(insert applause here)

Today marks my 'Decade with D'!

Love you, babe.  Here's to another decade.

Coal

While we were out on Friday night, my neice, Avenly, who was babysitting had this to report:

She asked the kids if they wanted to stay up a little later than normal, and Davis paused to reflect.  Then he announced, "We are going to get coal in our stockings."

It took Avenly a minute to convince him that staying up a late didn't constitute a coal-worthy offense.

We've really got these kids trained don't we?

Christmas is coming,

my wallet is getting skinny.

It'll all come out in the wash

During college, D had a great group of roomates.  They tried to loosen him up a bit by drinking his milk and borrowing his detergent.  "It'll all come out in the wash," they cajoled.  When we were first married, I repeated this phrase to loosen D up, and somehow, it has stuck with our family:
"Mom, Davis got more Pringles than I did. . . . " 
"Don't worry, it'll all come out in the wash."  "

"Why did Roger get a treat and we didn't?"
"You got a treat when you were his age. . . .It all comes out in the wash."

This morning I was pleasantly surprised to find something that, quite literally, had come out in the wash.  I've been missing my credit card for a few days, and was about to report it lost, when I went down to the laundry room and saw it peeping back at me from the window.  As a bonus, I even found 2 dollars at the bottom of the bin.   I love it when my sayings come true.  Now I can tell the kids with complete confidence that it will, indeed, come out in the wash.

Halloween, for those who were wondering

]

Keep Calm and Carry On

Have you ever had an hour that started out with your toddler falling off the couch and cutting up his lip, followed by the realization it is dinner time (by the kids whining, "Mom, I'm hungry), and you have no idea what you will make?  Then you head to the kitchen where your week-old addition to the family (a 2 month old puppy) piddles on the floor and you step right in it. 

The hour conintues.  As you are cleaning up the yellow mess and putting the puppy in her crate, another of your children (one of the older ones who should know better) screams they NEED you in the bathroom right away.  As you open the bathroom door, you are welcomed by a pile of diarrhea in your child's underwear, and streaks all over the toilet seat and a guilty (albeit cute) face.  "There is no way on this earth (you at least refrain from taking the Lord's name in vain) that I am cleaning that up for you, " you reply and shut the door.  The next five minutes of chaos are overshadowed by the guilty party crying in the bathroom that it wasn't their fault and they don't want to clean it up.  You resist the urge to open the door and yell.  And by resist, I mean literally grit my teeth.

The next half-hour conitunes as you pull together 'breakfast for dinner.'  Waffles, the old stand-by.  As you are finishing up, you open the cupboard and realize there is just a small amount of syrup left.  Finally everyone is sitting down.  Calm exists for the 30 seconds it takes Roger to say a prayer.  Then the question comes, "Why doesn't mine have syrup?  This is gross."  I explain that every waffle does indeed have syrup, but in limited quantities.  Whining ensues.  You grit your teeth again, and convince the kids that a huge dollop of jam will do the trick.  The kids relent.  You look at the clock and, miraculously, it is time for America's Funniest Home Videos.  Saved!!  The best T.V. hour of the week.

D calls just as the show is ending, "Wow, it has been a crazy day for me."  I answer, "That stinks.  Thanks for working so hard for our family."  (I think a few other things, but refrain from sharing).

And yes, you read that right.  D decided to get a puppy.  She's adorable.  The kids love her.  Her name is Izzy. I have decided I am crazy to have agreed to this. . . . but isn't this the cutest thing?

Jumping on the political bandwagon OR I put a Philpot sign in my yard

I have generally been hesitant to put someone's political sign in my yard.  I've never met them.  How can I personally vouch for a person I don't know??

But, this year, I've had enough.  Do you know how much money our country is in debt?  13 trillion dollars.  I heard someone say that if you had a million dollars every day for 274 years that would equal a trillion.  A trillion dollars is A LOT of money.  Our Congress as it is now governed doesn't seem to grasp the gravity of that number.

In my mind, the federal government WAY overstepped its bounds this year.   The gigantic stimulus package (which we have been told saved our economy-- unfortunately the housing and unemployment numbers do not agree), entitlement programs, bailouts, takeovers of the car industry, and the disastrous Obamacare have put our country on a path I don't think we should be on.

I have voted for Jim Matheson-D in two elections as my Congressman. No one wants to be wrong, but I am sitting here thinking I made a mistake.  I've listened to 4 telephone town-hall meetings Mr. Matheson put on, been on his website, and written him letters.  I think that puts me above the general electorate in how connected I've been with him.  I've come to the conlcusion I do not agree with several of the choices he's made as my Congressman in the last 2 years.

•  First, I am totally frustrated with the telephone town hall.  A person asks a question, then Matheson gets the floor--whether or not he actually answers the question is irrelevant: the questioner and all others 'involved' in the town hall have no chance to question his reactions or statements.  This is not a good forum for public debate.  If you do not look your electorate in the eyes, you can not truly gauge how they are feeling.
• He voted for the Stimulus Bill.  This was a HUGE government waste program. Obama promised if this bill was passed, unemployment would not rise about 7.5%.  Now we're at 10%.  Foreclosures are nearly as high as they were a year ago. The bill didn't work.  The idea that the federal government can create jobs is wrong.  Now our children are stuck with a gigantic and unethical debt.  This is unpardonable in my mind.
• He voted for Cash for Clunkers.  Come on. The bump this program gave to auto sales was a small blip on the economic map and it cost tax-payers 2 BILLION dollars.  One economist said it best:

Government policy should not favor some industries at the expense of others, but that is exactly what cash for clunkers does. The program helps consumers who can take advantage, and it increases profit and employment in the auto industry. But funding for the program comes from all other taxpayers, so it harms the consumers and industries not supported by the program.

• His  recent vote, with Nancy Pelosi's encouragement, helped to adjourn Congress before they had voted on a tax code for next year.  Why the early adjournment?  So the members of Congress could get out and campaign.  LAME.  Do your job, Congressmen.  Figure out tax laws before you figure out how you are going to win your upcoming election.  He defended this vote during a debate by calling it a 'procedural' vote.  Procedural or not, it still has consequences.
• He has attacked his political opponent with half-truths.  I won't go into the particulars, but listened to Morgan Philpot go point-by-point to defend himself agains these misleading ads.  This was the last straw for me.  I always thought Matheson was classy and above such things.  Apparently, when push comes to shove, he cares more about his precious job than his integrity.

Those are the main reasons I voting for Morgan Philpot and AGAINST Jim Matheson.  It is time for a change.  I've checked out Philpot's website, and listened to a debate online.  Look for yourself.  I urge my fellow Salt Lakers and Utahns to look at my arguments and hopefully you will come up to the same conclusion I have.

Today I'm really thankful for

Superglue.  Seriously.  Whoever invented this stuff was brilliant.  And they like fumes.

Is this what it feels like to have a teenager?

Last week while we gathered for family prayer, D called out for Davis to come upstairs.  After no reply from Davis, D began the prayer because he had to catch a flight.  No sooner had he begun, when his cell phone rang, with the ring that indicated a call from the home phone. . . . who could be calling from the house?  Oh yes, it was Davis, calling to let us know he was still tying his shoes and wouldn't be able to make it to family prayer today.

