6. Transport

I'm slowly but surely delegating my pack mule duties to the children. The bigger they get, the more able they are to carry their own stuff and I'm making them do it. I want them to be accustomed to having their hands full and taking responsibility for their things before they are grown.

Little Pack Mules

Since they like to take a load of stuff with them to Grandmother's house a few days a week, they pack a backpack and carry it themselves. If they forget to bring that stuff home, well, that's their problem. Mostly. There have been a few times that Grandmother or I made a last minute run for the baby Maggie Beth or Gigi blanket, but if it's just regular old toys, they can wait until the next day. The same thing goes for cups left on the counter as we are walking out the door. If I fill it and hand it to you, you can take it to the car. If you forget it, you can wait until we get somewhere to get another drink. I am responsible for the essentials - the pool bag, the changes of clothes, etc. - but they can take care of the extras they insist on bringing.

On this day, their backpacks were filled with two potato heads and all the various potato parts, two Mickey Mouse cars, a singing, spinning Mini Cooper, Mickey, Minnie, and Goofy. Luke's hands also carried a copy of the riveting storybook, Snug House Bug House - which they cannot stop reading, not even long enough to walk to the car.

5. Environment

Before we had a dog (and kids, but the dog came first), Dave and I made a habit of visiting obscure festivals in random locations or just taking off for a weekend to explore a different city. Sometimes, we'd just get in the car and drive on all the back roads we could find in the surrounding counties. We like to find neat things in out of the way places and just enjoy each other's company in the car. That mostly ended with the dog because we couldn't just up and leave for a few days without making arrangements for her. Then the kids came along and Ella hated riding in the car so much that we hated it, too, so we don't do very much exploring anymore.

We went to Atlanta this past weekend for the roller coasters, but we decided to wander around the city before driving home Monday morning. We just recently watched an episode of House Hunters where a guy bought a house in the Virginia Highland neighborhood and we got it in our heads to go see about it. (While we were creeping through the streets in awe of those big, old houses, I wondered aloud if the residents get tired of people gawking through their neighborhood all the time. Dave quickly reminded me that most people aren't like us, religiously watching House Hunters every night and then stalking the locations that are near us. I couldn't disagree.)  As we drove around, we happened upon the Jimmie Carter Presidential Library, and having never seen a presidential library before, we decided to stop. The grounds were green and beautiful, so I took some pictures thinking that they would fit nicely with the day five topic of "environment". We decided not to pay the $8 to walk through the museum, instead we settled for peeking through the windows and strolling around the gardens. It made me wish I had brought my big camera, but I made do with the iPhone.

We found a large goose feather for Ella and saw a flock of not-quite-baby-anymore geese. There were also ducks and very large coy in a little pond. It was a nice stroll around the grounds and on the way to IKEA afterward, I was thinking up some things to write about "environment" and democratic presidents and my indoctrination into green-thinking in elementary school with Auntie Litter's visit to teach us about recycling and the scene in our 5th grade play that included the song Pass It On Down by Alabama - as if I need to justify or explain how I came to think the way I do about the environment.

Then, I walked up to the hand dryer in the bathroom at IKEA and read this sign, and I knew I'd found my photo for day 5.

It's blurry because someone came out of a stall just as I was
snapping this picture and I was trying to hurry and
not look like a complete weirdo. Ahem.

Also, I love IKEA. Dave loved it, too. If we'd driven the Pilot to Atlanta, we probably would have come home with a load. We will go back.

4. After dark

As we were driving around after going out to supper the other night, Dave told me to drive by the golf course because he wanted "to be one with it." I still don't know what that means, but we drove up the little service road by the 11th hole so he could look at it.

Golf Course After Dark

I was asking him if the road was the old entrance and if the little building was the old clubhouse, and from the backseat, two little voices chimed in: "Clubhouse?!" "Mickey Mouse Clubhouse?!" They were sorely disappointed.

We all humored him for a few minutes while he became one, and then Ella said, "Can we go home now? I'm ready for bed."

Three out of four Ropers agree, the golf course after dark is nothing to see. The fourth Roper would probably have pitched a tent if we'd had one.

3. On my table

Dave and I played hooky from life yesterday and drove to Atlanta to ride roller coasters. I don't know why, but it was a perfect day at Six Flags. We got there when the park opened and, by noon, we had ridden all but one of them. There was hardly any waiting. We took a break to eat lunch, and then started riding everything again. It was a little more crowded in the afternoon, so we used our Flash Pass to reserve one ride while we waited for another and by the time it started storming at three, we had ridden all but two of the coasters again. 

