welcome to the dark side

Dinner conversations, car rides, appointments with home teachers all revolve around one topic: Star Wars.

Despite the excitement of Star Wars, I was concerned that perhaps my two-year-old padawan had been introduced to the ways of the force prematurely.  When Colton began reenacting deadly Sith Lord shocks on innocent strangers at the grocery store, I knew that his somewhat violent-free-innocence had been robbed by those 12+ hours of Jedi watching joy.

I felt kind of guilty about his young exposure to light sabers and hand suffocation routines.
I felt guilty until Colton repeated two magical words, "Yes Master."

"Colton, please make your bed."
"Yes Master."

"Colton, please get dressed."
 "Yes Master."

"Colton, please stop picking your nose."
"Yes Master."

With a response like that, I wish I had introduced Colton to Star Wars years ago.  The additional parental force in my home more than compensates for the Darth Vadar capes and multiple light sabers hanging from his pants.  And in the end, Colton can radiate pseudo-shock waves in my direction until his face shrivels up.  Go for it, kid.  I am the master of this all-boy-house and I have waited six years for someone to acknowledge my powers.  

Welcome to the dark side.

goodbye to the birds

I find it hard to believe that I am carrying a girl child.
Me.
Mrs. Mother-to-three-boys is about to add a little pink to her life.

I am going to have a girl!

During the ultra-sound, I was in complete shock.  I am very familiar with little boy ultrasounds... little girl?  Not so much.  Despite the evidence, I am still struggling to believe that a penis won't magically appear in the next four to twenty-four weeks.

Our current house has three bedrooms (including the master bedroom) upstairs and two downstairs.  The boys are obviously not willing to move downstairs because that is "where all the spiders live."  Little baby girl will not be sleeping downstairs either.  So... all three boys will be sharing a room.  Together.  I hope I survive.

I am pretty sure that it will take five months (or more) to tame the spontaneous mid-night parties.  The transition began this week with hope that the excitement will retire before another set of lungs joins the family.

Bed moving, picture hanging, and rearranging the room has sparked the need to nest.  Because... I need to nest... and I need to nest right now.  Nesting is a nine month disease for me.

Insert bird pictures here:

I painted these bird pictures for Caleb when he was in my stomach once upon a time.  The birds were hung above the crib and then retired to the basement when the crib evaporated for a couple of months.

The canvas pictures are cute and Caleb still loves his birds... but they are not macho.  They do not scream big soon-to-be-five-year-old boy with the little bows and the triangle beaks.  The bedroom belonging to the three musketeers needs something a little bit more masculine.

And let's be honest... the pictures are not "pink" enough for my little girl.

Thanks to Mormon Mommy Blogs, one hour photo services by Costco, and a thin layer of mod podge - the birds are now playing an eternal game of hide-n-go-seek.  Transformed to perfect... in my opinion.

And I think they look nice above his slightly chewed on bunk bed and ikea-spice-rack transformed bookshelf.  Hopefully they add a little class to the all-boy-bedroom.

Okay... let's be honest.  The pictures look better without the chewed on bunk bed.  Teething makes kids to crazy things like gnaw on a bunk bed and scream their lungs out at two in the morning.

Love!
Nesting project number twelve complete with a billion and five more to go.

"CJ Face Farts" written by Conner

I am pretty sure that Mrs. First Grade Teacher could blackmail me with the interesting facts Conner shares in his journal writing activities.

And just in case you are wondering, Conner's words are legit. CJ is a farting ninja specialized in roundhouse aroma kicks to my face each and every time I lift his rear end towards the ceiling (closer to my face) to change his diaper.  I don't know whether to be proud of his ability to fart on command or completely disgusted by his continued prank.

CJ thinks it is hilarious.
I have never been more motivated to potty train my child.  

Consider yourself warned... farting superpowers like this are destined to change the world.
And when they do, we will all tag blame upon the father that trained the aromatic ninja.

professional nose picker for hire...

free estimates available upon request.