You are in for a rough day when:

When you are greeted by vaseline goop distributed all over the house by your toddler (carpet, chairs, clothes), you know it will be a rough day.  And, by the way, how in the heck did he get ahold of the container that was on a shelf way above his reach?

Will you kick me off the road when

Will you please inform me that I am no longer fit to drive when I leave my turn signal on for 5 miles or more after switching lanes on the freeway?  Thank you.

Can't concentrate

Just after Davis sat down to do his homework he mumbled to himself, "I have to go to the bathroom.  I just can't concentrate when I have to pee."

Candy as imagination-boosters

When we went to the gas station yesterday, I told Roger he could pick out a treat.  There is a bin of theatre-sized candy in the front of the store that was on sale.  Roger started jumping up and down and saying, "Woo Hoo!" when he saw an extra long package of Starburst.  He grabbed it, and started yelling, "It's a wand!  It's a wand! It's a wand!"  and swinging the thing around in the air.  He even cast an "Expelliarmus!"  Made me and the clerk chuckle.

First Day of School Funnies

Ahhhh, the long-awaited first day of school has come and gone.  Yes, I'm a few weeks late, but fortunately my memory serves me well (for now, at least).

Here are a few things that made me chuckle:

On the night before school started Eliza kept begging to go to sleep so she could wake up and wear her new school outfit.

While we were walking to school Davis looked at me and said, "Mom, I am really embarassed."  "Embarrassed?" I questioned him.  "Yeah."  "Davis, I actually think you might be nervous or excited for school, probably not embarrassed."

When I arrived home, there was already a message on the machine from Eliza.  She was calling to tell me that she did not bring a check to school for her lunches.  She was worried she might not be able to eat.  She did not know that we had a credit on her account from last year.  I called the school back and left a message that she didn't need to worry, her lunch was paid for.  Then I got another call an hour later with a worried girl on the line. . . . .She needed to hear it from my lips that she would not be denied lunch. What would it feel like to be so responsible at age 7?

Roger is using his free time to wheel and deal with his mom in order to get her to play Super Mario Brothers with him. . . . . .(though it looks like from this picture he should be talking her into a hair brush).

Things that make a mom very nervous

You know when you sit down on the toilet and stand up with your hind end wet?  Then you remember you've got a 3 year-old boy who has to stand on his tippy-toes to make it into the toilet. . . . . that is something that makes you very nervous-- and grossed out.

The White Trash Version of Homework

D, "Davis, you still need to do your reading today."

Davis. "How about I watch a movie with subtitles?"

Last Chance for Suzee's inexpensive, AWESOME photos

Hello Everyone!

It is time for our monthly Photo Rave. This month we will be at the Orchards in Provo by Seven Peaks on Saturday the 14th. We will be there from 4-8 pm. Photo Raves are $50 for a 30 minute session and include 12 images of your choice retouched in color and black & white on a disc. Contact me soon to reserve your spot.

Thanks,

Suzee Anderson

http://www.suzetteandersonphotography.com/

info@suzetteandersonphotography.com

801.400.7494

I now pause for a minute of silence

Admittedly, my blow dryer has a bit of a temperament.  He's not that old, so really, I think he's just a bad apple.  I heard some of his siblings also have fallen off the deep end, so I blame his bouts of red-hot temperament on bad parenting.  Really, by the time he came into my hands, there was nothing that could be done to save him.

Today, in a bout of fury, he overheated and burned a large chunk of my hair off in his wake.  I thought I smelled something suspicious, and then, POW! the hair fell blamelessly and unceremoniously to the ground.  I am left a woman in mourning with a stripe of 2 inch hair near the crown of my head.

One thing's for sure, that blow dryer has blown his last day.

Forgive my moment of bragging

My dear Dr. Millar was just awarded a guest teaching award of the year by the P.A. class at the school of medicine (he's been doing some surgery lectures for them the last few months).

Way to go, Deedles!

Loving You, Grandma Adele

My dear Grandma Dell passed away yesterday morning in the early hours.  Her name is really Adele, but I guess with children around, she just became GrandmaDell (one word). She had cancer and has been very weak for a few months. 

I will always remember how she called me "Milly, dear." I will remember her bright, shining face when she complimented me after a play or concert.  I will remember climbing the trees in her yard and admiring the flowers and painted decorations of plenty at her home.  In particular, I remember marveling at a twirling music box made of color-changing lights that looked like a tree (isn't it funny what we associate with our Grandparents?).  I will remember touring her beautiful garden (only now do I really recognize how magnificent it was).  I will remember eating her canned goods and the scratchy handwriting on the top of the jar that signified her work-- I will especially remember how my Dad cherished her culinary handiwork. I will remember her plentiful kisses on my cheek.

I fondly recall trips to her summer home, 'Twice Glad.'  She took us to the bumper boats, she took us to the playground down the road in her frilly pink golf cart, and we played hours of "Trouble" in between exploring the 'forest' near her house.

I am so grateful for the sacrifices she made as she raised 6 children- one of whom was my Dad.  Because of her service, I was blessed to learn from him as my father.  He was a great influence to me, particularly about how hard work is the only way to get things done right.  I know that those seeds were planted under her tutelage and love.

I love you Grandma.  I hope to reunite with you soon (not too soon for my kids sake, of course).

Open Gym/ Fashion Show/ Craft Fair at Davis's Gym on Saturday 17th

Davis's gym is hosting an awesome event this Saturday, July 17th @ 12- 5 PM.
The address is 601 West  900 South, Bountiful, UT (take the 500 S exit and turn right at the light, then go down to 900 S and turn right, gym is at the end of the road)

The team members with be doing an exhibition.  Davis is slotted to go @12:15.

This is what events are scheduled:

Live DJ
Balloon Animals
Bounce House
Face Painting
Concessions
Open Gym
Raffle Drawings ever 20 minutes.

Check out the website for the event here.

Two important announcements:

1)  Eliza has finally grown out of her size 8 shoes (I think she's been wearing this size for 2 years).

2) Reed started walking last week.

Thank you.

I interrupt this regularly scheduled program

. . . .to tell you about two things this week:

I gobbled up (and by that I mean I inhaled) these books:

The Hunger Games and Catching Fire by Suzanne Collins (SO GOOD)

On the way home from church today, Davis asked, "Dad, did you see me making buggy eyes during my talk?"

"No," he said, "I thought your eyes looked normal."

"While I was talking about Jesus (he had a primary talk today), I just felt some tears coming to my eyes so I had to open them up really wide so no one would see the water."

"Oh, Davis, do you know why you felt like crying?"

"No," he answered.

"It was the Holy Ghost giving you a warm feeling about Jesus as you read those stories about him."

"Cool.  But why did the Holy Ghost make me cry?"

"Well, it was happy tears."

I told him later that when I feel the Holy Ghost I also feel like crying.

For the love of girls!

