It's Hard to Say "Sorry"

I sent Nicole to her room for good cause. It doesn't happen often. In fact, it happens like two times a year or less. She came out after a while, stood next to me, but with her back facing me, and pretended like she was enjoying looking at the wall. I teased her for a bit before she started giggling. Then I invited her to a game of chess. While we were setting up our pieces, here is what we said:

Nicole: "You need to say 'Sorry.'"
Me: "So do you."
Nicole: "You first."
Me: "Sorry."
Nicole: "Sorry." (smile)
Me: "Are we friends again?"
Nicole: "Mom!" (means "yes")

Almost Formula Free

Scotty's been drinking half-formula, half whole milk for a couple of weeks now, and I finally ran out of our big cans of formula. Not wanting anything wasted, I broke into his emergency kit and said oohs and ahhs each time I pulled something out. Clint was standing next to me, and said to Scotty who was in his arms, "Your mama has lost it."

What the heck is he talking about? Clothes and diapers that are too small for my fatso ... little packages of formula next to a bottle of water for mixing ... plastic containers of baby food ... all for my Scotty in case of a terrible tragedy. If it weren't for my practical side, I'd memoralize it in a shadow box frame above his crib. Just kidding, but it really was so cute. And kinda sad.

He had (*sniffle*) one bag for each day, to equal enough nourishment for 72 hours. Now I'm going to have to fill the bags with big kid things, like soup and crackers and suckers.

It was fun while it lasted.

More Important than Laundry

My mom is famous for saying, "Babies don't keep." The phrase must come from this poem, which I have read, for the first time in its entirety, just this week. I was surprised to learn that its title was "Song for a Fifth Child."

Mother, oh Mother, come shake out your cloth
empty the dustpan, poison the moth,
hang out the washing and butter the bread,
sew on a button and make up a bed.
Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?
She's up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.

Oh, I've grown shiftless as Little Boy Blue
(lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).
Dishes are waiting and bills are past due
(pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peekaboo).
The shopping's not done and there's nothing for stew
and out in the yard there's a hullabaloo
but I'm playing Kanga and this is my Roo.
Look! Aren't her eyes the most wonderful hue?
(lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).

The cleaning and scrubbing will wait till tomorrow,
for children grow up, as I've learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down, cobwebs. Dust go to sleep.
I'm rocking my baby and babies don't keep.

by Ruth Hulburt Hamilton

I can picture a mother sitting upstairs, tickling her baby and squeezing it tight while the world around her continues to spin and toil. I love how she loved her fifth baby as if it were her first and only.

So if you come over and happen to walk past my ironing pile that hasn't been cleared in a month, you'll know what I've been doing instead.

Full of Thanks

When it comes to being thankful, nothing is a small deal. This year I am especially blessed with things that I haven't always had in the past ...

healthy children
a house
a husband with a paying job
homeschool
gasoline less than $2/gallon (never thought I'd see that again as long as I lived)

Never, Never, Never, Never, Never, Never, Never

grow up.

Good Finds: A Good Moral, And It's Short!

The Treasure by Uri Schulevitz is about a man who travels far from home to follow a dream.

It's one of those children's books that has a basic storyline for the kids, and a deeper meaning for adults. It actually reminded me of when I moved away from home to go to college. Read it; you might even cry.

Sour Grapes

One benefit to homeschooling is that I learn things with Nicole that I probably should have learned by my age, like the origin of the phrase "sour grapes." Turns out it's from one of Aesop's fables ...

One hot summer day, a fox was strolling along when he noticed a bunch of juicy grapes, just turning ripe, hanging on a vine high above. "Mmm, that's just the thing to take care of my thirst," said the fox. He trotted back a few steps, then ran forward and jumped, but he missed the grapes. He turned around and tried again. "One, two, three, go," he said, and he leaped with all his might. But again he missed the grapes.

Again and again he tried, but at last he gave up. And he walked away with his nose in the air, saying, "I didn't want those old grapes anyway. I'm sure they are sour."

And there you have it. Those who can't have what they want sometimes tell themselves that what they want is no good anyway. And sometimes they degrade the thing that they want to make themselves feel better. That's sour grapes.