His favorite? Goliath. Mine? It might always be Batman the Ride, but the Scorcher was a very close second. I love the speed, he loves the classic roller coasters. 

After the rain out, we walked back to the hotel and sat by the pool for the rest of the afternoon. We called the kids during dinner and when it was Luke's turn to talk, he greeted us both with, "Hey, I poopin'." We have had a great time, but I can't wait to see those monkeys this afternoon. 

2. A Moment

These moments are starting to happen more frequently.

Sibling Love

Don't get me wrong, there is still plenty of yelling and the occasional physical altercation, but I'm noticing that as they get older, they are starting to appreciate each other. He'll always be the annoying little brother and she'll always be the bossy big sister, but that doesn't negate all the times I hear them invite each other to play or the times I find them like this.

Luke would cuddle with her more, but he recognizes her need for personal space, so he only pushes the issue when he is overflowing with affection and can no longer contain his need to wrap his arms around her waist and snuggle his face into her back saying, "I wuv you, Elwa!" Usually she yells when this happens until I point out that he's hugging her, not terrorizing her, and then she stands still and tolerates the contact for a few seconds. She has always been a prickly one. It's when she initiates the hugs or willingly returns them that my heart feels the happiest, because those are rare moments, and because as much as she needs space, Luke needs physical contact.

It's one of the things that make them so different. He demands physical contact from everyone around him. He is openly, freely affectionate with everyone - from me to people he has just met. It's easy to make sure I hug or touch him enough because he initiates it so often. I sometimes have to point out the times when Ella doesn't want to be touched so that he recognizes her boundaries (and others' boundaries)  because he is so affectionate.

At the same time, I have to make a concious effort to hug and touch Ella often because she is so self-contained, and so am I. Though she doesn't demand the contact like he does, it's still important for her. She still needs it. The more independent she becomes, the less I touch her on a routine basis because I'm no longer dressing and bathing her or brushing her teeth every day. She even brushes her own hair now. She doesn't get as much routine contact from me, so I have to make sure I initiate it regularly. Because I am also not a freely affectionate person, I literally have to remind myself to hug her sometimes. Sometimes she's not receptive. Sometimes she tells me point-blank, "Stop touching my hair" or "Stop rubbing my back" and I do, immediately. Sometimes, she really needs it and crawls into my lap to stay a while, or cuddles up with her baby brother.

1. B is for...

B is for "blogging" - something I've been slacking on lately. It's not that I haven't wanted to write, but I haven't had much to say. We've settled into a much more relaxed summer routine with lots of outside play and swimming and family. It's glorious, but boring to read about, so, no blogging.

That's why I decided to do Fat Mum Slim's Photo A Day for the month of June. I have a driving need to write. Something. Anything. This will help.

B is also for "birthday", and since June is Ella's birth month, I'm sure there will be some blogging about it. She's planned everything for her party, down to the flavor of the cake. When she started giving me detailed instructions about how the invitations should look, I decided to turn the decision making over to her. She's having a blast with the planning, asking for my phone everywhere we go so she can show people what kind of cake she will have. I maintain veto power, but it's her party, she can plan it.

B is also for "boy" and "blue" and "beard" which leads me to the first photo for the month of June - one that is decidedly not birthday related.

Little Boy Blue Beard

This is how I found him one recent Friday afternoon when I got to Grandmother's house after work. He's a threat to color his entire body with a magic marker, so really, the fact that it was only a beard and a forearm tattoo is notable. The wild hair and camo shorts rounded out the look.

Ode to a Toad

It's not really an ode. I thought about writing one, but I suck at poetry. Prose is more my style, but "Prose to a Toad" sounded stupid.

The toad in question is this one.

Actually, it's like this one, but with blue where the orange part is. That's very important.

During the last week of school, Luke's interest in wearing underpants increased to the point that the first thing he did each evening when we got home was change into some. He can do that himself now. I know this because I accidentally got the underpants out of the drawer one time when he intended to do it himself, and after I had dressed him completely, he undressed and changed underpants to a pair that he got out of the drawer. By himself. It didn't matter what kind, just that he did it himself. The independence? It's lovely and also frustrating. So frustrating.

Still, though he was working really hard, he had not been successful with the actual using the potty part of the operation. Until last Friday night when a small miracle occurred in our life and he used the frog potty at Grandma's house. Three times. We brought it home with us. And, we bought another one the next day. The newer ones have the orange bowl; it was just barely acceptable. The blue-bowled frog is very much his preference.