I don't blog much about Eliza.  She's my steady, lovely girl.  So responsible. Sometimes whiny (everyone needs a vice, right?).  But, overall, just a pleasure.  I am so glad I've got a girl because already we have some similar interests- shopping, So You Think You Can Dance, hair-doing, and nail painting to name a few.  I can count on her to be very responsible around the house and she has warned me at times if Reed is headed for the stairs or some other type of danger.

Today is a big day for her.  She's got TOP's testing for gymnastics.  She chose not to compete this year because she was nervous about it, so today will be the first day she puts on her uniform and shows some of her skills in font of anyone outside of her class.  When we got in the car after class last night, she informed me she had been told to eat a very healthy dinner ("like with tomatoes") and no junk food or sugar. I suggested we make a smoothie, eggs, and oatmeal for breakfast.  She thought that was a great idea.  Then she informed me she had been told to do some stretching before bed and in the morning.  True to her instructions, she diligently stretched for 30 minutes last night.

While I was blending up her smoothie this morning she reminded me not to add any sugar, but "fruit would be okay."  After she ate, she ran downstairs to do some more stretching.

Seriously, is she not just a mature little spirit trapped in a little girls body?   So proud of her.  I hope she is pleased with her performance today.

Who would have thought. . . . .

. . . . .that it was just one year ago today that I gave birth on my bathroom floor???  Not in a million years could you have convinced me that this experience would be part of my life experience.  But, it is.

Thankfully, a year later, Reed seems to be happy and healthy.  We tried really hard to feed him cake tonight, but he just wasn't interested- too tired.  D stuffed the icing into his face and instead of making him interested in the sugar, it made him mad. . . That's what happens when you get a really short nap in the car.  Oh, the joys of being a fourth child who has to be toted around to all the other kids' activities. . . .what a trooper.

As if on cue, today he stood for about 10 seconds unaided, so, I'm thinking that walking will be coming very soon.  In the meantime, he cruises along furniture and walls like a pro and he is fast, FAST on all fours.

Fun facts about this little munchkin:

• He took to his jumper around 3 months old, and hasn't stopped jumping since.  He is known for jumping up and down in people's arms when he's really excited, and I've almost dropped him a time or two.
• I think he willed his teeth to grow so he could eat dinner with us.  He got his first tooth (bottom right) at 6 months and the bottom left one came 2 weeks later.  Since then, he's sprouted 4 on top.
• He is stubborn.  Yesterday in the grocery store he pushed the cart up 2 aisles. I am not kidding.  Every time I tried to lift him up, he started screaming.  Fortunately for him, I wasn't in a hurry (trying to kill 2 hours during one of Davis's classes) so he got to push to his heart's content.  My only job was directing the cart on path when it veered right or left.  We got a lot of funny looks from people who thought it was hilarious to see such a little guy pushing such a big object. His feet and knees were black when we went home.
• He waves 'bye-bye' like a champ when prompted.  He barks/squeels when he sees dogs.
• He loves tub-time.
• He is so friendly.  He frequently reaches out to neighbors and even strangers so they will hold him. This is quite the hit with old ladies in the grocery store (sometimes I'm afraid to give him up if the lady is really frail looking).
• He's starting to imitate sounds like 'mamamamama', 'dadadada' and 'poopoopoo')(this one is a hit with the other kids) 'yi yuh, yi yuh' (Eliza).  I'm not sure if he's attached meanings to these words yet.
• He definitely knows his name and responds with a head turn when you yell out, "Reed!" 
• He loves to throw balls already.  Fetch is a great game for him too.  Who needs a dog, when you've got a 1-year-old?

You say tomato, I say tomato

I got in an argument with Eliza today about the title of her book.  She insisted it was about a 'bal-let' fairy, while I tried to convince her it is pronounced, 'bal-lay.'  I even tried to take her to dictionary.com and show her a pronounciation guide, but she was still not convinced.

What does this say about me?

I have often told friends I feel like I have a choice child who doesn't have a creative bone in his body.  He never had an imaginary friend.  He never even wanted to make toy airplanes fly or matchbox cars drive through the house. He's bright and does great in school.   He also seems to be generally well liked by his peers, and well, I think he's pretty fun too.  BUT-- the kids has NO creativity.

What does it say about the state of my desperation to get this kids away from video games if I took him to the toy store and told him to pick out any legos he wanted, but he couldn't play any Wii until they were built?  He got greedy, but now I am happy because he's been 'forced' to play legos for two days now. . . . .

TMI?

Davis just told me, "My second favorite hobby is going to the bathroom."

"Going to the bathroom is not a hobby."

Davis, "What is a hobby then?"

(in case you wanted to know his first favorite hobby is riding his bike)

Lost, but Found

When I took Roger to the library today he was most excited to ride the elevator.  We returned our books and he beelined to the elevator.  It was open.  He jumped in.  Then the doors closed before I could get in.  I could hear him saying, "Mom, where are you?" as he went downstairs.  Remarkably, he remained calm and I instructed him from the other side of the doors to stay downstairs and wait for me to come down after him. I got on and made my way down.  When the doors opened he had a worried look, but seemed okay.

The incident was quickly forgotten by me as we looked at and read books. But when we were ready to leave he asked, "Can we go on the elevator?"

"Sure," I said.

"Yeah! (pause) Don't lose me, otay?" he says as he is running toward the elevator.

A special post for Kelly

Dear Kelly,
I also have a nephew who reads the blog.  Like you, I think he feels funny leaving a comment as the only man. . . .so he emails me instead.  I think my brother is also a reader as well.  And, occasionally, my Dad.

Just so you know, you are not alone.

I did notice, however, that none of you men commented on my earrings.  What, are they not your style?  Perhaps something simpler would suit you better instead of the dangly ones.  I'll get on that right away.  What is your favorite color?

Oh,wait, I forgot that my husband reads as well.  I'm currently working on a charming bracelet for him.

A Random thought

While we were at dinner last night, the conversation turned to which kid got what part of each parent.  i.e. Roger has my nose, Eliza has Dad's ears, etc.  D made a comment that he thought Davis looked like he did as a kid, but he was more handsome.

Davis's response, "What?  Do you hate yourself Dad?  Do you want to call yourself stupid?"

We just looked at him for a second and then started laughing.

A Quick Vent

ARGHHH!!  My vacuum cleaner's belt broke a couple of weeks ago.  After finally grabbing a new one a few days ago, I was distracted in my task and ended up putting it down--somewhere.  That was 3 days ago.  I keep thinking it will turn up, but in the meantime the floors are building up layers of crumbs.  I just know that as soon as I go to the store to get a new belt, the other one will show up.

I'll take a chick with that shot

D's got a patient right now who's in his mid-twenties.  Yesterday, he asked D if he really needed a certain shot/procedure he's been getting daily.  D explained why it was important and that he really needed it.

The young man's response, "Well, can you at least bring some chicks with you tomorrow?"

D told me there are some cute nurses on the service right now.

Confessions of a stay-at-home mom

These thoughts have been weighing (no pun intended) on my mind a bunch lately, and what better way to get them out than to confess them on the world wide web- purveyor of all things private, hah!?!

