Raspberry Toast with Cinnamon

"I would like toast with butter, jam, and cinnamon."  Conner said, his morning hair molded to the side of his head.

"Toast with butter and jam and cinnamon?"  I asked.

"Yeah.  I love cinnamon with jam."

The toaster oven dinged and I begin the process of buttering and jamming toast for everyone.  With the cinnamon shaker in hand, I looked to Conner.  "Are you sure?"

"Yes.  I am sure."  He said, his voice very annoyed.

"Okay."  I sprinkled the cinnamon on the raspberry jam.

"More cinnamon mom,"  he asked after the light dusting across his toast.

Tipped upside down, cinnamon fell from the shaker.

"Perfect!"

The toast disappears in less than ten seconds, cinnamon and jam stamped across the sides of his face.  "Can I have some more please?"  Conner asked.

"Sure."

I dumped large quantities of cinnamon onto his jammed-up-toast.  Conner smiled.  "Thanks mom, this is the best breakfast ever."  He jumped down from the counter to find his shoes for school.


Among the hustle and bustle of the day, I forget that my kids are growing up.  Their small hands are growing inch by inch along with their opinions and goals.  I can learn to honor them... even if that means dipping apples in ketchup and sprinkling cinnamon on raspberry toast.

how to make fresh, crisp apples - by caleb

"I want some fresh, crisp apples,"  Caleb said, jumping up and down.

"Fresh, crisp apples?"  I asked while wiping my soapy dishwater hands on a towel.

"Yes! Yes!  Yes!"

I opened the refrigerator door, pulled out an apple, washed it, and begin slicing.

"No Mom!  I don't want that apple.  I want a fresh, crisp apple."  Caleb's face is upturned in severe disappointment.

"Okay, well that is what I thought I was doing."  Frustration boils.  Whatever happened to those magic words that make mom happy?

"No.  That is an apple.  I want a fresh, crisp apple."

"Well, shoot, teach me the difference."

"First you cut the apple up."

"Okay," my hands rocked back and forth on the back of the knife slicing through another apple.

"Then you put it in a bag,"  Caleb opened the cupboard to remove a zip lock.

"Okay?"

"Set it on the counter and leave it over night.  I will eat it for breakfast tomorrow."  His fingers reached for the sliced apple and stuffed the triangles of fruit into his bag.  Pushing the bag to the side of the counter, his body hopped down from the stool as he ran off to play.

Hours later, Nate walked in the door and spots the apple.  Without a second thought, he dives right in.  Among the "fresh" fruit crunching, my hands quickly cut up another apple to shove into that darn plastic bag.  Freshness varies and if Caleb is eager to eat those plastic marinated apple chunks, I will store them on the counter happily.  

As for me and myself?
I prefer my apples fresh, without the browning 24-hour plastic bag containment period of time.
Cut them and serve them is what I always say.

when the definition of "loner" changes...

The sauna is hot and calming to my frazzled-mama-of-three-boys nerves.  The pool was cold and the boys were busy when Nate-the-stud suggested I take a minute to warm up in the sauna.

Enter three twelve year-old girls.

Discussions about fatness on their tiny twigged pre-pubescent bodies make me laugh.
Parental trauma make me question what my kids will one day say about me.
And let's just say that the girl inside my stomach will not be allowed to date until she is thirty.... maybe forty.


"Are we... like bugging you?"  The super, skinny, "fat" girl asked.

"No, not at all."  My eyes opened as my head moved away from the nice warm wall it had been resting on.

"Its just that... you are all alone."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah... like a loner.  I feel bad for you."


Apparently the definition of the word loner changes with age.  Being one hundred percent responsible for 3.5 kiddos, thirty-six billion hours a day alters my definition of solitude.  Activities such as bubble baths, hot showers, sleeping, and potty breaks are no longer enjoyed privately.  Eyes and questions and conversations constantly bubble around me all the time.  

"You're sweet,"  I said standing to leave, "but I need to go and find my family now."  The sauna door slammed behind me as I walked away from my golden loner moment.  One day their definition of loner will change too.  Loner-ness will transform from bad to good and then we will sit in the sauna together.  Completely relaxed in the hot, glorious loner moments that could never come often enough.

A New Kind of Hero...

Father and son sat on the toilet for three hours with two quarts of apple juice and Angry Birds.  The time stretched on and when all hope was almost lost, a stream of yellow-ness began to flow.  Cheers filled the air as dad stood to stretch his legs.  Potty training is hard work.

With pants around his ankles, pride encircled two year-old CJ.
He had finally used the potty like his big brothers.

Selecting from a basket of prizes, his hands eagerly reached for Doctor Doom - the Super Hero Squad bad guy.  Gingerly folding Doctor Doom in his arms, CJ embraced his pee-pee toy.

"I love you Doctor Doom and I will never ever let you go," his lips pressed against the plastic figurine face again and again.