He used the potty all weekend, even at church in a not-frog potty. Since Monday, he's been wearing underpants for all of his waking hours and he has not had an accident yet. He even went yesterday afternoon when I suggested he just try before we left Aunt Becca's house - on command. He made it happen.

This "potty training" business went just like I thought it would. As soon as it clicked, it was game on. Potty training. Whatever. The only training we've done involves the careful emptying of the bowl (which he must do himself) and hand washing, the rest was just me freaking out like a fool everytime he uttered a breath about needing to potty and washing lots of laundry.

I already feel like I can take him out of the house in underpants and he'll be able to make it to a potty and use it. He still asks for a diaper to poop in, but that's fine with me. We can work on that later - preferrably when he's comfortable sitting on the big potty. I'd rather change poopy diapers than clean poop out of a little plastic bowl, but maybe that's just me?

What a week.

It's been an emotional week - happy, sad, exciting. I've been too busy processing to think of things to write.

Graduation was fantastic and we had a great weekend. For the first time in a while, we had no where to be on Saturday morning. I woke up before the kids and sat on the porch with Dave to drink my coffee. We went to breakfast and did our shopping, and I spent a few hours cooking for the week. We filled the house with cousins for the evening and Dave made supper. It was a low-key day, and we needed it.

Sunday morning, I found a letter from Dave in my coffee drawer. I sat down in the sunshine in the Big Room to read it while I drank my coffee and I cried. It was one of those things that is just so perfectly on time, so perfectly soothing to the soul, so very needed in the moment. I've read it over and over again since then.

After church we had lunch at Rebecca's with Grandmother, and supper at our house with Grandma. It was a day full of family; a really good day.

Monday was Monday, but Tuesday was the last day of school. For one kid, it was a blast (he had a water party and was just beside himself about having chips and pizza for lunch), for the other, it was hard. It was hard for me, too, knowing how she felt and feeling very much the same. I had written thank you notes to her teachers the night before, trying to fit all of my gratitude for the past three years coherently into a note card. As if three years of loving her wasn't enough, she came home with a hefty three ring binder full of the things she did this year and notes from her friends and her teacher. I flipped through the whole thing immediately, but Dave chose to wait, saying, "I can't handle that right now." The best part is the book with all of her friends handprints and notes about what they liked to do with her and why they like her, including a page from her teacher - which she didn't know about until I read it to her. We sat on the couch last night and went through the whole binder, and at bed time she asked if I would read the friend book again tonight. It's obviously a source of comfort to her. She has asked me to pray for her each night about being out of school because she wasn't ready for it to be over and she misses her friends. I have. I've prayed while she listened, and I've prayed some more later when I went to check on her and found her sleeping. I know she'll be fine once we get fully into the swing of summer, but she's struggling right now, and I'm struggling right along with her. If the end of preschool is this rough, what kind of wreck will I be at the end of high school?

The highlight of the week for them both was coming home Tuesday evening to see our waterslide inflated in the yard. Luke's eyes grew 10 sizes as he asked me, breathlessly, "I get to put my swimpoot on?" Yep. Swimpoot time. They have played and played, and we will probably leave it up until the pool opens next weekend. Then, it will be put away until her birthday party.

We also had our one week check-up on the new earrings, and Dr. Tattoo Piercer gave her a clean bill of health. Again, Luke queued up his list of ailments to report, and asked me about our "appointment" as we were leaving. For some reason, I'm finding his confusion about this especially amusing.

Outside of our household, some of my friends and several others I pray for regularly have also had very emotional weeks with sickness and injury and bad news and good news. It's been a lot to take in, and I've spent a lot of time stopping mid-something to pray for whoever just popped into my head. That's how it works for me, my mind just wanders along doing what it does, then suddenly it's like Emeril makes an appearance in there: "BAM! Someone's Name," and I have to pray.

The verse I've clung to this week is the one Ella's teacher gave them in class on Monday. It seems fitting for most of the people I've prayed for this week.