It is with sadness I confess I think I've gained 3 or 4 pounds in the last month or so.  At least that's what the scale says, so I'm going with it.  I was first tipped off to this fact when my jeans started feeling tight this week.  They are even my fat jeans- I still haven't even attempted my regular, pre-pregnancy ones!  I have always struggled with my weight and have serious issues with my self-esteem on this matter.

Having said that, I am just fed up with the system!  Why is it that when moms get together they all have to confess whether or not they've been working out or if they ate a candy bar that day?  Why do we all sit and complain about our bodies and reminisce back to our pre-children days? Why do we feel so bad if the buttons on our shirt are puckering a bit?  Why?  Why? Why?  Why are weight and size an ever hovering thought in our mind? Why do we label ourselves as good or bad based on what we ate that day. What we eat shouldn't make us good or bad.  It is how we treat others, right? I am sick and tired of weight-loss commercials on TV.  I am tired of the 'get-healthy-today' bits on the morning show and their 'helpful?' tips on eating better or shedding calories in our diet.

When the twins were 2 years old, I started an exercise regime and had lost only 1 pound in six weeks with intensive exercise.  I was so fed up that I joined Weight Watchers.  It worked great for me.  I lost 30 pounds, but got tired of everyone complimenting my new figure and telling me how good I looked.  My day to day activities at 30 pounds less did not change one bit (aside from my running 4 miles instead of walking them for exercise). It made me frustrated to feel that my self-esteem was so affected by this change. What suddenly gave other people license to comment on my figure? My favorite was this, "Have you lost weight?  You look great!"  Then inside I would reply to myself, "Oh, I must have looked really bad before."

After some other struggles, perhaps the topic of another post, and a Roger pregnancy later, I was introduced to a book called Intuitive Eating.  It is a great book that talks about making peace with food and ultimately, with yourself.  One part of this process is to let go of the 'diet mentality.'  I actually thought I mastered this concept until I got on the scale this week and was supremely devastated with the number. Those feelings of self-doubt and wondering if I look totally bad right now are flooding back in.  Now I feel like I am stuck in this circle of fear wondering if my weight will spiral out of control.  This stress doesn't help me AT ALL to eat more healthfully.  I start eating crap because I know I will have to start another diet soon and those foods will be off-limits.

I have an amazing friend who is overweight.  She is the most wonderful person ever.  She's kind and sharing and positive.  I want to be just like her.  And really, she's beautiful- long curly blonde hair and gorgeous blue eyes.  She dresses beautifully.  She's a great mom.  She hasn't gotten a family photo in years because she's so embarrassed about her weight.  This makes me sad. I wish I could shake some sense into her.  I wish she could see herself like I see her.  But at the same time I can recognize some of her mistaken beliefs in myself.

So I am throwing this out there for anyone who has wisdom.

How have you made peace with food and your body?  I need help.  A prayer or two wouldn't be bad either.  I'll take anything I can get.

Hobbies

I frequently read about everyone else's trips and projects and, quite frankly, it makes me feel like I am a pack of poop.  I can't even keep my house clean.  I am not kidding.  As I take a look to my left there are toys all over the living room, and to my right, the kitchen table is covered with a stuffed tiger, the Book of Mormon (hey, at least I read), an empty baby food jar, a surgery text, and a Magic Treehouse Book.  I think I wiped it down after breakfast yesterday, but ummmm, it really needs another wipe down right now.

In another life, I loved making hand-made cards, sewed a quilt, scrapbooked, and even sat down to play piano on the side.  This doesn't really happen much (okay, at all) anymore. So, I figured I better post here that I actually am sometimes up to something productive. . . . for Christmas, I bought myself some beads and got a beading class for free.  I've made a few necklaces and bracelets, but have found that making earrings is simple and easy- mostly because I don't have to set up much or put away much.

So, yep, here's the proof of what I've been doing.  And it's really cheap.  I can make a pair of earings for a buck or so.  Aren't they cute?  (just say yes, even if you don't think so.  It will brighten up my day)

Poll. Response requested.

. . . .What is the average length (in months) that a brand new pack of toddler underwear gets totally filthy during and after potty training? (and on a side note, are they really potty trained if they keep having 'accidents' every week or so?)

Why do I ask?  Well, it just seems like I bought these ones last month.

Cheating can be so easy sometimes

Amid my frustration last night at my twins' disregard of their homework, I caught my first whiff of the inclination to cheat.  I also figured out why teachers want to split up twins.

The assignment.  Cut out about 25 words in the spelling word family of the week (oi and oy) then sort the words under their appropriate category card.  The assingment is really quite easy--except for the cutting part. The twins got this brilliant plan to circumvent the hard part.

"Here Davis, you cut up this side of words. and I'll cut up the other one."

"Hey, I was thinking the exact same thing.  That was my idea too!"

I interrupt the little cheaters, "Guys, you can't do that!  That's cheating.  You both have to cut up the words yourself."

"Why?"

"Because if someone else does your homework, you don't learn things for yourself.  If you guys weren't in the same class you'd both be getting different assignments anyway that you'd have to do separately."

"But, we're in the same class."

"But, you won't always be."

"But we are now."  Hmmm, abstract thinking.  At what age does that kick in?

"Just do your own work."

Honestly, I left the room, so I don't know if they listened.  I am glad, however, that I didn't get in the conversation about how scissor skills are necessary for their progression into college.  Cause I'm pretty sure I would have lost that argument.

Tonight

Tonight.

I get a call from my husband, "I'm coming home!"

5 minutes later, another call. "Two trauma's just rolled in."  He won't be home before bed.

As I'm walking from room to room, I am overcome.  Messes everywhere.  I pick up cars under the piano.  Go to the kitchen to tackle some dishes.  Then, I turn the corner, and there's my three-year-old.  With cars.  Scattered under the piano.

Questions are weighing on my mind.

Then, "Have you done your homework?"

"No."

"What have you been doing for the last half-hour?"

"Do kid's in first grade really have to do homework?"

"Yes.  If you don't do your homework, they will make you repeat that grade.  Do you really want to be in first grade again next year?"

"No," he mutters.

"So, go do your homework."

Time passes.  I cut the boys' hair.  They hate it.  And by it, I mean me.  Now hair is everywhere. But at least they don't look scraggly anymore.  The baby is crawling around in the just-cut hair.

Tub time. Jammies on. Put the baby to bed. Tackle the hair mess. And hit the boys room to bag up clothes that are too small.

Now, "I'm bored."

"Did you do your homework?"

"No."

"Eliza, did you do your homework."

"No."

"You two go do your homework!!!" It's already 8:30.  Bedtime.

I am going to scream.  But by some miracle I decide to go to my room.  I utter a little prayer, "Heavenly Father, please help me not to yell at my kids."  I stand up and make a concious decision to calm down and take a big breath.

I help Roger brush his teeth.  I gently tug the kids down the stairs.  We say prayers.  I tuck the kids in.  . . . Then, "Roger, did you use the potty yet?"

"No."

