it, I think, "I hate this.  I'm so uncomfortable. I don't want to breathe.  I'm so bored."  Plus, I now have a peanut gallery that says stuff like, "Mom, she said you're supposed to put your forehead on the ground."  "Mom, she said that you're supposed to be on one leg."  "Mom, she said to grab your toes."

Yet I do it.  Because I fear that if I don't, I soon won't be able to bend over to put my own pants on.  Which... actually... might not be a problem.

Almost Thou Convincest Me To Give Up Wheat

I was chatting with a friend the other day, and she told me about how she has all these food allergies that went undiagnosed until she was 30.  How did that happen?  A few doctors suggested that she had food allergies but she didn't believe them because food allergies meant that you got hives or went anaphylactic... right?  Then she started having problems with her gums and her dentist asked her if she'd ever been tested, so she decided to get it done, and turns out, she's allergic to wheat, eggs, corn, soy, dairy, bananas, and apples among other things.

"What symptoms did you have that you weren't sure you were allergic to pretty much everything?!"

*Tired all the time (I'M tired all the time)

*Stomach hurt a little all the time, but not that bad (MY stomach hurts a lot at random times)

*Sensitive skin and always had a rash (I do not always have a rash, but I do have really itchy skin)

*Gum problems (I do not have gum problems, but I do get big ugly canker sores inside my mouth that appear at seemingly random times)

She went on an elimination diet and suddenly felt about a million times better and had so much more energy, no more stomach pain, could fly, etc.

I told her that I had these things, and she said it sounded like I had a wheat allergy.  Bah! I say.  I don't go in for all those pseudoscience food fads!

She shrugged her shoulders and said that there'd be no harm in trying it and that I might feel better.  "Pfffft, you can have my pizza when you pull it from my cold dead hands," I said to myself because that would have been rude to say out loud.

Then I talked to my sister and she told me all about how her husband's doctor put him on a grain-free, dairy-free, fun-free diet along with enough vitamins to justify buying a pill case to lower his cholesterol.  And now he's lost a bunch of weight, feels better, can fly, etc.

Maybe there was something to this?  I decided to give up wheat for a week, and maybe I'd feel better, and if I didn't, I'd know that I don't have a mild wheat allergy.

I started on Wednesday and I felt the same until yesterday afternoon when I hit a wall.  I was so tired, I worked for about an hour to get everyone to take a nap at the same time so I could lay down, and then the baby woke up and I cried.  My eyes were droopy at dinner and I went to bed at about 7:30.

Not the miracle cure I was hoping for.

They can take their well-meaning concern elsewhere

You might remember that I live next to a small-ish man-made lake.  My backyard is small and boring for a 3-year old boy, so he has taught himself (and his sisters quickly learned from his example) how to scale this fence.  The lake is .5 miles long and we live about in the middle, so he'd have to run for a quarter mile in either direction before he hit a street.  They have those exercise stations along the way that hardly anyone besides little kids use (monkey bars, balance beams, pedestals for doing lunges, etc) that he likes to screw around on.  Plus, there is the timeless pastime of throwing stuff in the lake.

I cannot scale the fence, so I sit in the backyard and watch him run around.  He occasionally gets farther away than I can see, but he always comes back.

This thing we do FREAKS OUT all the walkers and fishers.  I get that they are concerned and ask him where his parents are, but I wave and say "I'm right here!" and they still look like they are deciding whether or not to call CPS.  I don't doubt they would... remember our old dog Daisy and how they called the police on us because she spent too much time in the backyard where she had fresh water and shade?  And also it was spring so it was 70 degrees outside?  And also she's a dog?

Mostly they are concerned that he's going to fall in the lake and I'm behind the fence and wouldn't be able to grab him.  We've lived next to this lake his entire life and he's never once fallen in.  Also, it's only a few feet deep.  Also, he could grab onto the side and hang out until I could get to him... or just climb out.

Aside from the need to get out of the house and run around, I've always sort of felt like I'm doing Ethan good by letting him be over there by himself or with his sisters.  Like he's learning independence and exploring.

Yesterday, I read a very interesting article that TOTALLY PROVED ME RIGHT.