"Have I not commanded you? Be strong and of good courage; do not be afraid, nor be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go." - Joshua 1:9

Closing a Chapter

Ella's preschool graduation was tonight. Ironically, I paid for preschool graduation and registered for kindergarten in the same week of April. I bought her a dress, sent in a baby picture for the slideshow, made sure she was dressed for cap and gown pictures, and until this week, it's just been a list of things to handle so that she had everything she needed when she needed it. But this week, her teacher's daily Ask Me emails changed into things like, "Friday is graduation! I hope that all of your children will still be joining us for school on Monday and Tuesday of next week. If your child will not be returning for those days, please let me know ASAP so that I can make sure I have everything ready for them on their last day. :)"

Yes, that got me. Because it's not just her last day of the year; it will be her last day at preschool. Ever. Then I started thinking about how much fun she's had there, and about the friends that she won't get to see every day anymore, and about how exciting and sad graduation can be. I started paying attention to her solemn but excited attitude when we talked about it, and I realized that this might be her first, truly bittersweet experience - the first crossroads in her life where there is no where to go but forward, and what's ahead is exciting, but leaving what's behind is sad. And all of that is what made me need to cry about preschool graduation, more than the fact that she seems more grown up each day. Ear piercings and fifth birthdays and kindergarten are big milestones, but realizing that you are telling your friends "goodbye" instead of "see you tomorrow" is, I think, more impactful. She does realize this, and I am humbled by her graceful handling of it. She is not the baby I sent there three years ago.




Tonight, I watched her sing her heart out in the serious way that she always performs, I watched her get her certificate, and I watched a slideshow of pictures of all the kids from all their years at Concord and I let the tears run down my cheeks for all the fun, and all the learning, and all the growing up she did there. At the end of it, I handed her the orange roses I bought for her - orange because we read a book once that had picture of a lady in her cap and gown with roses in her arms and Ella told me then that she wanted orange roses when she graduated. She couldn't believe they were for her, and that they were real, and that there were other presents from Grandma and Pop the Pop, and Aunt Becca, and Grandmother and Papa.

She still has two days of school, and I'm glad for that because now that graduation is over, I know that they will be two days full of play with her friends. I hope she has a blast. I hope the last two days are as good as tonight, because she really loved tonight.

I'm pretty sure this is a peek into the future.



P.S. Guess what else? There was vomit. Is any Roper event complete without it? I think not.

Freshly Pierced

We didn't have Ella's ears pierced as a baby because I wanted to wait until she asked for it. I wanted it to be a big deal for her. She started talking about it a couple of years ago, and I've always told her, honestly, that it would hurt a little. She always decided to wait a little longer.

Last weekend, she started talking about it again in earnest, inlcuding a private conversation in her room where I had to talk through the whole procedure and how it would hurt again. That was Friday night, and she decided she wasn't ready. Sunday morning, as I was getting ready for church, I heard her talking to Luke.

"Luke, do you want to know a secret? I'm going to get my ears pierced so I can wear real earrings. Don't you think that will be pretty?" He did, of course. I think it's awesome that he was the first person she told about her decision.

Then, she started hounding me about when she could get it done. She wanted to go Saturday. I told her to chill because I needed to talk to Dave about it and find a place that would pierce a kid. A place that doesn't use a piercing gun.

I had already done my reading on the subject and decided that, when she was ready, I wanted to take her to a professional piercer. I just wasn't comfortable with the gun, and having had piercings done both ways, I believed the needle route would be a better fit for Ella. I thought she would be more comfortable in the privacy of a piercing room than sitting in the middle of a store where everyone could watch, I thought the gun would freak her out, and I liked the sterility of the individually wrapped needles.

The challenge was finding a place that would do it. Some doctors offices offer it, but that would mean taking time off work. I was looking for a tattoo studio. On my third phone call, I found a place that would do it. I called again the next day to talk to the owner, and he was totally nonchalant about it. He had pierced his own daughter's ears when she was three, and from the things he said, I gather he's pierced lots of kids. He told me what kind of earrings to buy and to just stop by when we were ready. He was going to be out of town over the weekend, so we decided to go last night on the way home after gymnastics. Dave met us there so he could witness this milestone, too.

When we got there, we met the owner's five year old daughter and she talked and talked to Ella about her earrings. I handed over the earrings and he checked them out and said they would work perfectly, then he went to set up. He came back to the lobby a few minutes later and led us back to a room that looked very much like a procedure room in a doctor's office except for the occasional sign with profanity or poster of scantily clad, tattooed, and pierced women. In fact when the piercing was over and Ella got down from the chair, Luke piped up to tell the man, "It's my turn. My tummy hurts." He thought we were at a doctor's office.

Little kids amaze me with their acceptance of people. I had already talked to Ella about the fact that we would see lots of tattoos and different kinds of piercings, to which she responded, "Okay." She hasn't said a word about anything she saw there, including the man who did the piercing, who had several tattoos and piercings of his own. Luke hasn't said anything either. Neither of them seem the least bit affected by it.