I help him out of bed, pull up his pants and tuck him in again.  I kiss the kids, pull out Eliza's laundry bin to start a load, then Roger asks for a drink.  And by ask I really mean he whines, "Mom, I need a drink!"  I go upstairs to retrieve the small paper cups I bought to remain in bathroom for such drink requests.  I fill his cup.  Give him the cup.

Then, "I hate this cup!  Too small.  I want a a big cup!"

Then, I loose it, "NO ROGER! You will use this cup or else I am walking out of the house and not coming back,"

Davis howls, "No, mom!"

I close the door and take another deep breath.  I come back in and take away the small cup.  I put it in the bathroom.  I turn off Eliza's lights.  Now Roger says, "I want that small cup!"  I take in the small cup and he takes a gulp.  Then he spills on himself.  "AHHHHH!  I'm wet!"  I turn on the light and change his shirt.  Inside I am cursing. A lot. I feel like slamming the door, but I don't.

I turn off the light and sit on the stairs in the hallway outside the kids' rooms.  I sternly lecture them about how I do everything in the house for them and all they do is just order me to do more.  I say it just like that.  Then, I'm quiet.

I feel bad.  They're just kids, for goodness sake.  I sing a primary song.  Then two.  Then a third and fourth.  I feel better.  I think they feel better.  I apologize and wish them goodnight. As I'm shutting the door, Davis says, "Mom, thank you for everything you do for us.  I love you."  Roger copies him.  Then Eliza pipes in with similar sentiments.

What a night.  Can I go to bed now?

No.  I still haven't finished the dishes.

It's all how you look at it, I guess

Last night I was minding my own business (aka my eyes were glued to the T.V.) when D brought the child brigade downstairs with cups full of ice cream.  This wasn't just your ordinary vanilla, it was the brightly colored 'playdough' ice cream left over from the twins' birthday party.  I raised my eyebrows at this, but figured if my husband was taking care of the kids, I should shut my mouth about breaking the food rules, and just be grateful.

Unfortunately, just minutes later, Roger spilled this bright blue ice cream.  D jumped up and got a towel, but the damage was done.  There was a blue stain that could not be coaxed out of the carpet.

D's reaction, "Well, I guess this is why it was a good idea to get dark carpet so it hides stains better."

My reply, "Or I guess it is a good rule to keep the food upstairs in the kitchen."

OR

I could have just rolled my eyes and said, "Men."

If only it smelled as good as it looks

I did the zealous spring gardening trip yesterday.  There is just something about having your lawn green up and the bulbs pop their heads out of the ground that makes you ridiculously excited to go spend money on your yard.  The problem is that usually I do this big trip and a bundle of plants sit in my yard just begging to be planted- for weeks.

After spending so much money on the yard last year, I am really motivated to clean up my back patio and garden so it looks specatcular.  I pulled out the leaf blower and blew away the last remnants of the leaves (again. . . .why does the wind keep blowing those blankity-blank things into the areas I've already cleaned up).  Unfortunately, blowing away the leaves also seems to take a layer of mulch with it.  Anyway, while at the store, I bought 4 bags of topsoil.  As I opened the first bag, an overwhelming farm-stench waifed its way on out of the bag.  I was concerned, but thought it probably wouldn't be too bad once it was out in the flowerbeds.

I was wrong.  Now I have beautifully soiled and groomed flower beds surrounding my back patio, which incidentally is adjacent to my back door-the entrance most people use.   But the smell is not good.  My neighbor told me the smell should dissapate after a week or two.

In the meantime, if you're walking past my house, you'll need some noseplugs.

Throw me a lifeline!!

It has been a doozy of a week.  I can usually handle a lot of stress, but whoa, things got so bad this afternoon when D got home, I just lost it! He hasn't had a day off in 2 weeks- coming home after 7:00 almost every night and call-nights at the hospital (not coming home at all) scattered in there as well.  I started losing my temper with the kids.  I realized that I haven't been out by myself--for myself-- in at least a month.  D sent me out the door and told me I wasn't allowed home for at least 2 hours. What a sweetheart, especially considering he's been working every single hour I have- and hanging out with four kids is not really a respite from work-stress.

While I was out-- digging in bins at the local craft store that is closing (waaa!)-- I pondered the week.  I've had the normal mom-requirements: playdates, carpools, dinner, Saturday soccer games, dishes, and laundry (oh, the laundry never ends), but this week has also brought 2 doctor's appointments, a speech-pathologist evaluation for Roger, finishing an art project for the school arts fundraiser (Nikki did most of the work, I was just the moral support), and attending the 'Arts Night' by myself with all four of my kids and Davis's friend (and incidentally Eliza was not feeling well either)-just picture the elementary school full of parents, kids, toddlers, teens (i.e. a zoo) and my kids running around and getting lost every 5 minutes.   Yikes! 

Glad this week is over.   Thankfully, Roger's evaluation basically told me what already knew: he is on the low end of average in his ability to form words.  I also learned something I didn't know: he tries to form complex sentences about on the level of a five-year old.  Combine these two things together and that is a recipe for a three-year-old whose speech is hard to understand.  The pathologist felt he would 'grow out' of his slurred syllables and grow into his more mature sentences. . . . so no therapy required, whew!  Isn't it crazy how you can worry yourself into a tizzy because you don't know what is going to happen?

On top of this all--the thing that has made me loose sleep-- was on Tuesday night at 11:30 P.M. I got an email from Davis's gym that they were letting his coaches go.  For no good reason.  With no notice.  I will spare you all the gritty details, but just know this business decision was handled very poorly.  Davis was so sad not to get a chance to say good-bye to Luba and Jurijs (they're Russian), and then he was thrown into class with new coaches and lots of new boys who followed these coaches from another gym.  I've just been sick with worry about his old coaches- trying to put myself in their shoes, angry with the gym owner, and pondering what I should do with Davis.  On moral grounds, my gut reaction was to say, "No way will my son go to a gym that treats their coaches with such disrespect," but truthfully, I have no other options.  Davis loves this sport.  I love that he isn't fighting me about video games every afternoon.  I love the friendships and teamwork he feels with peers. I love that he's found something he's good at!

As I'm putting my thoughts on paper, I can recognize these matters are not life and death by a long-shot, but despite this, change hurts. It stresses me out. A lot.  Like I have butterflies in my stomach. Needless to say, I've been eating way too much chocolate to cope. . .yeah, I know, I'm a stress eater.  Bad, Camilla. Bad. Bad. Bad.

Realizing that I have no outlet to relieve my stress and realizing I really do need to take a little time for myself, prompted me to talk to some friends about walking together in the morning. Thankfully, they are willing to get up early and humor me.  I know I handle stress of life so much better when I get some exercise, so yeah!  Maybe something good is coming out of this crazy week after all. . . . . .

Does it hurt?

This morning Davis asked, "Mom, does it hurt when you bend over?"

I replied, "No.  Does it hurt when you bend over?"

His answer, "No."

"Then why are you asking me if it hurts to bend over."

"Because you are an old lady."

I took issue with this, "I am only 31.  I'm not an old lady!"

His answer, "But 31 is a really big number, you know."