Tucked into bed with his villainous friend, CJ slept through the night with a smile stamped across his face.  Despite all the terrible things he has done, Doctor Doom quickly became my super hero last night.  Anyone - and I mean anyone - capable of motivating my uninterested two year-old to ditch the diapers and flush is a "big shot" worth celebrating.

just kill the pig already... i want a hot dog

"Mom, I wish they would kill Wilbur already."  Caleb says in the middle of our night time Charlotte's Web read.

"Yeah... why is that?"  I ask.

"I want a hot dog."

"And so... you want them to kill Wilbur so you can eat him for lunch tomorrow?"

"Yes, I like hot dogs."


Tomorrow morning, we will return the book to the library and visit the grocery store for a package of hot dogs.  I guess the whole save-the-pig-eat-veggies message surpassed my kid. What I wouldn't give for an all-veggie-hot-dog right now...

Holy Smokes, I'm gonna be a Grandma!

"Mom, come kiss my baby."  Colton says, his shirt lifted.

"Colton, do you have something to tell me?"  I ask.

"Baby Heat Wave is in my stomach.  Come kiss him Mom."

My lips lean forward to kiss his tummy, gently.


Holy smokes, I'm gonna be a grandma!

"Chess-t" Club

"Mom!  Come play Chess-t with me."  Caleb says while bouncing from one foot to the next.

Chess-t club, our new favorite afternoon activity, is not at all like it sounds.

Knights move like an L, bishops diagonal. and castles migrate straight.
The rules of the game are easy... but the name?

Yeah... not so much.

"You mean Chess?  Say it with me, Chessssssssss."  I repeat over and over again.

Still not getting it.

Chess is now outlawed with the word fork.
Waiting for the day when our tongues are slightly more talented.

Perhaps there is a reason chess is considered to be a matured-grown-up-persons game??
The rules are fine, but the name?  Come on!
Clearly the creator of the game (and the fork) did not have a house full of little boys that struggle to say the word underwear correctly....

Castle club?
Anyone??

why we will never own a sand box...

When a large pile of landscaping dirt is dumped in our drive way, it is not enough to simply dig in it.
We need to mash it in between our toes, stuff it in our mouth, and cram it down our shirts.
The true fun of dirt is ensuring that every crevice of your body is encrusted with it when the day is done.

And I mean every crevice...

"Mom, I need to feed myself"

"Mom, I need to feed myself,"  Colton says while moving the bar stool across the kitchen floor.
With two big brothers, survival of the fittest is a very serious game.

Two things in life life are absolutely certain.
Number One:  Do not mess with Texas,
Number Two:  Do not mess with Colton when his stomach is a-growlin'.

Rules about standing on stools?
They evaporate out the window when hunger calls.

Entertainment?
Star Wars books on the bar stool in front of the pantry provide hours of intellectual education.

Colton has become the easiest-of-all-children to locate.
There is 110% probability he's hanging out in front of the pantry....right now.

Unfailing Love...

I am profoundly grateful for a Savior that loved me enough to die for me.
His atoning sacrifice provides continual strength that never falters. 

His unconditional love reminds me that I am lovable just the way I am.  And although life at times may be down right challenging, I am grateful for the arms that lift me and carry me.

I am grateful for the individuals that surround me and remind me to lean into the Savior.
To hold on Him and trust in His plan for me.


His love is unfailing... and I am forever grateful.

bowling dates

Spring break is better than chocolate.  Having all three kids home 24 hours a day for seven straight days is absolute bliss.  Summer vacation, you can not come soon enough.

Originally, we had planned to venture south with a tent and some sleeping bags and trail mix.  But when an awesome chiropractic job dropped into our laps, we rearranged our plans for a very much needed at-home-vacation.

Family room camp outs with sleeping bags, ice cream,  slap jack, poop soup, and swimming have made the week fantastic.  But that is not what this post is about.  This post is about bowling balls and little boys and afternoon dates at BYU.

Conner volunteered to be the photographer while I avoided the collision of bowling balls on my feet.  Because when eight pounds of bowling ball land on your toes, it hurts.  Period.

Baby CJ rocked the game with 105 points with Conner and Caleb following close behind.



The hardest thing about leaving the bowling alley?
Giving the ultra cool bowling shoes back.
Walmart, you should seriously consider selling toddler sized bowling shoes.
We would be your customers for life.




Bowling dates with my three little misters are the best.  Hands down.
And yes - this is my first bowling excursion with all three boys. 
Why did I wait seven years?

poop soup

"This poop soup tastes amazing mom!"  Caleb says, his shovel scooping large amounts of muddy water mixed with sticks and dead leaves and dandelions towards his face.

Sometimes... I choose to ignore the things my kids say.   
What mama don't know don't hurt.

And sometimes I let them eat muddy water, but never before dinner.
Poop soup is the fastest and surest way to destroy your appetite.

I am hanging up my hat as the family chef.
Rich in fiber, iron, and antioxidants, poop soup is totally on the menu baby.