It's called "The Overprotected Kid" in The Atlantic.  (HT Bridget).  It talks about how kids these days are so supervised that they don't experiment with risk or being on their own or trying things and failing that they overdo it with the risks and end up addicted to drugs, don't know how to be on their own and get depressed, and freak out when they fail.  My favorite part was the following:

Sandseter began observing and interviewing children on playgrounds in Norway. In 2011, she published her results in a paper called “Children’s Risky Play From an Evolutionary Perspective: The Anti-Phobic Effects of Thrilling Experiences.” Children, she concluded, have a sensory need to taste danger and excitement; this doesn’t mean that what they do has to actually be dangerous, only that they feel they are taking a great risk. That scares them, but then they overcome the fear. In the paper, Sandseter identifies six kinds of risky play: (1) Exploring heights, or getting the “bird’s perspective,” as she calls it—“high enough to evoke the sensation of fear.” (2) Handling dangerous tools—using sharp scissors or knives, or heavy hammers that at first seem unmanageable but that kids learn to master. (3) Being near dangerous elements—playing near vast bodies of water, or near a fire, so kids are aware that there is danger nearby. (4) Rough-and-tumble play—wrestling, play-fighting—so kids learn to negotiate aggression and cooperation. (5) Speed—cycling or skiing at a pace that feels too fast. (6) Exploring on one’s own.

This last one Sandseter describes as “the most important for the children.” She told me, “When they are left alone and can take full responsibility for their actions, and the consequences of their decisions, it’s a thrilling experience.”

Letting Ethan play on his own outside the fence hits numbers 1 (sometimes he sits on top of the fence, which is about 7 feet tall), 3, and 6.

So while I'm glad that these people are concerned about my child's safety, I got this.

Only first-time parents deal in absolutes

I was totally guilty of it.  I had Lillian and she was a Goldilocks Baby- not too easy, not too difficult.  She cried some, was happy some, didn't sleep that great and then we worked on it and then she slept great, ate OK, breastfeeding went badly for a while, then it was fine.  I had a problem, and then I'd solve it, and there would be much rejoicing.

I was one of the first in our group of friends to have a baby so they all asked me for advice when they had their first.  I was totally the expert.  "This is what you have to do..." I'd tell them with total confidence.  Do not let your baby sleep in your bed.  You must get a swaddling blanket.  10/10 buy a Moby wrap and an Ergo carrier.  You need both.  Do not let your kids sleep in their car seat, they will die.  Let them cry it out, they will stop crying and then they'll learn how to go to sleep by themselves.

I was baffled, then, when I'd ask my mother about a problem I was having.  Surely she, a mother of 7, would have experienced this.  She would say, "hmmm, I don't know.  None of my kids ever did that."

What?

I now know that I wasn't a baby expert.  I was a 2006-Amanda-and-Tyler-in-San-Luis-with-the-infant-Lillian expert.  Things that worked for her didn't work with my other kids.  Things that worked for me in that time of my life don't work for me now.

Someone asked my opinion the other day and the best I could say was something like, "I can tell you what worked for Nora, but didn't work for Ethan, so I don't know if it will work for you."

That said, my new piece of advice is to wait for allergy season to have your baby cry it out, because then you'll be strung out on allergy medicine and can totally sleep through the crying.

It's happened again

Yesterday, my book vanished.  Vanishing things are different than lost things.  Lost things are like when we went on a hike and at the start of the hike, the baby had two mittens, and then by the end, she only had one.  I know what happened to that mitten and if I really cared about it, I could probably back-track and find it on the trail somewhere.

No, this is when you had it, and now it's just gone.

1. 2007.  My watch goes missing.  I look everywhere, which, in our small 2-bedroom apartment, doesn't take long.  In the looking, I find several other lost things, but no watch.  It is assumed that a then-toddler Lillian threw it out somehow.
2. 2008.  Tyler's watch. It was one of those "he had it this morning, we haven't left the house, and now he can't find it" things. We again look everywhere and this time, we look through the trash.  Not in the trash.  Not anywhere.  Just gone.  We moved shortly after this and assumed it would show up with the packing.  Nope.
3. 2010.  The shapes to the shape-sorter toy.  In the toy one day, gone the next.
4. 2012. Library book.  We were going on vacation and I went around and found all the books and stacked them by the door.  Took them to the library on the way out of town.  A few days later, got an email that one of them was late.  I assumed that one of the kids had messed with my pile and that it would be in the house somewhere.  No.  It was nowhere and I had to pay for it.
5. 2014- yesterday.  ANOTHER library book.  The Fourth Bear, by Jasper Fforde.  I was reading it in the bathroom while Ethan and Evie were taking a bath.  I almost dropped it in the tub when I lunged to save Evie from drowning when Ethan pushed her over.  Now, it's gone.  It was just getting to an exciting part and I can't find it anywhere.  Not under the beds, in the changing table, in the piano bench, by my nursing chair, in the bathroom, under the couches or between the cushions.  Not on the kitchen counter, in the car (for some reason), or stuck in the kids craft stuff.  Not in the fridge or cabinets or under the dressers.