You know you are a mother of four when,

• In a last ditch effort to look 'presentable,' you use your hair flattener to iron out the wrinkles in your button-up shirt.
• You take one picture at your twin's birthday party-- after the guests have left.
• Your baby wakes up in the morning with a bits of last night's dinner still on his face.
• Your next-door-neighbor (whose kitchen window faces your driveway) calls once or twice a week to let you know the van door is still open.

Seen on the same shelf at the library

While browsing through books at the library today, I found two books:

• American Fascists: The Christian Right and the War on America

AND

• Liberal Fascism: The Secret History of the American Left from Musoolini to the Politics of Meaning

So, I hate to be confused, but seriously???  In all fairness, I checked out both books to find out who are the real fascists: the Christian right-wingers or the Liberal-left.   My knowledge of fascism is limited at best, non-existent at worst, so I guess I am open to all interpretations.  I'll let you'all know which book makes the better argument.  Sounds like a bunch of name-calling to me.

The 1:00 A.M. visit

Last night we had a little visitor.  Eliza came upstairs in a fret to tell us that her nightlight wouldn't turn on.  D stumbled down the stairs very reluctantly to check it out.  The verdict was the power was out. "Strange," he thought after he checked the street lights outside and noticed it wasn't just our house.  Then he and Eliza made a phone call to the power company--yes, in the middle of the night (those sorts of things don't ever even occur to me).  D was told that a power line had fallen and 1,000 homes in the area were out of power.  So, if you were wondering why your alarm clock was blinking and didn't go off this morning, now you have your answer.

Eliza reluctantly went back to bed with a flashlight propped up in the corner of the room. . . .

Please remember

Camilla,

In 15 years when you tell Reed he can not take the car out, and his reply is, "I hate you," please do not take it personally.  And remember the big, wet, sloppy kisses he gave you this morning.  And the gigantic smile he had for you when you got him out of his crib.

Sincerely,
Me

A Daughter of God

My Eliza is a work in progress.  Responsible. Smart. Talented.  Sensitive to other's feelings. A GREAT big sister. And Whiny. Very, Very Whiny.  If she gets a paper cut, she cries.  If she's tired, she cries.  If she doesn't get her way, she whines.  If I take her to the store to buy new shoes and she can't find any that fit her, she cries like her favorite dog just died (and no, we don't have a dog, and yes, she did just that 2 weeks ago).  I can not figure out how such a smart girl somehow loses her ability to communicate and reverts to whimpering when her emotions overflow, but it happens daily.  As soon as she gets upset, the waterworks start.  All reason departs.  I hate to point this out because based on the lists I just gave you, her 'great' qualities really do outweigh the 'bad' ones, but sometimes it doesn't feel like it.

Yesterday, as I was driving the kids to gym, Eliza did something she's never done before.  She was upset about something (I forget what it was now--yes, the brain cells are disappearing), and I was clenching my jaws, just waiting for the explosion.  Miraculously, she got 'the look'- I'm about to start crying, watch out- and then, somehow, calmed herself.  I was flabbergasted.  I mean, this girl pulls out a whine EVERY SINGLE DAY and here she was, calming herself.  We've had many discussions about controlling our emotions- and by that I mean many, many lectures after a tear-fest- and finally she actually was acting her age, instead of like her three-year-old brother.  I lavished her with praise and told her how proud I was of her grown-up reaction.

And later I thought, "Wow, she is really growing up,"  but before I thought that for too long, I came to watch her at gymnastics.  She was doing great, until, they started doing leg-ups. On her second set, her face started getting red.  It was clear she was tired.  Very, very tired.  Then the waterworks started.   Although I am aware she is probably among the fittest 1% of 7 year-olds and what was being asked of her was extremely difficult (at the end of a 2 1/2 hour workout, no less), I was still disappointed.  Why was she, yet again, turning to the waterworks instead of telling her coach that her muscles hurt??  Why wasn't she using her keen mind to express how she was feeling instead of letting emotions take over?? 

Then all the doubts you have as a mother come to play.  Am I pushing her too hard?  Do I expect too much from her?  Is my perception of 'her problem' really an outward manifestation of my pushy mothering?  I've been thinking and pondering about this. . . .

I'm not quite sure I know the answer yet.  I know as a parent, sometimes your children want to take the path of least resistance.  I know so many people who say, now, as adults they wished their parents had pushed them to continue piano lessons, or to try-out for that play, or  . . . . .whatever.  As a parent it is hard to know when your kid is just being a kid and you must to ignore their whines and help them continue.  Most kids have a day when they BEG not to go to school, but as a parent you tell them they HAVE to go. School is the easy one.  Everyone knows you just gotta do it.  But, this is different.  Am I helping her to learn to stick to things that are difficult, or am I damaging her trust in me and her own feelings?  Or is she just crying because at home I usually give-in to the whines?

I know people say kids do not come with an instruction manual.  Wouldn't life be easier if they did?  Part of my growing process is to learn about my children's desires and talents and help them cope with their sadness and shorcomings.  I wish I could just have a crystal ball and make sure my parenting decisions are helping my kids.

On the plus side, I am so grateful for my testimony and knowledge that I am a literal daughter of God.  I have felt a warm spirit envelope me with love which has told me that God is looking out for me. I have felt this love in times of prayer, and I have felt His love while listening to the words of his prophets. He loves me.  And if I know he cares about me, then I know he cares deeply about my children.  He wants me to succeed.  He wants us all to succeed.

So, although I might not know exactly if Eliza's actions are really signifying two steps forward or two steps backwards, I know that I have the resources and help, most notably the power of prayer, to help me as I try to raise a happy, contributing little member of society--namely my little girl. . . . .and her brothers, of course.

And I thought my delivery story was weird. . . .

This lady deserves a super-woman award!

Dear Face,

It has been many long years since I've seen your reflection in the mirror.  Although, I will always think your nose is too wide, you have served me well. I must, however, take issue with you.  In case you didn't get the memo, I turned 31 last month.  It has been over a decade since I could be considered a teenager.  Why, then, must you cling to the bad habit of getting blemishes???  Today, a gigantic zit appeared on your forehead.  Enough is enough!!  I have four children.  I do not have time to wash with Clean and Clear 10 times a day-- I am required to do 10 loads of laundry and dishes instead.  If I wore a green mud-mask, those children would scream and go running. . . .I must therefore petition you to grow up already.  Clean up already.  I don't have time to deal with these juvenile issues.

General Conference Packets for the wee ones

Two times a year, our church forgoes our regular Sunday meetings so we can listen to our General Authorities and officers speak to us worldwide.  If you want more information: http://www.lds.org/

Here's a link for a packet for your children who can't read yet: http://crystalshares.blogspot.com/2010/03/its-conference-time.html

Here's a link for a packet for your older children and/or youth: http://www.sugardoodle.net/joomla/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=5851

Shedding brain cells at every corner

Today, I think I hit a new low:  I packed Roger up to go to his playgroup, arrived at my friends' house, and she politely informed me that today was Tuesday.  Playgroup is Wednesday.  AHHHHH!!

Soccer game update

Me: Roger, how was your soccer game today?