This Baby Will Self-Destruct in Five Seconds

Remember Inspector Gadget, the cartoon, not the movie? I always loved that cartoon and how clueless he was, and how Penny always saved the day. And if I remember correctly, IG received his spy messages that self-destructed five seconds after he read them. Well, if Scotty were an inanimate object, he'd be a top secret spy message. He cannot be left alone for a millisecond without finding something potentially deadly. To spare my nerves a bit, my mom recommended I barricade the stairs so that Scotty could roam mostly free downstairs. I think it was the fact that the stairs had a large bench blocking them that attracted Scotty to the challenge in the first place. I heard him give a high-pitched yelp because he was stuck. (Are you kidding me? Find something else to do!) I watched him, to see if he could break free and climb the stairs. When he saw the camera, he giggled and found a burst of adrenaline that helped him break through. Ten months old. I think Scott will make a smooth transition to toddlerhood.

Never Too Young

To become computer-literate.
Or to get into trouble.

Good Finds: How Did I Ever Live Without This Book?

I am ashamed to admit that even though I played with our family nutcracker every Christmas season throughout my childhood, I had never before read the story of The Nutcracker. I had simply passed it off as a stupid ballet that I would never like. And it may very well turn out to be just that, but if it does, at least I'll have an educated opinion. It was this book that prompted me to buy the tickets to The Nutcracker symphony and ballet next month. If the real thing is as good as the book, then we're in for a treat.

So go get it. You don't even have to read it. Reserve an evening for yourself to sit on your sofa with a mug of cocoa, turn the lights off and light a candle or two, and enjoy this book as it is read by the soothing voice of a British actress, with Tchaikovsky's music played by the London Symphony Orchestra at all of the right moments.

Then share it with your kids the next day.

November, And A Life Lesson

by Alice Cary, 1820-1871

The leaves are fading and falling,
The winds are rough and wild,
The birds have ceased their calling,
But let me tell you, my child,
Though day by day, as it closes,
Doth darker and colder grow,
The roots of the bright red roses
Will keep alive in the snow.
And when the winter is over,
The boughs will get new leaves,
The quail come back to the clover,
And the swallow back to the eaves.
The robin will wear on his bosom
A vest that is bright and new,
And the loveliest way-side blossom
Will shine with the sun and dew.
The leaves to-day are whirling,
The brooks are dry and dumb,
But let me tell you, my darling,
The spring will be sure to come.
There must be rough, cold weather,
And winds and rains so wild;
Not all good things together
Come to us here, my child.
So, when some dear joy loses
Its beauteous summer glow,
Think how the roots of the roses
Are kept alive in the snow.

Our Status

Scotty needs braces.Or give him twenty years and he can replace David Letterman.

Grant needs a skin graft (or a face transplant). It started with two tiny red dots that mutated into a rash that is now overtaking his face. Then he fell out of the shopping cart at Wal-mart and hit both sides of his face on two magazine racks. (Ouch!) Fortunately no stitches or black eyes. Just lots of rubber-necking, but what else is new? One lady was on the aisle next to us, and when she heard the commotion, she really went out of her way to see what was going on. I thought she was so rude, and then when I carried Grant back to the car, she was loading up her groceries in the car next to us. I almost told her that she needed to cultivate better manners. But then I second-thought it and decided that would not be my best performance of manners, either. Plus I'm trying to teach Nicole that anyone can return evil for evil, but a good person returns good for evil (C. S. Lewis said that in Mere Christianity). So far, Nicole does a better job implementing my lessons than I do. But, I didn't reprimand the stranger when I wanted to so badly. Baby steps.