Where are these things?

Dinnertime

I'm not sure where Ethan was during these shots, probably in time out.  He spends a lot of time there, mostly for whining.  He whines SO MUCH.  Yesterday, I was on the phone with the dentist who called to discuss my new teeth I'm getting next week, while simultaneously making Ethan a ham sandwich.  I put Ethan's sandwich on the table, being careful to use the orange plate to avoid a meltdown, when he melted down anyway.

Turns out, he wanted to WATCH me make the sandwich, and I just made it without even asking him if he wanted to watch.  I'm so selfish, I know.  He told me.

Anyway, dinner used to be so awful.  Fights galore.  Lillian doesn't eat anything and was always pissed off that I wouldn't just serve her cheese and crackers for dinner.

I don't care if they eat.  And mostly, they don't.  I'm actually surprised that they gain weight appropriately and have energy to survive on how little they consume.

But they do.  All the kids used to eat-- they ate whatever baby food.  Lillian ate kiwis and tofu as a toddler and Nora used to eat tomatoes like apples.  Then once they had control over their food choices, things started dropping out.

Now they all have their quirks.  Lillian doesn't eat fruit.  At. All.  Nora doesn't like anything that is spicy or has a strong flavor, Ethan doesn't like pizza (?!) or mushrooms.  Evie is taking it to the next level by not eating baby food at all.  She's a few days short of 8 months and will eat about a half a teaspoon of food before pursing her little lips and turning up her nose.

All this hasn't stopped me from making pizza or curry or pasta with tomatoes and mushrooms.  I make it, the kids don't eat it, but we all sit around the table anyway.

The Bible- Appropriate for children?

We have the comic-book-style Old Testament, and my kids love it.  There's some rocking good stories in there with strong narratives and bad ass prophets.  You've got Elijah's showdown with the 400-odd priests of Baal, calling down fire from heaven hot enough to burn up the sacrifice (even after he had his assistants pour buckets of water on it), the wood, and the stones of the altar.  You've got Ezekiel who ATE HIS SCROLLS to internalize the messages contained thereon.  And, after Daniel gets out of the lion's den alive, the king throws the evil priests (and their wives and children, which is a bummer) into the den to get eaten.  PAYBACK, JERKS!

With my kids getting a little older, we're starting to outgrow the comic books, and so when The Friend Magazine published a little chart to read the Old Testament with your kids, I thought this could be a good bridge to reading straight out of the good book itself.

However, we're running into a few issues.

Warning: When reading with children, do not stray from the selected passages.  Last night, we read the story of Abraham and Lot and his unfortunate wife.

I glossed over what exactly was going on in Sodom and the incident with Lot and the visitors.  (It's all in Genesis 19 if you need a refresher).  Lillian was way bummed out for Lot's wife, and I tried to explain the idea of "looking back" in that she was looking back with her heart, and wanted to go hang out with the naughty people, not just that she was interested in watching the fire storm.

While this was a little hard for her to swallow, plus the fact that the gentle, loving God that she has come to know was RAINING FIRE on people and burning them up, she was into the story, so I kept reading.

Lot flees with his daughters and hides out in a cave.  The daughters think that they are the only people left on the earth and are stressed about how they are going to find husbands so they decide to..... uh... nothing.  Time for bed!

No wonder there's the euphemism of knowing someone in the biblical sense, everyone is having sex all over the place.  And if they're not having sex, they're being destroyed by fire, or sold into slavery, or buying wives.

I'm not entirely sure that this book is appropriate for children. We might just stick with the comic book.

Uphill battle

I think about motherhood pretty much all day, every day, because that's what I do all day, every day.  Yesterday, I was considering the fact that children really are sociopaths.  They are the most important person in their universe, the only person in their universe, really.

In church, you learn that you should be like a little child, but this makes no sense- children are the greediest, meanest, least sensitive, little megalomaniacs out there.