Ella was a trooper. She made it through both piercings before she cried, just a little, and by the time we got home, she was fine. This morning, she was very happy watching the light bounce off the little gold hearts in her ears while she was getting dressed in front of her mirror.

Freshly Pierced Ears

More than I Deserve

I went to Breakfast with Mommy at preschool today. There was doughnut stickiness, sweet smiling faces, thumbprint-decorated potted flowers, and happy kids running off to their classrooms with barely time to spare for telling me, "Bye, Ma! See you later alligator, after while crocodile!" They love it there. I love it there.

My Flowers

Ella spent the night with Grandmother last night and I heard that she woke up terribly excited about Breakfast with Mommy and the things she had made for me. She couldn't wait to show me the little book she made about all the reasons she loves her mom, complete with pictures she drew.

It humbled me to my core.

Sometimes I get so caught up in my to-do list, in the routine, in myself, that I forget to stop and appreciate them. Sometimes I'm just going through the motions trying to make sure their physical needs are met - food, drink, sleep, play - that I forget to enjoy the people that they are along the way.

I love them. I love them so much that I tell them "no" and "stop" and "be respectful" and "that's annoying" and "clean up the mess you just made". I love them so much that I acknowledge their anger and hurt feelings and complete, tantruming meltdowns when they don't like my answer, but I don't excuse them from the consequences. I love them so much that I spend too much time working to make sure they have clean clothes, clean teeth, clean bodies, clean dishes, clean rooms; I don't always spend enough time playing. I don't always spend enough time listening, or reading to them, or cuddling them.

And yet, they love me. They love me so much that they get really, really excited about having breakfast with me at school, and about the flower pots they painted with their thumbs, and about the book she made for me.

Ella's Book

It humbles me because the very things she listed as her reasons for loving me are the things that I always think I need to do better. They are more than I deserve.

Heavyweights

At any given time, there is a lot of pent up aggression and frustration in our house. That's to be expected, I assume, since we're in the business of toddler raisin', lawyerin', and just plain livin' in this ridiculous world. Ridiculous. (But that's a post for another day.)

Since we aren't just parents and professionals, since we are also humans, sometimes we lose our cool. Sometimes we lose it in a big way, and it feels good to dismiss that fruit called self-control (Galatians 5:22) for a few minutes and wail on a Little Tikes basketball goal. But only for a few minutes, because when the dust settles, all we are left with is a broken toe, an icky feeling, and a mess to clean up.

It was after one such incident that Dave and I were discussing punching bags and how we would love to have one for these moments when we just can't contain ourselves any longer. We said we would think about buying one. We thought we would both use it. I've wanted a punching bag since highschool, and now we actually have a place to put one. We thought maybe we should do it.

Then, the very next day, Dave came home after a very frustrating work day and started his recap with, "I just want to hit someone." Without a word, I grabbed my laptop and ordered a heavy bag and a pair of gloves. He said he didn't need gloves. I told him that I do. If he wants to walk around with busted knuckles, that's his business, but I do not. I do intend to wail on that thing.

I failed to order gloves for the kids, but I've since decided that they need a pair, too. I'm just giddy with the thought of interrupting a tantrum or a fight with, "Here are the gloves. Go to the basement!"

Actually, I probably need two pairs so they can both hit the bag at the same time. Yeah. Two pairs it is.

I can't wait until the next time Dave tells me he just wants to hit something: "Oh? Go to the basement."

I can't wait until the next time a kid yells "Ma!" thirty times in a row as I'm tripping over the dog and trying to talk on the phone. I'm going to send myself to the basement.

This might be a stroke of brillance in our lives.

Our new addition.

Also? According to the box it was shipped in, a 20 minute workout on a heavy bag burns 281 calories. That's a pretty sweet deal for beating the crap out of something.

For the Love of Sleep

I was flipping through the pictures in my phone and realized that 3 of the last 6 were of Luke sleeping. I like to take pictures of my sleeping children because that's when they look most like their baby-selves and because sometimes it's funny.

Then I started thinking that I've written so much on this blog about what a horrible sleeper Ella was until she was 3 and a 1/2 and about how sleep deprived I've been in general for the last {almost} five years. I decided I should write a post to say that IT REALLY DOES GET BETTER.

My second child, Super Fast, is so busy for all of his waking hours these days that he embraces sleep with nearly the same love that I have for it. He actually ASKS for nap or bed when he's sleepy. It's amazing and still a bit unbelievable. He also usually wakes up happy, or at least not screaming bloody murder like his sister did every time she woke up for the first 2 years of her life.