Nicole got new earrings. We were at the mall, and Nicole was being such a good sport helping me spend my birthday money. She picked out CUTE shoes for me to try on, which shoes I actually ended up buying and have worn every day since. Just like her earrings. She's worn them every day since we bought them. So anyway, Grant and Scotty were riding in the stroller, and as we were finishing up, Grant started to wake (and in a terrible mood) and Scotty was just falling asleep. I was ready to head for the car when Nicole asked for a new pair of earrings. The last pair of earrings that I bought for Nicole turned up one earring short of a pair within a week after she opened the box for them on Christmas last year. I don't blame her, though. She wore them to bed, and presto, one was missing the next morning. We searched everywhere! So she's been wearing her one and only pair of diamond studs since. When she asked for another pair at the mall, I thought about telling her that they would make a great Christmas gift. I knew she would probably say, "OK, Mom. I'll write it on my list when I get home." And then she would so patiently wait until Christmas morning to see what I picked out for her. Then the thought occurred to me, and I don't know why I didn't think of this one first: we are at a MALL, where all girls deserve to find something to take home. Then I didn't care how fussy Grant was, how long Scotty slept, how dark it was outside, or even how scary the other shoppers suddenly appeared. We had an important task to complete. You should have seen her on the way home. She carried her bag to the car, and as soon as her seat belt was buckled, she took the earrings out of the bag and looked at them and talked about them the whole way home. She wore them to bed that night, and she checks on them every morning to make sure they're still in. I'm happy to have an excuse to fix Nicole's hair up. I've missed seeing her entire face all day long. When her hair is all slicked back in hair glue (those are the exact words on our bottle of extra super firm hold gel), she feels like my Nicole. Her hair almost fits into a pony tail. Like I said, hair GLUE. It's amazing stuff.

Clint's working hours have decreased slightly, leaving him a little more time to, well, sleep, mostly. Oh, and occasionally glance in our general direction before going to bed. Actually, today is his first day off in five weeks. I don't hardly know what we'll do. I know what we won't do: family pictures. Every day that goes by and we don't get the family photo done, I wonder if it's really going to happen this year. I'm a micro-inch away from ushering the family onto the front lawn and kidnapping the first person I see to snap a photo for us with my camera.

Me, I've turned up with a bad case of paranoia. Clint and I planned to go on a date this weekend. It worked out that we would be taking a residency applicant to dinner last night. I was really excited to go somewhere -- anywhere -- with Clint, even if I had to share him with another adult. Fine. Whatever. So I booked a sitter and started fantasizing about which sweater to wear with my black slacks. But then yesterday morning, I woke up (after only sleeping for five hours) with a near panic attack. I had the worst feeling overcome me that if I left Scotty at home with a babysitter, something mortally dreadful would happen to him. So I canceled the sitter and stayed home with the kids myself while Clint went to dinner with the applicant. (As a side note, I've seen two men sitting alone in a nice restaurant before, and I've always thought it looked so ... odd -- if you know what I mean.) I played with Scotty and squeezed him tight and kissed him and told him that he better grow up to be a good boy because his mama sacrifices a lot for him. Then he went to bed early, just like he likes to do, and Nicole, Grant and I made note cards and watched A Series of Unfortunate Events. It wasn't the evening I had planned, but at least I wasn't stuck in a restaurant far away from home, worrying about my Scotty choking on a Polly Pocket piece, and wondering if our babysitter knew the Heimlich.

Sheesh, I'm thinking I don't even need to send out Christmas cards now. Maybe if we get the family photo, I can get "Merry Christmas" printed on the card and mass mail them out. I wouldn't even need to write an update, although I suppose I could write a few words, just to make them a little more personal. Maybe something like, "Merry Christmas, Love, Dopey, Epileptic, Princess, Non-Existent and Basket-Case." That'll do.

Welcome to Half of Our House

We have lived here for five months, and we're already house-hunting in Arizona. I'm slow, I'm late, and I'm sorry. But here they are, the long awaited house pictures ...

First, well, there's Nicole's room. It's also our guest room, and it only looks this nice when a guest is coming. When a guest is not coming, the bed has build-a-bear animals all over it, Barbies are spilling out of the closet, and the desk is overflowing with pictures, empty egg cartons, jewelry, candy, and dead mice (just kidding).
I took this shot from her bed.

The boys are sharing this room:I have since moved the desk out of this room and into the classroom. In place of the desk, I moved in a small three-drawer dresser that fits right under the window.

Oh, there's Scotty's sleeping quarters, next to his great-grandpa's flag and an airplane that took me two months to find.