My day sounds like this:



except times 4 and all day long.

One of my children made their bed yesterday without being asked and I was shocked.  SHOCKED.  This particular child has only ever made their bed without multiple requests, threats, taking away of marbles (we use marbles as a sort of point system, which they can earn and then "spend" on privileges like frozen yogurt and stuff), and being locked in their room until it is made.  It made me realize that my kids rarely do anything positive on their own.  They are programmed to be little chaos machines and fight tooth and nail when you try to get them to do anything non-destructive.

So, why did I have four kids?

It doesn't make sense.  I hate staying home all day.  I get resentful over the fact that I really can't work because paying for child care for 4 kids is pretty much equal to what I make.  I still could go, because I'd be getting out of the house and building my career, but it's a lot of work to balance all that child care and carpooling and who is going to make Lillian practice the piano?  As Liz Lemon says, "Murphy Brown LIED to us!"  For me personally, I can't have it all.  So, I grudgingly accept that this is the bed I made and now I'm sleeping in it, but I hate it.

So, I've come up with some theories about why I had so many kids.

1. There are 7 kids in my family and I LOVE having so many siblings.  I loved it growing up, and I love it now that I'm an adult.  I miss my brothers and sisters dearly and wish wish wish I lived closer to them.  I wanted to recreate that for my kids, and I hope that they grow up and are friends like us.  And I need at least one of them to take care of me when I'm old.

2. They do satisfy a biological need.  There is something deep down inside of me that gets immense pleasure from my children.  Deep inside.  Watching them sleep, you forget every crappy thing they did during the day, and the fact that you called your mother when you were on the verge of losing it and cried "I SWEAR THEY'RE DOING IT ON PURPOSE," and the fact that you swore you were done after that last kid and you whisper, "I want more kids."
     2.1 I read in Do Chocolate Lovers Have Sweeter Babies that baby smiles are evolutionarily engineered             to get us to fall in love with our babies, and I tell you- it works.

3.  I can't discount the social pressure of being Mormon.  Formally, there is nothing specifically taught about how many children you should have, just that you should have some because families are important.  Very important.  But, culturally, big families are the norm.  I do not regret marrying young and having Lillian at a young age, but that really wouldn't have happened if I wasn't Mormon where everyone marries young and has babies at a young age.  If I wasn't Mormon, I can't say for sure that I'd have 4 kids.

4.  For all their sociopathic tendencies, they really are hilarious.  They say funny stuff and their emotions are so real and pure.  There is no feeling like seeing them scream with pure joy when they unwrap that perfect gift on Christmas morning.

So for all the times when I despise staying at home, I remind myself that this too shall pass, and one day, I'll be surrounded by my warm, caring, happy, well-adjusted, loving children and grandchildren.  Right?  RIGHT?

GoPro fail

My friend John makes promotional videos.  He'll really good (see representative sample here).  He uses a GoPro camera mounted to a little helicopter to get the overhead shots.

Looks real nice, right?

My children have destroyed our small point and shoot.  Like, the casing fell off but it still worked, and then the shutter was stuck open, but it still kinda worked.  And then it wouldn't turn off, but if you took out the battery when you weren't using it, it still kinda worked.

Tyler and I decided to hike Mt. Wrightson a few weekends back, and as I was afraid I'd drop our nice camera off the side of the mountain, plus it's heavy, we decided to borrow John's GoPro.

I'm not sure what went wrong, but these are some of the better shots.

This is a herd of wild turkeys, obviously.

 Because it takes like 6 hours to do the hike, it was either take the baby or lug a pump.  I almost wish we had taken the pump because 1. I think it would have been lighter, 2. The baby was freaked out about the fact that it was VERY COLD up on the mountain and refused to nurse, and 3. I wouldn't have worried about the pump getting frostbite.

I think this is me... maybe its' Tyler.  There is only one button on the GoPro, so I'm not sure how we could have screwed it up, but here it is.  Unfortunately, the camera died before we could take a picture from the summit.  It looked like this:

image from summitpost.org

Hold my hair, I'm going to blog.

Remember when I used to blog?  And read blogs?  Why don't I do that anymore?  

I was considering this issue while I was up with the baby last night, and I don't know is the answer.  Maybe because my IQ has plunged dramatically with the addition of this 4th child, such that I'm having trouble coming up with complete sentences.

What would I write?