Roger:  Good.  I pwayed wif my green fwends.

(Guess what color uniform the opposing team had?)

How boys think

We've always been told as females that men just are wired differently.  Here's your proof:  Davis has 3 buddies over this afternoon.  While they were playing, I was privy to this little tidbit, "Hey, do you guys like to eat your boogers?  I do." 

"Yeah, I do."

"Me, too."

"I don't really."

"Do you really like it and you just don't want to admit it?"

I won't tell you which answer was Davis's.

Mr. OCD-- and his jilted mother

I've told you about my young boy, who, incidentally turned 3 a few weeks ago (yes, I missed the post, and yes, I forgot to take the camera ice-skating with us. . .  .shame on me, shame on me, shame on me- but I would like to report the Olympic Oval was delightful and of all my kids, Roger had the most fun because he thought it was fun to fall and wasn't expecting to master anything on his first try).  This young man brings joy and delight to my life in the form of giggles, his rapt attention to all things car, his silly imagination, his loving snuggles and kisses, and his eyes--seriously, the kid has the big blues that just dare you to deny him his request.  He is definitely 3 going on 7 and this shows as he parrots EVERYTHING that comes out of the twins' mouths. 'Jingle bells, batman smells. . . . . . .Sniff my bu**(from a Scooby-doo movie). . . and Me first.'

I will now regale you with the tale of this young man and the shady practices of his mother.  I was minding my own business this morning about 7:00 A.M.  I had brought the baby into my bed to snuggle with around 6:30 and we were both in the happy place that is not quite sleep and not quite awake, when I was jolted up by screaming from the bathroom.  It was Roger-dodger.  I would like to say that his screaming was uncommon and surprising, but, sadly, this young man has a tough spirit and a strong will (aka, his screaming at all hours of the day is not un-normal), and he has the voice of a opera-singer.  My mom informs me his loud voice will be good someday, but for now, I'm not sure if I agree. I think it is a weapon. A very effective weapon, especially in public forums where I have been known to give-in to his request rather than deal with his tantrum.  I know, this is right out of the chapter on 'How NOT to discipline your toddler.

I ran to the bathroom, tripping over toys on the way to see what was the fuss.  Roger was upset because Eliza had reached the bathroom first and relieved herself before him. "I wanna go pee first!" He kept repeating over and over.  I knew I must act quickly because when Roger gets into one of his fits, he often loses control of his bladder.  I tugged down his pants and hoisted him up while I declared, "That's okay, it's your turn to pee now." He kept screaming while he went and just wouldn't give up.  He didn't find his usual joy in flushing and just wouldn't stop.  "I wanna peepee first, I wanna peepee first!" 

I tried to explain to him that you need to use the bathroom when you go and Eliza had to go, but my common-sense did nothing to suppress his fit.  Big surprise, eh?  It was time to move on to the consequence.  I told Roger he had to stop crying, the deeds (or the pees) were done, and if he couldn't "find his happiness," he would have to go outside.  He didn't relent.  So, I took him out back and closed the door.  And locked the door.  And breathed a sigh of relief.  About one minute later, there was a loud knock on the door (Roger had been crying very loudly that whole minute), and my neighbor was standing out back.

"Hi, I was just afraid that Roger had gotten locked out somehow."

"Yeah.  I locked him out.  He was in time-out."  I declared matter of factly.  My neighbor raised his eyebrows.  I tried to explain, "He wanted to go pee first this morning and got upset."

"Oh, he wet his pants?"

"No he wanted to pee first and wouldn't stop crying."

"Okay," he said (what he didn't say was, 'Whatever. You locked your kid out of the house.'). "I just wanted to make sure he was okay."

"Thanks for looking out for us."

Roger had since slipped past us and stopped crying. Stinker.

So, now the neighbor is aware of my evil disciplining methods.  I'm kindof embarrassed.  Kind of.

I've got brothers

Yesterday I was told that during church, the nursery workers had a little lesson about families.  After the leaders posed the question if the children had brothers and sisters, Roger was happy to share some information about his family, "I have Supah-Mario Bwothers."

Flip-side

The good news is: it is estimated there will be between 12,00-17,000 new jobs created in the next 4 years.

The bad news is: those jobs will be at the IRS.  Because there needs to be someone examining taxpayer records to enforce the government’s definition of “affordable” and “acceptable” insurance coverage-- and if you haven't got it, you have two choices 1) pay the fine or 2) face the wrath of the law.

I just hope Congress and the President really know what they are doing. . . .and the people who are benefitted from this comprehensive healthcare bill far outweigh any unintended negative consequences.

Does anyone else find. . . .

it is oddly satisfying to pick off all those crusty eye-boogers from your baby in the morning when their eyes are glued shut?

Or am I just weird?

Don't answer that, actually. . .I think my worst fears will be confirmed.

An "Ahhhhhh!" Mom-moment

Gee, it's really beautiful today! One of those early spring days that you've been waiting so long to arrive that you are actually excited to go outside and work in the yard. 

As we were outside I set Reed on the tramp surrounded by blocks and other baby-treasures.  It was black and a little bit warmer than the dry ground, so I thought it was an okay bet.  And he was fine and dandy for quite some time, UNTIL Roger came hauling across the yard and launched himself on the tramp.  He then exlaimed, "Mommy, Reed do a backfwip!" and started laughing with glee.  I turned around and found my poor little baby on his back in the process of doing one of those huge intake breaths before a big scream.

This is why the American Academy of Pediatrics highly recomends the safety of an at-home tramp (can you hear me drooling with sarcasm).

Prognosis of the 8-month old: He's fine, thank goodness.  I, however, am rethinking the wisdom of last year's purchase. . . . .

On Daylight Savings Time

I've four little children who watch for the moon
to tell them that bedtime is coming quite soon.
But now that we're charting an hour ahead
Those children will just not settle to bed!

Late bedtime is bad, something is possibly worse. . . .
We're sleeping so late that we're missing on Church!
9:00 A.M. comes so quickly for us,
there's no time to do hair, and breakfast, and fuss.

They say we are helping the environment out,
I still can't help but feel I just want to pout!
"DOWN WITH DAYLIGHT SAVINGS TIME" will be my bold cheer
Please join me in this-- maybe they'll forget it next year?

I wrote this poem a few years ago. . . it seems very appropriate today, doesn't it? (especially since Roger just got out of bed a few minutes ago (it is a 9:45-- oh boy, tomorrow morning is going to be a doozy)

A kid's perspective on homes

We've told the kids often that when they are 10 years old (in 3 years) we will likely be moving because Dad will be done with residency.  This week, Davis got a serious look in his eyes and said, "Dad, I don't want to move in three years. I like it here."

"But, Davis, wouldn't you like a bigger house so you can have your own room?"

"No, this house is big enough.  I don't mind sharing."

To top it off, when we got home from church today, Davis opened up the door and said, "Home, sweet home."

I guess I need to take a page out of his book and stop complaining about my rickety, old garage, and tiny closets, and . . . . .wait, I am supposed to stop complaining.

