09.14.2013 -- Forget Me Not

Things I don't want to forget:

Gabe, upon hearing about laser eye surgery, "Mom, does that mean that they are going to get LASER eyes???"

Gabe: "Mom, I love science. I'm going to be a space scientist when I grow up. You should have named me Bill Nye when I was born, so you could call me 'Bill Nye the Science Guy!'"

The way Charlie uses Y for other consonants.  "Mom, I yike you." "Mom, I yike my yooter."

The way Lucy is so independent and determined, but still loves to sleep in our bed.

Tickling the kids and hearing them laugh.

Seeing the sense of accomplishment on the kids' faces when they've finished a project that they thought was beyond them like cleaning up the basement to earn a movie night or an afternoon playing with friends.

Charlie deciding to potty train by himself, forsaking all stools, climbing up on the toilet by himself (but only when it's truly his idea).

Lucy and Gabe playing spies, telling me, "In the game, mom, you're a person who has no place to live and we just let you stay here for a while."

Charlie thinking its hilarious that I hate him shoving his fingers up my nose.

Gabe finally switching vocabulary from "goodest" to best.  (This week.)

 

09.15.2013 -- Owning Weird

Last night I witnessed something normal.  An a cute teenage girl complaining that she has "the weirdest brothers on the planet."  Weird because they like theater, weird because they have "no common sense, no street smarts."

I was uncomfortable then. I tried to point out the hyperbole of her statement indirectly by saying something like "Yep, they're the weirdest on the planet."   Sarcasm.

Now it's the morning after and my brain won't let go of it.  I want to explain to this young lady what bothers me so much about what happened last night.  Calling someone weird is hardly terrible, at least it happens. A lot. 

Even before the name calling last night (call it as I see it), I was thinking about weirdness and fitting in after reading this blog post yesterday afternoon. 

It won't surprise many people to hear that I have been called weird for as long as I can remember. One of my earliest memories happens at a playground where some kid asked me if I was a boy or a girl. I was a tomboy. I hated dresses, idolized my big brother, and had just been "shorn" of my long ponytails because my mom couldn't get lice out of my long hair. I had my ears pierced, but few other clues pointed me out as a girl.

Teachers (well, okay--one teacher) called me weird in junior high, but she also said I was cute. Friends called me eccentric in college, I've been called crazy, daring, and courageous for my unconventional choices.  

What I want to tell that young lady is this:

Calling people weird is hurtful.  It doesn't help anyone or anything.  When you call people weird, I find myself thinking, "So ...what? Does everyone have to be just like you to be okay?"  The thing about judging other people is that we are all at risk.  From the President of the United States of America to the most highly paid popstar to Nobel Laureates and über successful super nerds.  None of us has a way of escaping  the critical eye of some other human being who feels like taking someone down a notch.  

Nerd. Weird. Slut. Faggot. Bitch. Redneck. Anorexic. Slob. Anal. Stuck up. Geek.  Fat. Loser. Freak. Self absorbed. Stupid. Jerk. Airhead. Obsessed. Hippy. Prude. Whore. Feminist.  Chauvinist. Clueless. Fake. Douchebag. Druggie.

Anyone who doesn't conform is subject to being judged and labeled.

Why do we do it?  Insecurity? Is it a way we cope with our differences that soothes the fear in us that we may not measure up? Psychologists used to think it was insecurity.  The conventional wisdom now is that "bullies usually have a sense of entitlement and superiority over others, and lack compassion, impulse control and social skills."

What's really wrong with giving people a label, though?  Is it really so wrong?

Columbine. 
Ted Kazinski, the Unabomber.

Labeling people or excluding people is not a positive thing.

There are alternatives. 
Really.  There are alternatives.  If someone is different than you and bugs you, you don't have to say that they're weird.  You can just smile and nod and do your own thing.  Be civil.  Better than that, we can act with compassion.

09.02.2013 -- All Thumbs

I don't think I've ever written up an actual full length post about Lake Powell.   That's probably because when we get home, we're all scrambling to get everything put away and in order so we can get into real life again.

This time, I'm thumb typing it into my phone as we drive toward Cedar City.  We are driving through a heavy duty rain storm, and a bolt of lightning just cracked directly over the truck--light and noise together.

http://www.ksl.com/?sid=26698787&section=featured-story

I can't go through this area without feeling drawn to it. I really grew to love southern Utah when I went to school here.  It's not that I don't appreciate other landscapes.  I just have a soft spot in my heart for these wide sage and juniper dusted valleys.  I especially love the fall and spring, when yellow blooms accent the waves of green.  (It must have been all the walks and bike rides.  I have a similar soft spot for Logan...)