Well, I'm tired of people telling me "Calories IN=Calories OUT"

because I think it's not true, especially when breastfeeding.

In an informal survey of a few moms at the park, 100% of them told me that they had TROUBLE getting weight off while breastfeeding (which, supposedly burns 500 calories a day) and that when they quit the weight just came off.  So bodies are sometimes miserly and hoard calories, which has nothing to do with this calories in=calories out mantra that somehow is supposed to make me feel better.

Science agrees with me.  In the book "Do Chocolate Lovers Have Sweeter Babies," the author cites studies on the children of the Dutch famine during WWII, and how they are all mostly overweight today because their bodies were programmed to be really efficient with their calories.

I'm not trying to lose weight in order to be thin and pretty.  My clothes don't fit; it's an economical issue.  I don't want to have to buy a whole new wardrobe when I have a closet full of clothes that are just fine... just a little on the small side.  Plus, I hate shopping.

Oh Tyler

So, I was reading a Reddit post asking guys what they thought the most annoying thing about being a girl is.  There were the obvious things: periods, having to look good all the time, hair care, makeup, etc.  But, a surprising number of guys said that they wouldn't like being so physically weak.  A few of them said that they got really freaked out when they discovered just how much stronger they were than their girlfriends/SOs.  Like they were wrestling and they realized that they were using 50% of their strength and easily overpowering the girls' 100%.  The guys went on to say that they'd be afraid of all these strong men who could easily kill them.

I told Tyler because I thought that was interesting.  I've never really dwelt on the fact that I'm physically weak because there's nothing I can do about it.  You can't think too much about how 50% of the population could rape you and then kill you without breaking a sweat or else you'd be paralyzed with fear.

Moving on to the punchline:  Tyler said he didn't think he was that much stronger than me (says the guy who can jump our back fence in a single leap.  If we had a fence that was proportional to my size, it wouldn't be pretty if I tried to get over it.  Also, he ran a half-marathon WITHOUT TRAINING.  I had to train for 5 months before I was even remotely ready.).I suggested we wrestle for real to see how much stronger he was than me, and that I would give it everything I had.

"Why?" he asks.  "Like, if you were in a dark alley or something and a girl jumped on you and was trying to rape you, and you'd have to fight them off."

"Why would I ever want to fight off a girl who's trying to have sex with me?" 

By the way, he pinned me easily.  I'm not sure if I'm glad that he proved my point, or freaked out that he proved my point; he really IS much MUCH stronger than me.

For one minute

So, I accepted a long time ago that I wasn't ever going to have an A+-all-the-time-clean house.  In order to do this, you need to either have no children or really like cleaning.  I am the opposite of both those things.  One time, I asked my neighbor, who, at the time, had 4 children and a SPOTLESS-ALL-THE-TIME house how she kept it clean.  She told me she found cleaning relaxing and really enjoyed it.  This does not compute.

When my kids go to bed, I don't want to spend an hour cleaning up and putting my house aright.  I don't want to spend 10 minutes doing it.  I want to sit down and and read a book and not have to answer any more demands or have anyone touch me for like 2 hours.  And then I want to go to sleep.

During the day, I can think of about 50,000 things that I'd rather do than clean.  I got used to the idea that I would have a B- house that I'd clean up for company.  Maybe.

I went to a kid-free (except I brought my baby) get-together last night at a friend's house and her house was spotless.  She also has 4 kids and her husband is in medical school, so probably he's not doing a whole lot of cleaning.  SPOT. LESS.

I thought, "I wonder if I could get my whole entire house clean at one time.  Even for just one minute."

The house was pretty bad because I spent all day yesterday doing this:

and generally ignoring my children while they trashed my house, but I decided that I didn't care how long it took, I was going to get my entire house clean for one minute.

I cleaned all morning and got the whole upstairs in pristine order.  I took a break to watch the afternoon session of conference and then went upstairs for something and saw that my kids had attacked.  I almost cried.  Instead, I freaked out at the kids and then called my mom.

Two hours later, my whole house is clean.  Except the floors, I didn't sweep or mop... but they're mostly clean.  Mostly.

So, if I can keep the kids outside for the rest of the evening and then put them to bed, we might set a record for at least 10 hours.

Things on my mind at this moment in time

In no particular order

*I'm really glad Evie takes a pacifier.  I think it's cut down on her crying by at least 60%.  Now, if I could just figure out how to get her to go to bed at from 7 to 7 like a normal baby instead of this college co-ed 12 to 12 business, that would be gravy.