You've already seen the classroom, and since the classroom was created, the master bedroom has become the catch-all room and will not be posted. Trust me, you're not missing anything. There's a bed with a white coverlet and no headboard, a dresser with a TV on top now (ugh), a black bean bag (double ugh) for the kids to sit on instead of the bed when they watch the TV, a sewing table with a mess atop, and a giant heap of clothes needing to be ironed.

Downstairs, well, you've pretty much seen the downstairs in all of the other photos, haven't you? I do have this one shot. I really like this room. It's the first room you see if you enter our house through the front door. It almost always looks this cleaned up. We spend a lot of time here playing the piano and playing cards at the coffee table that I found at the dumpster in Salt Lake. My dad sanded the scratches out and restained it for us before we moved. I sort of helped. I think I brought him the staining rags.
There's a lot of open/wasted space downstairs. One of the scouts walked in about a month ago, looked around, and asked, "Are you still moving in?" That's how open it is. It makes a great spot for the kids to chase each other, though, and I am doubtful we'll have as much open room in Arizona. Time will tell. And perhaps in a few years, I'll post outdated pictures of that house, as well.

"I'm Glad You're Not Dead, Mom,"

Nicole said tonight. "Because Dad would never fix my hair, and he wouldn't take us to the Y pool ..." and then a solemn look spread across Nicole's face, and she added, "and we'd have to go to work with Dad every day." Yeah, like that would ever happen.

I first told her that I'm not going to die (because that's just what you tell kids), and then I told her that if, by some unlikely chance that I did, Daddy would have to move in with Grandma and Papa. Grandma would fix her hair, don't know about the Y pool, but she would definitely not let the kids go to work with Dad.

Good to know we women have a purpose around here.

Nicole Unscripted

An Emily Dickinson Kind of Veterans Day

Success is counted sweetest
By those who ne'er succeed.
To comprehend a nectar
Requires sorest need.

Not one of all the purple Host
Who took the Flag today
Can tell the definition
So clear of Victory

As he defeated -- dying --
On whose forbidden ear
The distant strains of triumph
Burst agonized and clear!

He Dreams in Doctor

One night Clint went to bed early, in preparation for his 24-hour shift. When I climbed into bed a few hours later, Clint rolled over and mumbled something. I thought I heard him say something about an infection, so I asked, "What was that, Honey?"

"I don't think she has an infectious disease," he answered.

Not knowing if he was trying to tell me something very important or if he was just talking in his sleep, I asked him again, "What did you say?"

He sat up, looked at me and repeated, "I don't think she has an infectious disease."

I guessed he was probably referring to a patient, so I told him, "OK, well, go back to sleep then." And he did straight away.

This isn't the first time he's talked about patients/hospitals/illnesses/organic chemistry equations in his sleep. Sometimes I wonder if he gets any relief from medicine at all. The next morning I asked him how he slept, expecting him to tell me that he tossed and turned all night worrying about a patient. On the contrary, he said it was a very restful night. Dreaming about the hospital? Whatever suits him.

Nicole's New Puppy

We're getting so desperate for a dog around here that Nicole has resorted to tying a leash to Scott and walking him around the house. Scotty doesn't mind one little bit, though. In fact, I think I heard him giggle a time or two.

It's a Winter Jumper

I bought a new pattern for two more dresses, and let Nicole select the fabric. For the first dress, which you'll see below, I showed Nicole the corduroy section and set her free. No other stipulations. (I just had to take an anti-anxiety pill first.) She picked a light blue with snowflakes, which is something that I probably wouldn't have selected, but which I now love, love, love, especially with her short, silky hair.The pattern called for a straight skirt in the front, and I warn you that I have NEVER, ever deviated from a sewing pattern before. But I decided to take a risk just this once and add in some pleats. I am so glad that I did because I think the dress would have been too plain without them.

I also especially love this outfit with this soft, blue coat, which I didn't make.

The second dress has yet to be made. (How much free time do you think I have?!) But we do have the fabric, and it's going to be oh-so-lovely when she wears it to The Nutcracker ballet next month. Watch for photos!

It's Not Just Work Anymore

You know you're addicted to sewing when ...