We had rain while we were at the lake, too, but were never out in anything more than a light sprinkle.

Besides talking about weather, what do people say when they write about a trip to Lake Powell?

This was our first trip solo as a family of five. I have to admit that I was a bit nervous heading out.  Let's be honest, though. I'm nervous before any trip. Period.

It turned out great.  We spent a good amount of time out boating with a new toy piece of equipment that Brian picked up: a ski trainer.   I wasn't skeptical, but it would sound right for me to write here that I was "skeptical at first, but that the gadget won me over."  That's how it goes, right?   It was great to have something for the kids to do besides tube.

The ski trainer is like an inflatable child-sized jet ski with built in skis.  The only part of the skis that are visible are the open bindings that kids put their feet in.  There is a ripe attached to the front if the trainer which goes toward the boat, and there is a much shorter handle placed
perfectly for kids to get used to holding the handle while waterskiing.

Lucy and Gabe were all over it. One afternoon when Gabe and Charlie had both fallen asleep, Lucy skied until her muscles got too sore.  Brian has a knack for finding and acquiring  toys pieces of equipment that are just right.

So the kids had all the fun this trip. Not having another adult spotter, we just let them do all the riding behind the boat this time.  Brian and I did get some swimming in, though.

Our last night on the boat was sort of one of those made for TV moments where a little sentimental music and closeups of me and Brian exchanging proud looks--as we notice the kids' bravery and hear the funny things they say--would've been perfect.

Charlie wasn't as excited about the water this trip as Gabe and Lucy were. I kept reminding them that he's only two years old, but they were still VeRY disappointed when he didn't want to go down the water slide alone. He did swim with all of us on the last night, though. I personally, think it took him several days to get over having to wear a life jacket.  I think that his refusal to swim was mostly on principle.

08.26.2013 -- For Good

Today is hard.

We have been operating under the assumption that both Gabe and Lucy would be heading to school this week.  However, Gabe doesn't start yet.  Who do you think was more disappointed this morning--Gabe or me?  Heaven only knows.

I'm not a big planner.  When I actually do get a plan in place and it falls through, well.  I tend to...  mope.  So there's that.

And I got really, truly, incredibly sad news today.  My friend died.  And although David died only once, I find myself mourning twice for him.  Once as a friend and once as my dear friend's husband.  They have a family full of adorable small children and are just the best people on the planet.  He was young, friends.

This may be a strange memory to keep, but perhaps my most potent memory of David will forever be his telling a joke about a man who is trying to get into his car in the middle of the night in the bitter cold.  He's in this packed parking lot...  He's freezing cold...  He tries his key in the lock and, just as he thought, the lock is frozen.  He looks around and, seeing no one else around, he thinks out of the box to solve his problem.  All of a sudden, he gets a tap on his shoulder and is surprised by a stranger.

The punch line (and joke) were in French and there is really no comparison to David's perfect delivery on this...  "Ahem...  Vous êtes entrain d'uriner sur ma voiture."

There it is.  My favorite memory of David.  He was a funny, funny, funny person, with an artist's eye, and the most impeccable taste in women.  (His wife, Amy, is amazing.)

I do believe in angels. So I imagine him being out of pain and constantly near his loved ones now.   That's not a bad thought, but I imagine losing my husband...  and that just... crushes me.   I think about his kids not having him around...  and that makes me weep.

There's nothing to do though, is there?
Seconds pass and turn into years, and people come and go.
Accidents take them.
Illness.
Cancer.                  

No matter how much we think we need them.

08.22.2013 -- Hap Hap Hap Happy Birthday

Yesterday, we celebrated the birthday of our Lucy. This picture was taken in the middle of her party.  The bunny appeared when the magician put a balloon through a cage, promising to turn it into a butterfly (a very hairy butterfly).   The dove also came from a balloon.  (Balloon animals, anyone?)

Love this girl.

What did she ask for for her birthday?  A rock tumbler.  She was also very, very, very excited about the box of rocks that she got.  (No sarcasm here, folks.)  Looks like somebody inherited a funny thing for rocks from her mommy. 
                                               What can you do?  Some people like rocks!

06.23.2013 -- Mother Mother

Today in church, there was a discussion about developing talents.  You know...  pursuing your interests and putting time into talents so that they "multiply."  Way better than burying talents. (Matthew 25:14-30)  This all made me think about mothering.