Multi-talented, this kid can get the job done day or night.  He does his best work in his sleep.
If nose picking was an Olympic sport, this kid would be a gold medalist.

thanks be to grandma gwen... i am having a baby girl!!

Liver cancer was taking her.
It was evident.


Grandma Gwen had fought the fight bravely and now it was her time to rest.  Lying in her hospice bed in the middle of her room she held on tight.  In and out of consciousness, loving hands were there to comfort and hold when she was awake.

During one of her "awake" periods, I pulled a chair next to her bed, with a gigantic favor in mind.



"Grandma,"  I said, "I need your help."

"Okay," grandma replied hesitantly, her eyes half open searching the room for my face.

"Grandma, I am exhausted by my three delicious boys.  The energy, the noise, the farts.  I desperately want another baby... but I am scared.  Four boys might be too much for me."

Looking at the ceiling, she forged a smile.

"I need you grandma, when you get to heaven, to find a cute little baby girl for me.  A baby girl that will listen to my every request, obey, and be a perfect angel.... do you think you could do that for me?"

Grandma turned her head to look at me.  I clearly had her undivided attention.

"Well, hell, Angie... how I am supposed to do that?"  Grandma half-whispered in response.


Clearly, not the response I was looking for.


"So... does that mean you won't find me a baby girl?"  I asked hesitantly, "because grandma, I need you.  I really need your help!" 

With a large smile on her face, grandma's eyes closed while streams of unconsciousness surrounded her once again.


One year later... I am pregnant.
With a girl.
Thank you Grandma Gwen...  I think.

Grandma Gwen is a party animal, a prankster.  She might have found me a girl, but she would never ever send me one that would obey my every command.  No.  Grandma Gwen would take her time to find a wild little girl for me.  One that would provide more of a challenge than the three boys combined.  Bring it on!

So thanks be to Grandma Gwen because the all boy house is about to become slightly more rowdy with the addition of a little girl and a whole lot of pink.

the i-love-you walkie talkie hand

Caleb is my completely affectionate I-want-everyone-to-know-that-I-love-you boy.
His greatest fear is that I will forget that he loves me.

He really really worries about it... and sometimes it is hard for him to fall asleep at night because of his insecurity.  Despite the millions of times he has whispered my three favorite words, he still gets up in the middle of the night to remind me.

I love it.
But this boy really needs to get some sleep.

One night Caleb was really tired and really worried that I would forget his love.  Despite my hugs and kisses and words of reassurance, he was still scared.  So - I did what any mom would do.  I shared with Caleb the legend of the mommy-child walkie talkie connection.  

The legend tells of mommy who really wanted to tell her son at school that she loved him.  Because the little boy was not at home, the mommy decided to use the secret mommy-child walkie talkie.  Placing the palm of her hand against her mouth, she whispered words of love.  Sealed with a kiss, the secret message traveled the world on waves of mommy-son-super-hero-connections and sat waiting for the little boy on the palm of his hand.  When the boy placed the palm of his hand on his ear, mommy words of adoration entered his ear with a loving warmth... like a hug.  Although the two of them were far apart, their secret walkie talkies allowed them to remind one another of their love.

The story ended with Caleb's palm being pressed against my lips for words of love and a kiss.  And my palms being pressed against his.  We have since discovered that our invisible-super-hero-walkie-talkies are even more super when we whisper I love you in one anothers hand.

Caleb no longer gets out of bed a million times each night.
And I receive a lot of palm kisses and secret walkie talkie messages when he is away at preschool.

The I-love-you walkie talkie hand is by far the best invention yet.
I am truly humbled by how deeply this child loves me.

Motherhood is a daily creative challenge... and I love it. 

mr. secret passage

Photo taken by Utah Valley Weddings

It is always a good idea to arrive somewhere ten minutes early with Caleb.
Otherwise known as Mr. Secret Passage.

Speech therapy, preschool, grocery store trips, and visits to the community rec center -  there is a secret passage to waiting to be found.  Stomping through fresh snow, wandering behind trees, entering buildings through different doors, finding a new sets of stairs, and even walking backwards makes life so much more enjoyable and entertaining.