• you can't bring yourself to throw out scrap fabric (it could be such a cute tote).
• you sew a dress "just for the fun of it."
• you want a serger for your birthday/Christmas/wedding anniversary. (OK, who cares which occasion, just buy the stupid machine!)
• you'd rather make a backpack than shop all over town for the perfect store-bought one.
• you buy a sewing magazine with holiday ideas and are seriously considering making them to take (with a plate of gingerbread cookies, of course) to your neighbors for Christmas.
  

Here's a dress I made for Nicole this past summer (notice her long braids ... oh, they're missed!):
I really loved this dress more than any other, until I made her a new one for winter just last week. Read all about it tomorrow!

I'm in mourning, and it's not even Tuesday.

Apathetic, Disgusted, Abandoned

Three of many words to describe my feelings regarding today's presidential election campaign. For the first time ever, I feel like a man without a country at the voting booth, like there's no one to represent me. If it holds that McCain is too liberal for my uber-conservative blood, then imagine the distaste I carry for Obama!

I was hoping for a valid write-in candidate, but alas, no one has risen to the cause. I'm praying for a miracle tonight, and I'm staying awake until the bitter end (unless there's a recount that carries over into next year) to find out if God really answers prayers.

I'll let you know tomorrow.

I'm A Coward

Sometimes I wish I was more courageous. I have an idea in my little head about how I would like my family's wardrobe to be. I mean, it's fine. But I have these ideals. Ideals that probably come from magazines and that would not be practical for real families. But still, I dream. For example, if I won the lottery, I might throw away all of Clint clothes and buy this one outfit, so he would have to wear it. It's all from Banana Republic, which clothes I think look great in the photos but actually aren't the best quality sometimes ... but that's beside the point. It's the look I'm trying to show you, and this look in all its glory would run $626, and that doesn't include the scarf or tax. That's where the lottery comes in. It also shows a man wearing a button-up shirt, a sweater, and a blazer all at the same time. That's where the dreaming comes in. I'm lucky to get Clint in a short sleeve shirt with a lightweight jacket in the chill of January. Even if this outfit cost $10, Clint would tell me that he doesn't need it. When it comes to clothes, Clint is my antithesis. No one despises clothes, and shopping for clothes, more than Clint.

Then there's my wardrobe, which I mostly like, but which is small in its own right. I don't like a lot of clothes. I just like a few nice things at a time. So I splurged and bought this dress for our family Christmas photo this year, assuming that we actually get that far. I even bought the necklace. Well, not that one, but one that looks very similar (I think ... it was online, and you know how it's hard to tell sometimes). I'm not one for much jewelry, especially costume, but I figured the people who dressed this model are professionals, and it wouldn't hurt me to take a little advice once in a while. I didn't buy the "clutch" or whatever that little purse-thing is supposed to be because, well, this lady obviously doesn't have three kids. Oh, and the shoes, I have to take issue with boots and a short dress, so I'm wearing my own black patent high heels which I happen to love very much more than those boots. I also didn't buy the bracelets because I think too much jewelry at a time looks tacky. I've got my earrings and my wedding ring; add a necklace to that and I'm maxed out.

Moving onto Nicole. My beautiful Nicole who has been raised in mostly hand-me-downs. Excellent quality hand-me-downs, which have been the source of much joy to me. But hand-me-downs which have grown sparse in number for no particular reason at all. I have had the pleasure of picking out Nicole's shirts this fall, and have looked for the perfect sweater dress. That's when I stumbled upon this little darling.It's from Nordstrom, costs $40 at regular price (which is cheaper than the Gap's brown version at $44.50), and also comes in pink. I found an adequate substitute on sale at Old Navy, surprisingly enough. I always say that I don't like Old Navy, but then I keep finding things I like, such as the sweater dress that you'll see Nicole wearing in our Christmas photo, again pending execution and barring no teenage-style tantrums. I don't think this dress will be her favorite wardrobe piece. Just a guess.