There are many days when I feel like my full time job is encouraging, persuading, cajoling, manipulating, sometimes even threatening our kids into using their time well.  Playing, by the way, definitely qualifies as an excellent use of time in my book.  (I'm not perfect about using all of my time wisely...sometimes I wish I lived with my own mother so I could be mothered that way...  MOM?)

Lucy has been interested in gymnastics and violin for years.  She has a real desire to progress in both areas.  They're not her only interests (swimming, cooking, drawing, and science also interest her a lot), but they're the ones she's focusing on for now.  AND YET,  it's rare that she doesn't need encouragement from me in one form or another to work on these "talents." 

I know from experience that all parents don't do this.  Many don't have the time or energy.  By the time I rolled around, my parents would allow me to sign up for classes, but they didn't press the issue if I didn't feel like practicing.  If I stopped practicing, the lessons stopped too.  I think both approaches teach valuable lessons.  Sometimes I find myself thinking about being able to play the piano, lamenting my mother's unwillingness to force me to practice.  But that's just ridiculous.  I had plenty of interests which developed without hand-holding from my parents:  reading, art, soccer, languages, karate, yoga, backyard volleyball, basement dancing expositions with friends, etc.

On one hand, Lucy is learning right now that perseverance (mine and hers, I guess) pays off.  We are both learning that dreams are attainable through hard work and consistency--not necessarily perfect consistency, but through dedication.  Now is probably a good time to explain that if it were left up to me completely, I would probably have Lucy enrolled in just tumbling and maybe dance.  She loves gymnastics, though--bars and beam more than floor.  And the violin is something that she came up with 100% by herself.
 
Gabe is a little different.  He's still 4.  He was in gymnastics because he wanted to be, but I pulled him out because he refused to go about 50% of the time.  This gives us a concrete example of what happens when you don't do those hard things that don't sound fun.  Here's the gist of my spiel:  "When you don't do the hard things, you miss out on chances to practice.  Without practice, as awkward and as painful as it may be, progression is not going to happen."

Gabe has been asserting his independence lately by sometimes deciding not to participate in swim lessons.  I haven't made him get in the pool, but he does have to come with us, of course.  Last week, he was going on his second day of non-participation, but after a little lecture along these lines, Gabe decided that he would go to swim lessons.  Actually, he suggested that he would commit to going to every lesson so he could start gymnastics again.  That kid can understand me pretty well sometimes.

With Charlie, we're still focused on helping him not hurt himself or other people too much.

06.01.2013 -- Pace Myself

One of my strongest character traits is enthusiasm.  There are pros and cons to being naturally enthusiastic.  If you haven't heard or read my thoughts on all of that, just ask me and I'll go on as long as you keep listening to me.

One of the issues that arises, though, from a natural and almost irrepressible enthusiasm is that I get a lot of new stuff coming into my life.  I also see a lot going out.  Not many of my passions/obsessions/hobbies make the cut.

My newest hobby is snail keeping.  It turns out that snail keeping is a pretty great way for me to chill out.

It started by accident.

I was weeding one day with a friend and my boys were with me.  Whenever I'm working in the dirt and come across something living, it is the subject of great excitement and the kids immediately want to make it a pet.  Roly polies, worms, and snails all qualify as cute and keepable in their eyes.

When Gabe asked me if he could keep the snails he found, I remembered a little specialized ventilated glass box that I got on clearance from the pet store for Christmas.  It was really too small for most animals, so it was being used to hold down a corner of a shelf in a closet.  Snails, though... snails could make do in a little glass box with a top screen and a back wall made of painted foam rock.

That first round with snails was short lived.  I let the kids take them out and handle them whenever they wanted, and the poor snails got left in the sun without adequate water.  I learned a lot, though.  I learned a lot more about snails than you probably want to read here.... and I learned how relaxing it is for me to watch them.

If you can get past the ick factor, snails are amazing little animals.  When they slide over a pane of glass, you can see the symmetrical ripples of their foot which propel them along.  When they eat with their disappearing mouths, you can hear the crunching of your compost scraps. And you can watch that food moving up through their heads into their bodies.  The way their feelers and eyes retract and extend is fascinating.  Yes, friends:  I have found that a snail's pace is ideal for stress relief. They're free, and when we're done with them, we plan to feed them to our neighbors' chickens.

I would post my own picture here today, but I need to clean their cage again.  Keeping nine snails in a 10"x10" box does not let the walls stay clear of snail poop and slime for long.