Non-census

Yesterday, I got a letter in the mail from the 2010 U.S. Census.  It was a letter to inform me that in a few days, I would be receiving a census in the mail and it was very important that I fill it out.

If this letter was sent out to every one of the estimated 113,567,967 households in America, times a 44 cent stamp, then our government just spent $49,969,905.48 (almost 50 million dollars) to tell us to watch our mail.  Go Government. . . . How many people's insurance could have been covered this year with that money???

Just sayin'.

Mom of a little boy

Isn't it funny that no matter how many little Hot Wheels cars you've got--at our house it is like 50,000 or so-- you can still recognize one that doesn't belong to you???  "This isn't our car. .  .which friend left it at the house?"

That would be an example of mom-stinct.  The other example is the 'cheerio-crushing reflex'.  As you become older and more experienced, this instinct becomes better.  As you walk barefoot in the kitchen (who am I kidding?  Any room in the house) the crushing-reflex kicks in just as you are about to obliterate a tiny piece of cereal.  I still crush about 50% of the innocent breakfast bites.  I expect to be at 90%+ by the time my kids hit high school.

The conundrum of Dr. McDeedles

I think most of us have caught an episode of E.R. or Grey's Anatomy.  My husband is truly in the exact same shoes as the resident's on Grey's Anatomy.  General Surgery Resident, extraordinaire (I added the extraordinaire, of course).  In case you were wondering he is a cross between Izzy and Cristina Yang-- all the sweet and all the saucy (okay he's not really saucy, but he's an intelligent, hard worker).

Although these medical shows often get a jeer from us for their crazy plotlines, there is one thing about residency that is ABSOLUTELY true.  You can never win with the attendings.  Even if you're right, you're wrong.  They sit and fling crap at you about what a silly decision you've made even when you were told by the on-call attending the previous night to do just what you did.  Can you defend yourself and say you were just doing what was suggested to you?  Nope.  Because if you did, it shows up on your evaluation at the end of the month that you are not taking responsibility for your decisions! Seriously, I think the whole process of evaluations are what keeps the residents (who do the lion's-share of work (with the lamb's pay)) from exploding every day at the silly and unfair treatment they are given by their egomaniacal attendings.

Example:  Last night D took a trauma in the afternoon.  It was a 20-something man who had a TON of medical problems. He had spina-bifida, was a parapalegic with chronic extremity wounds (bed-sores), and also had his legs amputated.  He showed up to the E.R. with weakness and some clearly infected wounds. D consulted on the man in the E.R., and decided his symptoms were indicative of an infection.  Thinking he would be courteous to the attending who had operated on this man MANY times in the past (i.e. THE ATTENDING'S patient), he called him to let him know he was admitting the man.  Instead of a,"thanks for letting me know what was up," he was asked, "Why are you calling me?  You shouldn't have called me until you did a full work-up and can tell me exactly what his problem was." By now D's "on-call" shift was over-WAY OVER, and he was getting ready to scrub into a gunshot wound surgery.  "You need to man-up and make decisions as a Doctor instead of reporting to me." So, that was a 'no thanks,' for keeping me in the loop.

Fast forward to tonight.  It is 5:50 P.M. D's "on-call"status ends at 6:00 P.M.  He gets a call that there is a level-2 trauma in the bay.  He goes down to the bay.  No attending shows up.  He's been told that some attendings don't show up for level 2's.  So he runs the trauma himself.  Turns out the guy has passed out after inhaling gold spray-paint.  He hit his head.  D orders a head CT.  There is blood in the cranium.  He calls Neurosurgery and passes the patient on to them.  He tidies things up in the computer (by now it is 7:30) and calls the attending (the same guy that chewed him out last night).  Instead of a,"Okay. Good job," he is chewed out again, "Why are you still in the hospital?"

"The trauma came in while I was still on-call." 

"Well, your shift ended at 6:00.  You should let the on-call handle it. . . . . Why didn't you call me?"

D's reply, "Because I was told by other residents that some attendings don't show up for level 2's." (AND last night you told me to be a man-doctor and handle things on my own)  "I also figured if you wanted to be there, you would've been there." (dude has a pager that beeps for trauma's just like D).

And that, folks, is a typical day at the office for my hubby.  How does he handle it, I don't know.  He should be the raging alcoholic, don't you think?

In case you wanted to know

(probably not, but you get this anyway), I am swearing off sodas.(I've done a week without).   Watch the tear trickle down my cheek. I am tired of spending my money on something that I can substitute water for, and I don't think the word 'moderation' is in my vocabulary.  It's a good thing I have no desire to drink, cause I'm pretty sure I'd be a raging alcoholic by now if I did.

Fabulous Work from the Suzee

Hey guys, just a reminder to sign up for Suzee's photo giveaway!  She did a great job with the boys, don't you think?? 

The complexities of girlhood

Somewhere between getting dressed on her own, having a total freak-out meltdown because the jeans she wanted to wear were wrinkled, playing peek-a-boo with Reed, and yelling at me because her pigtails were too tight, Eliza made my bed this morning.

Seriously, the crazy mood swings really start young.

Or she is learning the art of mixing up just enough sweet to temper the sassy.

Or maybe, it is just the OCDeedles gene kicking in.

The Home Depot: Bringing People Together

Our toilet is leaking, just a dribble.  For awhile every time we saw the wet tile, we would blame Davis.  "Davis! When will you learn to aim?"  To his credit, and our parently-disgrace, he promised us again and again and again that the water on the floor WASN'T from him.  Aren't you glad we place so much trust in the bathroom-habits of a 6 year-old?  I know, you can hardly blame us.  The wet-floor problem disappeared after we placed a cup near the back of the loo.

Today, D decided it was the day to tackle the problem.  After a bit of tinkering, he discovered the offender was a leaky seal between the tank and the bowl.  The decision: a trip to the "depot." (pronounced: dee-pot )  For those of you in the know, this is either the gangsta-slang or white trash version of The Home Depot.

Now, to its credit, this place is the man-version of Target. Whenever the male species steps into the store, he spends too much time browsing the aisles only to discover something he must buy, even though he never knew he needed it.  A hatchet.  Double-sided tape.  A pair of hooks for the garage. . . .You know what I am talking about.

During a home renovation projection, this store is also referred by many as "our second home." And, why is it that no matter how many times you make a trip to the dee-pot, you always end up going back one more time?  Every time you start a new project, you VOW you will get everything you need and extra in just one trip.  Sadly, you end up going back for a follow up almost every time, and it is usually for something stupid like a smaller size screw.

On the plus side, almost every time you visit the store you end up chatting with someone while you are waiting your turn to harrass the friendly workers with your incessant questions.  Yep, this store brings together all walks of life with a leaking toilet.  It doesn't matter if you are from the East side or the West side, you can bond over a cracked sprinkler head that supposedly only needed one part-- 2 trips ago.

So, yep, D made two trips today.  He is putting things back together now and we are hoping that his second trip provided the proper valve he needed to stop the leaking. . . . .if not, it is comforting to know the dee-pot won't close for another 45 minutes.  How kind of them to think of us do-it-yourselfers when deciding upon store hours.