Now Grant. Oh, my little mister. That's what my mom calls him. Grant would look so cute in something like this:(Curly, blond hair kid.) Argyle gloves and all. Grant would even wear the quilted vest around the house. He and I can never seem to stay warm enough. I might swap the pants out for a straight cut, dark Levi (sans carpenter pockets -- when will those ever go out of style?!). It would be so cute with his strut. Grant has curly hair, and I have often thought of growing it out like this little boy, but we'll have to wait until he's a bit older so that he won't mess it up with a nap or something strange like rubbing his head on the couch just after I apply hair gel (believe me, this has happened). A long time ago (i.e., before we were married), Clint wore his curly hair longer, and I happened to quite like it. I'll have to find a picture for you. It's delicious. (Oh, above photo courtesy of Gymboree. Again, not my favorite kid store because they usually have doo-dads all over their clothes, but these proved mostly doo-dad-less and more generic and tolerable.)

Then, the baby Scotty. Even at 10 months old, I've forced Scott out of those adorable, cozy crocheted layettes and into blue jeans. He looks all grown up. I think he would look like a miniature Clint in this (supposing Clint would also wear this in a grown-up size -- hey, just wondering why I've never seen "Dad and me" matching sets?):For Christmas, I wish for courage to take my family to a new fashion level. It might be a fun change.

Eat, Drink, and Be Merry

I am saddened by the rising, open rebellion against God and religion. I know in my heart that more people than not believe in, fear, and love God. But those who don't are so vocal about it. One group in London is paying for advertising space on the side of buses that reads, "There is probably no God. Now stop worrying and enjoy your life."

Personally, I don't know exactly what they're trying to convey. Are they trying to excuse themselves from feeling guilt over transgressing religious beliefs they learned as children at their parents' hands? Are they trying to gather followers? Or are they just annoyed by everyone else who believes in God?

You can read all about it, if you want, here: http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,443705,00.html.

The woman who started the campaign is quoted as saying, "Atheists believe this is the only life we have, and we should enjoy it." That's such an ironic statement. I, likewise, believe that we should enjoy this life. But I'm going to do it with God.

Real Halloween Pictures

Scotty trick-or-treated everywhere that the big kids did, except he rode in the stroller and didn't collect any candy. There's always next year.

It's hard to capture a candid shot of Grant these days, but I managed this one.

Princess Nicole in blue jeans. Nicole hates tights so much that I didn't want to ruin Halloween night by forcing her to wear "itchy" tights. Plus it was sooo cold. Typical (but not for long).
Daddy not in his costume with the kids. Clint was supposed to be Wyatt Earp, and I was going to be a (modest) saloon girl. Only, Clint was scheduled to work Halloween night, and I was so bummed out about it. I decided our costumes would have to wait until next year. Then a few days before Halloween, Clint pulled a rabbit out of his hat and traded shifts with someone who doesn't have kids. This didn't leave me much time to put our matching couples costumes together.I thought of some other couples matches that would be fun costumes.

• Doctor and Nurse
• Tarzan and Jane
• Nacho Libre and his nun
• Wesley and Buttercup
• For the whole family, we could be the Incredibles (can you imagine?!)
  

But this year, we went as boring parents. After the night was over, I decided that an appropriate (and useful) costume for me would have been to wear a 40-gallon black bag and be a garbage can. Every time the kids opened a piece of candy, they tossed the wrapper my way. Thanks, kids. At least it wasn't on the floor -- that's the bright side. As for costume ideas, the M&M is a good one because it can fit any member of the family, so it can be used over and over. It's just two circles of fabric (one for the front side, one for the back) with two straps that go over the shoulders like suspenders. The "m" is painted on the front, of course. Very cute and easy. I also saw a little girl dressed as a kangaroo, with a pouch attached to the front of her costume to carry her candy instead of putting it in a bucket.

Speaking of candy, first thing Nicole did this morning was dump out her candy, make a barricade to protect it, and then sort it. She sorted Grant's candy also. I swear I was never this neurotic. After the sorting was done, the kids followed standard post-trick-or-treating ritual: the bigger sibling trades the younger sibling for better candy. Nicole ended up with candy bars and Grant gladly accepted bubble gum (the gross, hard, pink kind) in its place.

Not pictured is Clint winning a pie eating contest; Nicole learning to play baseball on a Wii (guess what's been added to her Christmas list) at my cousin's house; and Scotty eating Grant's slice of pumpkin pie and topping it off by slurping up a scoop of ice cream that he found on the floor. Can't get a picture of everything, now can I?