First Thing in the Morning
Yes, he has Dora sheets and he loves them.

He has started letting Dave put him to bed. He lets him stay in there with him while he falls asleep. Without me in the room. Ella was almost 4 before that was allowed. It's kind of liberating because it gives me a few minutes to myself or to snuggle with Ella, but I really love those bedtime cuddles so I'm not willingly handing over the bedtime job yet.

He's so serious about his sleep that I have always been able to scoop him out of the car or the couch or where ever he fell alseep and put him right to bed without waking him. I can even change his clothes. He recently continued his car nap in the buggy while we grocery shopped one busy Saturday. Granted, he did learn to roller skate that day, but how many kids wake up, get in the buggy, and go back to sleep? I know one big sister who NEVER would have done that.

Napping - ACTUAL NAPPING - in the Snot Rocket at Publix

He sleeps through the night often now, but even on the nights that he wakes up, sometimes he lets Dave help him back to sleep. This is new for us. Dave has never been able to help with the nighttime parenting. I think I might be able to count on three fingers the number of times he was able to get Ella back to sleep during the night. I'm pretty sure he helped Luke back to sleep three nights this week. I LOVE this part. LOVE love it. I'm at my parenting worst in the middle of the night.

Napping in Dad's hat with a sweet, self-drawn tribal tattoo.

He even puts himself to nap already. Not at home usually, but at school and at Grandmother's house. He just gets in bed and goes to sleep. I've seen him do it once and it boggled my mind. The afternoon after his surgery a few weeks ago, I was napping on the couch and he was flopping all over the furniture, trying to find a comfortable spot to nap, too. I told him to get in the chair or go to his bed. When I woke up an hour later, he was sleeping in the chair, all by himself.

Looking for a nap spot after surgery.

Sometimes the big sister will nap, if she just really cannot help it, and then it's usually an accident. However, she is willing to rest or play quietly in her room during nap time these days, so at least I get to nap when Luke does.

After a long day at the zoo, they both gave up.

And big sister? That sweet, sleepless, angry-waking baby that was born first so that I would humble myself and pray? She sleeps through the night now. She asks to go to bed eary when she's really tired. She COMES TO FIND ME AND ASKS ME TO TUCK HER IN SO SHE CAN SLEEP. I never, ever, ever thought that was going to happen.

I've Started a Worm Farm

It's technically a compost pile, but is that really much different than a worm farm? I can't get past the irony of a worm-hater like myself - I once tossed an entire fishing pole into the creek because the worm touched my leg - starting a compost pile.

But I did.

And it has big, fat, juicy worms in it already. I'm a bit horrified at the mixed feelings I have about this. On the one hand, worms. On the other, I know they are doing a job in there so I took care to make sure I covered them all back up when I turned the pile yesterday. WHO AM I?

A person who is about to trade the love of having her hands in the dirt for gloves, that's who. I can let them be to do their job, but I cannot abide accidentally touching one, so, gloves.

I also uncovered some fat grub-like things in the flower bed I planted. I'm not sure exactly what they were, and I'm not about to Google and risk having images of worms and grubs permanently seared into my corneas, but suffice it to say that if I were a warthog or a meerkat, it would have been a feast.

All this worm business is for yet another attempt at growing green things. Vegetables and flowers, and one citronella plant to scare the mosquitos away from the back porch. I'm trying to make the patio more hospitable.

Flowers in the Fire Ring

I'm hoping these flowers will fill up the entire ring in a few weeks. I know they have the potential to do that, I'm just not sure of their chances with me as the caretaker. And also, with the flower-eating deer herd that lives near our house.

Tomatos and Red and Green Bell Peppers

The tomatoes are in containers on the back porch for the sunlight, and also, to protect them from the deer - hopefully. But if a deer comes all the way onto the porch to eat them and I'm home to see it, I might count it as a fair trade. Ella won't. She still hasn't forgiven them for eating her sunflowers last year.

Okra and Zucchini

I decided to plant the rest of the vegetables in the bags of potting soil instead of tilling up our nice red clay back yard. I read that you can do this, so it's a real thing, but we'll see what happens. These are next to the fence in the other spot that looks like it stays sunny all day. I purposely put them where a camellia bush grows on the other side of the fence, hoping that the deer will eat the camellia instead of my plants. Do deer eat camellias?