*You guys: Lillian's at school and all three of the other kids are sleeping.  I know, it's miracle nap time, so I'm taking this opportunity to write this instead of doing my chores.

*I'm having a quarter-life crisis, I think. Before now, the only people who were my age who were accomplishing things of note were Olympic athletes and child geniuses.  I think we can all agree that the people that make up those two groups are not normal; they are exceptional by birth.  I'm not all that exceptional, so I didn't have to be jealous.  BUT, now, normal people MY AGE are writing books of note, conducting groundbreaking research, starting their own companies, inventing things, making documentaries, presenting at conferences, and all sorts of other things that I'm not doing.

I get that I spent all the time that those other people spent working on their business plans and/or research birthing children and making peanut butter sandwiches.  And, believe me, if I didn't think that birthing and raising decent human beings was a worth-while way to spend my time, I wouldn't have done it four times over.

The kicker is that I haven't been thinking, "I have this awesome business/book/company idea that I'm TOTALLY going to do when my kids are older."  I've mostly just been drowning in cheerios and morning sickness.  This is what makes it a quarter-life crisis: I have no idea where to go from here.  My tentative plan was to go to nurse practitioner school, which I realize I could still do, but do I really WANT to do that?  I don't know.

*I started reading The Happiness Project and the author mentions her One Minute Rule for keeping her house organized- if the task will take less than one minute, do it right now.  Put away the pen, close the cabinet, put the bowl in the dishwasher, file that immunization card, put your makeup back in the bag instead of leaving it out, etc.  I've been trying to do this, and I've found that I'm spending a lot more of my day cleaning.  Up side: I have a cleaner house which puts me in a better mood.  Down side: I spend more time cleaning which puts me in a bad mood.

*We're going to California in a few weeks, and I'm beyond excited about it.

*I got the movie Mongol from the library on my sister Anne's recommendation, and I need to watch it.  I really liked Temple Grandin, her last recommendation.

*I thought it was hilarious when I figured out why Ethan was telling everyone at the grocery store that Evie really likes nickles.  Someone, it might have been me I'm not sure, gave Ethan an anatomy lesson specifically about breastfeeding.  I laughed until my eyes watered.

 

Target FAIL

I decided to take all 4 kids to Target to do Lillian's back-to-school shopping and get a few miscellaneous items like light bulbs and C batteries.  I fed all the kids; they all went to the bathroom; I fed the baby; I changed her diaper; I had a water bottle (a must for Arizona); I had extra diapers, wipes, and an extra onesie; I had emergency granola bars; I made a list and I stuck a pen in my hair so Lillian could check off the items and (hopefully) not bother her siblings.  Target is about 20 minutes away, so if Evie has to eat every 2 hours, we have a little over an hour to get this all done and get back home before I have to feed her.  I would be like the Delta Strike Force.  In and out.  No messing around.  I expected it to go very poorly.

The actual shopping went as good as could be expected: of course Lillian took freaking forever to pick out a present for her friend's birthday and Ethan announced he had to go poo when we were on the exact opposite side of the store.  I don't know what his deal is, but he takes like 20 minutes to do his business and announces multiple times that he's finished, but then quickly recants.  "I'm done!" I open the door.  "I'm not done! Go away!" Repeat at least 4 times.  The girls were less than thrilled to be stuck in the bathroom for 20 minutes and told me so.  A few times.

You know how you can feel when it starts falling apart?  Evie started screaming when I was looking for the light bulbs.  Ethan was climbing like the uncoordinated monkey he is, winning me disapproving tuts from passersby.  Nora ran off to look at the headbands.  Lillian was unsuccessfully trying to mother the other two kids and it was giving her anxiety and making her freak out, plus the other kids don't like being mothered by her so they were freaking out.

We got to the checkout and I was mentally stabbing the man who ran to shimmy his way in front of me in line while bouncing the screaming Evie (a-RAH a-RAH a-RAH) and yelling at Ethan to get down for heaven's sake.  I threw our items on the conveyor and the checker, sensing the urgency of the situation, began scanning like a madman.  I reached into my purse to get my wallet and found only extra diapers, wipes, and the extra onesie.  No wallet.

Then I remembered I had taken it out to get the number for the credit card customer service and put it on the table.

I maybe screamed a little.