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.