Yellow Squash

I planted 3 tomato plants, 2 bell pepper plants, a yellow squash, a zucchini, an okra, a canteloupe, and a cucumber plant. If they survive the summer and bear fruit, I'll be ecstatic and start planning a more permanent garden area than two bags of dirt on the dirt for next year. Also, I'll have to learn how to make pickles, since homemade pickles are what got me into this worm-raising, dirt-digging, plant-caring business in the first place.

The Vomit Chronicles: Sometimes It's the Dog's Fault

Monday morning found us tired and dragging this week. Ella woke up with the barking cough, the pollen having finally caught up with her, so Mucinex and cough syrup and a cup of hot chocolate were in order. I got her fixed up and she finished her morning jobs while she waited on me to get Luke ready to go.

I dressed Luke and did my usual last minute running around, making sure we had Gigi Blanket and cups for everyone, and that all the rats had been brushed out of their hairs. Since I had told them several times that were about load up the car, they were both standing ready at the door.

Then I heard the gag.

My spidey sense perked up and Luke started to cry. He gagged again as I swooped and scooped him to the kitchen floor like the super hero that I play on TV. Because they are well-trained vomiters, he leaned over and puked on the floor, just missing his shoes. Bless him; I didn't even have to change his clothes.

When he was finished, I wiped his face and hands and asked him, "What happened? Do you have junk in your throat?" (That's what we call sinus drainage, of which we've all had plenty.) He shook his head and said, in his saddest voice, "Noooo. Someone poooooooped!"

Well, that explained it. Since we were all ready to walk out the door to load the car, and not one of us had pooped, it had to be the dog, who was also waiting to go out for her last potty of the morning. I said, "Did Georgia poot?" He nodded emphatically, "Yes!"

I cleaned up the vomit and we finally got on our way. I was late to work, of course, but it was okay because I texted my boss to let him know:

"Running a little late. The dog farted on Luke so he threw up as we were walking out the door and traffic sucks. Happy Monday."

By the time I got to the office, The Vomiting Ropers and Their Stinking Dog were infamous.

Our Little Wise One

Like the rest of us, Luke has an opinion about everything, but he has really developed is own brand of wisdom lately. It seems to be a bit of practicality mixed with observation and a dash of heart for good measure. I find it very amusing.

As we were riding around in the car last weekend, Ella told me that she had a red thing on her toe and it hurt. Before I could respond, Luke chimed in helpfully, "Oh, you just need-a bite it off." That's what he does when he has a hangnail, or any bit of finger or toenail really. He's a compulsive nail biter. I don't ever have to trim his nails.

At some point over the last few days, he explained this to me about my recent renaming: "Ma? That what a boy says. Ma." Then Ella followed with, "A girl says 'Mother'," in her very best Amber (from Sofia the First) impersonation.

As I was getting him out of the tub Monday night, he asked if he could bring his dinosaurs to bed with him. We gathered them up, dried them with the towel, and took them to his room. While I was getting his diaper, he informed me, knowledgably, "Dinosaurs don't wear biabers. They have tails." Too true.

When I unloaded him from the car after work one day, he told me he needed to tell me a secret. I expected a fake belch in my ear since that's the latest thing they do to amuse themselves, but instead he whispered, "Thank you God for Mommy; she's a sweet mommy. And thank you Jesus loves me. Amen." Be still my heart.

I'm so thankful for his kind, funny, little soul.

Ready.Set.Cure. 2013

Once again, we gathered with our family and friends to fight blood cancers at the Ready.Set.Cure. 5k organized by the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society - but this time it was in celebration of remission.

His first survivor shirt.

I only decided the day before to take Georgia, so she didn't have a Lymphoma Sucks shirt, but she did sport her lime green bandana to match. Ella and Luke were excited about that part, since Georgia doesn't often wear "clothes". Though I walked as fast as I could, I still think I was too slow for her. She's quite competitive; she wanted to run. During the race, I was thinking I should have sent her with Uncle Dale, but then she collapsed under the picnic table, after wading in the stream and having a bagel and a cup of water, and I remembered that she is nearly nine. Even if she thinks she can sprint a 5k, it's probably best that she doesn't.

Georgia and I at the end. 

We left the kiddos behind this time, since none of them are big enough to keep up but all of them are too big to push/pull the whole, hilly, 3.1 miles. Luke was the only one who cared about it. He has since informed me, over and over, that he is going to race next year. I believe him.

Jake, Ella, and Luke

It was a great time. We raced, we socialized, we took pictures, we ate doughnuts and bagels, and my Uncle Dale won his age bracket. 



