Then & Now

Two weeks ago--

Mia: "For Christmas I want a Hannah Montana Barbie--another one--and a camera. That's all."

Yesterday--

Mia: "For Christmas I want Santa to bring me a Wii and an Ipod Touch and a Kindle and a camera phone and an mp3 player. And a regular camera. And a scooter that goes by itself. That's all."

My little girl is growing up.

Sigh.

Why I Keep Them Around

Mia: "Why did that guy say 'hot'? What does 'hot' mean, anyway?"

Mom: "It means really, really pretty, like if someone is really beautiful, we say she is 'hot.' "

Mia: "Oh! Like Mama!"

Mom: "Eh?"

Mia: "So you are hot, right?"

I love my little schmoozers.

Just Another Scatalogical Saturday

Eric: Mom! MOM! Come quick!

Mom: Uh, I'm kinda busy--what do you need?

Eric: I'm pooping, and it's SOOOO big! It's a HUGE poop! Come see!

Gee, tempting, but I think I'll pass...

Mom: I'm making breakfast--sorry, bud.

Several minutes pass.

Eric: MOM! I need some help here!

Mom: With what?

Eric: I need help wiping my butt!

Mom: You're a big boy; you know how to wipe your own butt.

Eric: But this is a BIG poop, and it's ALL OVER!

Sigh.

Mommy stands in the bathroom door. To observe. And guide from afar. My mantra is to teach self-sufficiency. Especially if it involves poop.

Mom: You're doing fine, Eric.

Eric: Yeah, but I really hate wiping butts. Wiping butts is so disgusting. It's so gross.

Tell me about it. Try wiping someone ELSE'S butt. Welcome to parenthood, son.

Mom: Well, it's better than NOT wiping your butt.

Silence. Eric digests this thought.

In a tone of awe suggesting that maybe, just maybe, Mommy is NOT dumber than a pile of rocks...

Eric: Yeeeaaaaaaah. That's true!

Nice to know someone out there is still awed by my brilliance.

Family Home Evening, Eric-style

Mommy: So, before you came to earth, we all lived with Heavenly Father and Heavenly Mother--

Eric: Hey, who's Heavenly Mother?

Mommy: She's your Heavenly Mother, the mother of your spirit, just like Heavenly Father is your Heavenly Father.

Eric: Oh! Like Mary, right?

Mommy: No, Mary was Jesus' earthly mom, but she's not your Heavenly Mother.

Eric: Then what's her name?

Mommy: Um, we don't know exactly. We just know she's our Heavenly Mother.

Eric: Oh, because she and Heavenly Father are divorced, right?

*************

Eric: Dear Heavenly Father, we grateful for playing pick-up-sticks and for surprises and for chicken nuggets and thankful that Mia could eat peanut butter and thankful for Madame Blueberry and Mommy and, and, and....

(eyes tightly closed and arms folded, Eric stands up and begins madly jigging in place)

thankful that we can dance really fast like this.

*************

Eric: Mercie! You cannot sing "I Hope They Call Me On a Mission" with me because you are a girl!

Mercie: MOM! Eric told me that when I grow up I can't be a missionary because I'm a girl.

Mommy: That's not true. Girls can be missionaries if they want to.

Eric: Well, she's only going on a pink mission, then. Boys go on blue missions and girls go on pink missions. The end.

************

Mom: CHILDREN!!! It's not reverent or respectful to booty-shake during a prayer! If you want to dance, wait 'till we're done with family prayer!

(children wait out the prayer, as reverently as a 6, 5, and 4-times-2 year old can).

Mom: ....Amen.

Children: Oh yeah, oh yeah, WE LOVE JESUS!!! WE LOVE TO DANCE FOR JESUS! JESUS LOVES US SHAKING OUR BOOTY FOR HIM!! OH YEAH! OH YEAH! DANCING, DANCING, DANCING, WAVE YOUR ARMS, SHAKE YOUR LEGS, MOVE YOUR BOOTY 'CAUSE WE LOVE JESUS!!!

Call me sacrilegeous, but I think Jesus grins every time my kiddos start workin' it in His praise.

Why He's My Favorite Boy

Eric: "Hey, it's a magic wand! Poof! I turned you into a beautiful princess! Wait--you already WERE a beautiful princess-mommy! I didn't even need a wand!"

I think he's preparing now for his high school harem.

Advice:

Never skip church to stay home alone and sneak the last quarter of the lemon meringue pie before the kids get home. Karma will bite you in the butt.

Thanksgiving Traditions

Somewhat unexpectedly the kids are going to be with me on Thanksgiving. Since I a.) don't have it in me to do the big dinner thing this year, and b.) want to make the most of a whole, entire day at home with my kids, I told the kids that this year for Thanksgiving we'd start a new tradition called "You-can-each-choose-one-thing-to-make-for-Thanksgiving-dinner-and-Mommy-will-help-you-make-it-all-by-yourself."