There is always a new secret passage in life to enjoy... and Caleb is determined to find them all.

the breakfast saint

Weighing in at 39 pounds in his size 4T pants, little two-year-old CJ loves his food.
Breakfast, lunch, dinner and everything in between - he loves them all.
When his fist is crammed full with something delicious.... he is his happiest self.

Despite the constant stream of food entering his mouth, CJ has been experiencing a little breakfast anxiety.
The sun may rise each and every day.... but will there be food to eat?
To which the answer (thanks to our endless supply of cereal and frozen bread in the freezer) is always "Yes."

Yes.
There will be breakfast tomorrow.
I promise.

Reassurance is needed before he climbs into his bed each and every night.
He needs (not wants) to see his green cereal bowl waiting for him at the kitchen table.
In his favorite breakfast spot with his chair waiting. 

"Wake up... eat breakfast?"
He asks over and over and over again.
Yes child, I will feed you when you wake up... just like I do each and every morning.

Breakfast confidence has yet to appear.
His pleads for breakfast now occur each and every night with the Lord during his nightly prayer.
He wants his breakfast and he wants it blessed and he wants it right now.

CJ is the true breakfast saint.
Nightly developing his faith in shiny bowls of grapenut joy.
His faith has been tried and tested.

I am so proud.


{this post was interrupted multiple times with little knocks on my door and an anxious heart.
"wake up... eat breakfast?"  Yes.  Yes we will.}

axillary flatulence

image source

During recess, Conner was introduced to a whole new world of fart noises.
Arm pits make farts.
So cool. 

Conner came home from school happy.
Excited, energetic, and anxious for his chance to "cut the cheese" with something other than his rectum.

I couldn't get him to settle down.
I couldn't get him to focus on his homework.
What else matters in a world that now offers arm pit farts?

Like any good mom, I started offering bribes I knew he couldn't resist.
Completed homework deserves an extensive arm pit fart tutorial... right?

I thought it was a great idea.
And so did Conner.
He focused on his homework and had it done in record time.

The only problem?
I have no idea how to properly perform an arm pit fart.

So, we started checking ehow, youtube, and pinterest.
His shirt came flying off and we began practicing.
Cupped hands, dry and clean, placed under the arm pit... how hard can it be?

I am here to tell you that it is hard.
Very hard.

Disappointment saturated the air with each unsuccessful attempt of axillary flatulence.
Insert motherly failure here.
Because "cool moms" know how to rip one in their arm pit...

We are still practicing.
But I learned a very important lesson.

Never ever ever make arm pit promises to little boys.... Period.
But for now?
Conner's modified goal is to keep calm and fart.

And I am totally okay with that.

tree of life

I try to read scriptures with my kids every day.
At times it works....most of the time it doesn't.
We are working on it.

Sometimes I get angry and frustrated.
Sometimes when things are not working out, I quietly read to myself.
And sometimes I get smart and allow the kids to draw pictures of the stories while I read.

Enter 1st Nephi chapter 8 in the Book of Mormon.
Lehi's vision of the tree of life.
I love this chapter.

I thought Conner did an awesome job depicting the tree of life (in yellow) and Lehi standing next to it.  The rod of iron and spacious building are awesome and the arrows are helpful illustrations of the individuals who chose to leave the pursuit of God's happiness for sinful comforts.

Notice the crazy hair dude.
According to Conner this dude definitely belongs in the great and spacious building.

Colton.
Well, at least he didn't eat the crayons.
And the shaded imprints of money can be a helpful illustration??

Which leaves me with Caleb's version.
Caleb was very dedicated to this picture... but I think he might have stopped listening after a couple of minutes.

The tree is pink in the center of the page with a purple Lehi standing next to it.  If you look closely, Lehi is swinging an axe at the tree of life while standing in a boat in the middle of the river.  The black dude standing on the other side of the tree is Satan carrying his own axe.  The rod of iron extends over both of their heads and connects to the green great and spacious building... a building that looks very similar to Caleb's depiction of a rocket ship. 