Our Lymphoma Sucks crew.





What's in a name?

Luke: My mom said I could ride a motorcycle.
Me: Really? Who's your mom?
Luke: Gina.

Luke: My mom said I can play football.
Me: Oh? Who's your mom?
Luke: Gina.
Me: Well, who am I?
Luke: You're a little princess.

Luke: My mom said I can ride my horse.
Me: Who's your mom?
Luke: Gina.

I don't know who she is, but I'm starting to feel angry at Gina. A motorcycle?! She obviously has no regard for his safety or the safety of those around him.

I don't know where this "my mom said" thing came from either, but it's pretty cute. I like it better than when he walks through the house calling me, "Ma? Ma? Maaaa?" Dave thinks it's hilarious. I think I'm not raising him in a log cabin on the prarie so he needs to knock it off.

If "Ma" is all he's got to offer, I'd prefer he just call me Amanda - and sometimes he does.

Not-So-Perfect Life

Lest reading this blog leads anyone to believe that I have a perfect life (and I hope that's not the case because I try to be very honest), I decided to write a post dedicated to the not-so-perfect moments that happened this week. I was inpired by this article: Stop Instagramming Your Perfect Life.

But first, my philosophy: I believe in looking for the good in every person, place, and thing. I'm probably too optimistic. When you read optimism here, I hope you aren't mistakenly reading perfection, because it's not perfect. I'm not perfect.

Also? My measure of perfection might be very different than yours. That's why I gave up comparing myself and my life with everyone else a long time ago. I actually am very happy with my life, but that doesn't mean there aren't things that happen on a daily basis that I wish I had done better or that I wish I didn't have to deal with.

So, here are some not so perfect moments from the week.

~ First thing Monday morning, Luke ran up to Ella to tell her excitedly about his new movie and she reared up from the couch like a beast and screamed, three inches from his face, "Noooooooooo!" It broke my heart for him (he was less affected) and it made me mad at her. All day. We are trying hard to help them facilitate a good relationship with each other, but moments like this make me feel helpless and worried. Also, her general attitude lately has been very negative - that's not necessarily new for her, but it does start to wear on me sometimes, especially when other things happen that exacerbate it.

~ It makes me absolutely nuts to get dressed in my nice clothes and have a kid wipe snot or tears or food on me before I leave for work. NUTS. There were a few mornings this week when I thought Luke was on a personal mission to do just that. Then it makes me feel even worse when I jump away from him to avoid the mess. 

~ Work is making me crazy. I'm out of my comfort zone, working on a product that I'm learning as I go, and not a single day this week has gone the way I thought it would when I got to the office in the morning. I still have not done the thing that was on the top of my list on Monday - and I'm procrastinating right now to avoid it just a little longer. I have been busy, just not busy doing what I thought I would be doing, and it's been that way for weeks.

~ I had a very enlightening conversation with Dave this week in which he pointed out my stubborn refusal to listen to him about a particular topic. It sucked when I realized how unfair I had been.

~ I'm in the middle of a body crisis. It has nothing to do with what anyone else looks like, but everything to do with how my clothes keep getting smaller. And gravity. And the absolute hideousness that is shopping for dress pants or cute shoes. Ugh.

That's enough, I think. Here's to the weekend!

Time flies and all that...

I registered Ella for kindergarten this morning.

I can't say I was unprepared for this day because I was not unprepared. Just ask Dave; he picked up the blue form from the pediatrician's office a month ago and watched it hang on the fridge for three weeks before he finally asked me the actual date for kindergarten registration. I've been prepared.

I knew it was coming. She's 4.75 years old. She turns 5 on June 25th. She's planning a ballerina birthday party, though she has until April 15th to change her mind on the theme.

I have some misgivings, mostly about how to change our morning routine and what to do about the full-time school week and extracurricular activities, but she's even reassured me about those things. She has decided to quit gymnastics after the spring session is finished; that will remove one of her extracurricular activities. Over the weekend, she asked me when she can have her own alarm clock; that partially answers my other uncertainty.

Mostly, I'm excited for her. Really excited, because she is going to love kindergarten. She is definitely ready - in all kinds of ways. And so am I, really.

But sometimes - sometimes, I have to flip through the pictures, re-read the blog posts, and remember when she was like this.

When she fit into the Johnny Jump.

When clapping was new.

When she still had to hold on to stand.

When her hair was barely long enough for a ponytail.

Because it's bittersweet - the passage of time, the business of life, the mothering and fathering of children. It's bittersweet.