Mommy didn't think this one out very well. Here is our Thanksgiving Day Menu:

Mac & Cheese (Grace)
Ramen Noodles (Mia)
Hot Chocolate (Mercie)
Doughnuts (Eric)

I tried to steer them toward more traditional choices, but I was reminded that I'd said they could choose. Okay-dokey.

If anyone needs more starchy carbs to round out Thanksgiving Day feasting, apparently you can just stop by our house.

Creativity, Or Something Like That

My talented friend Shanna manages three high-energy children, runs a busy house, works as a NICU nurse, writes a hilariously funny blog, and manages to make time to create darling Christmas mini-quilts for her friends--such as the sweet little Santa I discovered yesterday in my mailbox. She's a source of never-ending inspiration.

Me, I make spherical cows to keep my hands busy during General Conference. That there Bessie's a cute 'un, if I do say so myself.

A Different Kind of Top Ten

Here's the deal--I LOVE my kids.

I mean, I adore them, I treasure them, I went through h-e-double-hockey-sticks and back to get them, I schedule and prioritize nearly everything else in my life around them, and in every single, conceivable way, they are the center of my universe.

And I've noticed, over years of connecting and bonding with other parents-via-adoption, or women who have struggled with infertility, that we perhaps value our parenting experience a tad more at times, because 1.) it didn't come easily (or quickly), and 2.) we're sensitive to those who are still in the waiting-longing-praying-hoping-waiting-endlessly-waiting stage, and we remember all too well how it felt to hear parents complain about small & stupid little child things as you sit there and think how you would cut off your right arm to have that irritating moment with a child of your very own.

So I have held back as long as I could, but folks--I just can't keep it in any longer.

Yes, I love my kids. In spite of the following.

TOP TEN PET PEEVES ABOUT CHILDREN:

1.) Whining
2.) Poopy nighttime diapers that spread far beyond the confines of the diaper and cover the jammies, sheets, blankets, pillow (what the heck?!! Were you sleeping with the pillow over the opposite end from your head?), and then get tracked across the bedroom floor, up the stairs, into the bathroom and across the front room before a sibling announces the reason our whole house now reeks of smeared poop.
3.) High-pitched screeching
4.) Tattling
5.) When you finish cleaning up the child in no. 2, along with the floor, the bedding, and scrubbing your hands raw from all the disgusting germ exposure they've just received, hearing a different child announce that he also has a 'messy poopy' and needs Mommy to clean it up.
6.) Whining
7.) Whiny children who whine, beg, and plead for a treat, and when Mommy finally parts with cold, hard cash to obtain said treat, take one bite and decide they don't like it anymore.
8.) Ignoring Mom's command to stay out of the mud, adding to the mud by using the forbidden garden hose, soaking yourself and your brother head to toe which makes you a magnet for grass clippings, leaves, sucker sticks, and assorted other debris--not to mention dirt, which creates even more MUD--and then climbing into Mommy's clean bed when the above-cited activities make you so 'coldy.'
9.) Foregoing all the cute, well-coordinated, and moderately stylish clothes that Mommy buys for you in favor of outfits that little orphan Annie would shun, leading to such a vagabond look that a total stranger in a restaurant would say, "Are all these kids yours? Do you do foster care? Gosh, you'd think the government would at least pay for decent clothes for the poor kids." Just for the record, no--none of my kids were adopted through foster care, and yes, the state does pay for decent clothing for foster kids, and yes, all four little beastie-children are mine. Ratty clothes and all.
10.) Whining.

On days when this particular top ten list is at the forefront and becomes a little overwhelming, there is another little teeny list that saves my children more than they know.

1.) They are SOOOO stinkin' cute.
2.) They are SOOOO stinkin' smart.
3.) They are SOOOO stinkin' mine. For always. For good. And even in their most poopy, whiny, messy glory, I'll always be theirs, too. That's why I did the h-e-double-hockey-sticks stuff to get them here, and why I do the poop-cleaning and headache-surviving now, and why I'll somehow make it through teenage years and driving lessons and dating and college expenses and missions and weddings times four. At the end of the day, it's nice to have four little people who matter to me, and it's nice to matter to those four little people, too. Family = belonging. Forever.

That's even stronger than the smell wafting from the downstairs carpet.

Language Barriers

Grace: "Here, Mom. I wrote your name for you."

Me: "Um, that has some of the letters, but it's not actually my name."

Grace: "I know. I wrote your name in Spanish, like W-E-N-D-E-C-I-T-A."