I asked Caleb why Lehi would want to cut down the tree of life.  The tree - after all - bears fruit that has the power to make one's soul and heart exceedingly happy.  Caleb proceeded to tell/teach me that Lehi was chopping the tree of life down so that he could carry it to all of his family and friends.  Why would Lehi stand there, watching, and waiting for everyone to arrive?  No.  In Caleb's opinion, Lehi wouldn't stand still.  He would cut the tree and carry it with him to share with all of his family and friends... because no one deserves to be without the joy God's love has to offer.

And isn't that what Lehi essentially did when he took the time to share his words with the world??  He might not have cut down the tree per se, but he shared the power of God's love.  His words always leave me hungry for more.

On second thought, I think Caleb was listening to the words of the story more than I was.

I think we may draw scripture pictures more often.
I am excited to witness Caleb's depictions of future scenes.

wedgie school

"Hey look Mom!  I am giving myself a wedgie!"  Conner says in between giggles, his hands pulling against the collar of his shirt.

"No, your not." I eloquently reply.

"Yes mom.  This is a wedgie."  Conner replies, his hands pulling harder against his shirt.

"No, it is not."  I say.

"Yes mom, it is."  He replies. 
With less than seven years until teenager-hood, he already doesn't believe a word that comes out of my mouth.

"No, it is not.  Come over here."  I say. 
There are some fact in life that are too important to miss. 
Details that everyone... even my six-year-old must understand. 
And, as his mother, I fully accept the responsibility to ensure that he is familiar with such essential details. 

Turning him around, I reach for his underwear and pull towards the heavens.
Giving a wedgie to someone never felt so good.

Giggles explode from around the room.
The audience of Caleb and Colton are thoroughly entertained and delighted.
Cheers explode with a chorus of "do that again mom!"
I am so cool.

"Mom!  Wedgies are so cool!"  Conner exclaims as he turns around to face me.
Making a quick dash, he reaches for my underwear hidden beneath my pants as my body moves to block him.

"Let me give you one!  I want to give someone a wedgie so bad!!"  He says.

His brothers all agree.
Tackling me from all angles, they reach and push and shove.
In the end, I remained wedgie free.
Hallelujah.

"Hold on!"  I said in a slightly raised tone.
"Wedgies are not nice.  They can really hurt people and thy are not to be given to anyone."

"But mom!  Who can we give a wedgie to?"  Conner asks desperately.

"Dad.  You can give Dad all the wedgies you want."  I say.
"No you can not!"  Nate rebuttals from the room next door.
I had no idea he was listening.

"Well, if we can't give one to dad... who can we give one to?"  Conner asks anxiously.

"Mickey,"  I say, "you can give all the wedgies you want to your stuffed animal mickey."
Sometimes I am so smart.

So the boys dashed for their rooms, shoved underwear over the legs of their stuffed animals, and spent the remainder of the day wedgie-ing away because wedgie school with mom is cool... very cool.


Next item to discuss.... swirlies.
I think I'll leave that one up to Nate.

motherhood genre

{ lunch at school with friends }

When I became a mother seven years ago, I wanted to be that mother that does it all.  I now know that I will never be that mother... and I don't want to be.  I don't want to pretend that I can do it all and be it all. 

Ultimately, no amount of sewing or running or writing or facebooking or pop-tart-baking or house cleaning will magically create perfected parents.  If they did, homemade pop-tarts would be caramelizing in my oven this very second.
 
Maybe, just maybe,... the essential challenge of motherhood and life is the lesson learned when facades and faulty images are set aside.  When we take a deep breathe and embrace our individual genre.  Fully, completely, and honestly at all times, in all things, and in all places.

My motherhood genre consists of school lunch dates with my charming first grader, reading time with kids, exploring childhood interests, dinner time as a family, and lots of kisses.  Neuroscience facts and potty jokes and arm-pit-fart-bribes saturate my home.  Yoga, writing, and date nights are priorities because they make me happy.

My life is far from the facebook-projected-perfected-life and I love it.  I love my life, it liberates me to love and laugh and live in a way that is completely and honestly me.

My genre is perfect for me.... what about you and your genre?