2039

In honor of Mark and me signing our names fifty times today and seeing the year 2039 written out for the first time ever, we decided to decorate house cakes for Family Home Evening.
(Our real house actually looks a lot like the cake house, just with about 1800 more square feet. It's also a little more expensive to come by, but I have faith it will be worth it.)

Killjoy

There are some days that I feel my middle name should be Killjoy. At least to my kids.

It’s hard for them to understand that I would like to see them live to adulthood (though I might regret it when I’ve got three teenage girls living under my roof).

I know they think I'm being mean and unreasonable in outlawing so many of their good ideas. And since I'm starting to get a complex about it, I'd like to present the evidence to you, for some reinforcement.

Here is a sample of some of the events I've put my foot down on in the last week.

...A toddler sifting through a 5 gallon bucket of flour.

...A preschooler putting her hands or feet on the baby twenty times each day (Actual quote heard in the car: "Lily laughs when I put my toe in her mouth!") I will refrain from quoting my response.

...A kindergartner wedging an exercise ball between my bed and the window and inviting her sister and friends to try out her homemade trampoline.

As well as being the recipients of my lecturing, Sage and Eliza know how to reverse the roles.

Just this morning, at the breakfast table, Eliza told me, “Mommy, it’s not your job to take a bath with an alligator."

And Sage has spent the last few days playing "school," where she is always the teacher. (The exercise ball-trampoline stunt took place at "recess.")

I enjoy a good time as much as my kids do, but I tend to reject the "activities" that involve excessive cleanup, germs, or gravity-defying moves.

And while I'm not willing to compromise on some things (like putting toes in the baby's mouth), I think I could ease up a little--particularly those that require extra preparation or cleanup on my part.

Like eating breakfast in the garden.

Or letting the kids use straws more often (which is synonymous with asking for puddles of milk on the table).

Or have "kitty day" like my mom sometimes did (where we got to eat without using our hands).

Or letting my kids help me cook.

With aprons, though.

Because when it really comes down to it, I know I'd rather my girls remember how much fun we had in these special (fleeting) years together, rather than how sparkling clean my kitchen floor was.

Okay, I admit it; the floor is only sparkling for about thirty seconds every third day. I guess my real hope should be that I can cover up the memories of a constantly dirty floor with memories of how many fun activities we did in the kitchen together.... Like letting the baby sift through the flour bucket so I am forced to sweep the floor??? Hmmm.

The girl who didn't cry wolf

Today I heard Eliza calling "Mommy, help!"

This is what I found.

And to serve her right, I left her there while I went for the camera.

Once she had been extracted and sterilized she chuckled and said, "That was a good one."

Show and Tell

What is elementary school without the timeless tradition of Show and Tell? Is there any kid that doesn't love bringing some treasure from home to brag about? On the other hand, I can't help but wonder if there is any teacher that does love Show and Tell?

This month I've had a chance to rethink Show and Tell, what with the kindergarten teacher's invitation to Sage (and her 23 other classmates) to bring an item to show every day of their Colors unit this month.


The first day was "Brown Day." I had visions of digging through my souvenirs from other countries so Sage would have something awesome to show. My excitement was short lived, as I discovered that Sage was dead set on bringing her stuffed dog.

On “Purple Day” we forgot to bring something, but Sage proudly related to me that she showed her class a purple crayon from her backpack. She was excited to tell me that another girl ALSO shared a purple crayon. What fun that Show and Tell must have been!

On “Blue Day,” when I was unpacking Sage’s backpack after school, I found at least 20 blue toys in there! With wide eyes, Sage claimed she had no idea how they got in there. Whether that's true or not (aka not), Sage's teacher couldn't have enjoyed Sage's 20-piece-show very much.

By "White Day" I was wondering when the Colors unit (aka "Dig Through the Toy Chest Each Day") would end. I jokingly suggested that Sage bring a bag of marshmallows to school. Her eyes lit up before I realized that my joke was her idea of heaven. It wasn't hard to imagine Sage imagining herself carefully distributing tasty marshmallows to each of her classmates. We resorted to Plan B instead. Another stuffed animal.

There really is nothing like Show and Tell--where each kid gets to produce a crayon, a junky old toy, or a piece of lint and bask in the limelight for thirty glorious seconds. It seems almost therapeutic. I bet even adults could benefit from some Show-and-Tell therapy every now and then. (As for me, I'd probably have a hard time choosing between my Lisa Frank binder from fifth grade and my old retainer to show.)

{screaming}

I JUST found out that the offer we made on a house yesterday was accepted. Two minutes ago.

What the heck were they thinking?!? Don't they know we're just kids?

The thing that keeps going through my mind is that now we have to buy a lawn mower. That feels very....adult-ish. Especially for someone who's been buried in a juvenile fiction book (Fablehaven) all day. And who decided against veggies for dinner tonight just because.

I think Sage prayed us into this situation. She is SO sick of "house hunting," even in spite of the many outrageous bribes we offer for good behavior...and that we deliver regardless of behavior.

The best and worst of the bribes (to the kids and the parents respectively) have been two Disney princess microphones that play only a (very) few stanzas of "Bibbidi Bobbidi Boo." I'm genuinely surprised the batteries aren't dead by now, for the number of times they've been played. My thanks goes out to Disney for making the "on" button also function as an "off" button. (Though heaven knows they are "on" much more than they are "off" during house hunting.) And (no) thanks to Disney, I often wake up in the night with those 4 measures of "Bibbidi Bobbidi Boo" floating through my head.

Sage and Eliza like to play duets with their microphones. They do a countoff, and try to start them at the exact same time. This usually results in Eliza's going off 5 seconds after Sage's. But occasionally they are close enough to bring total chaos to the back seat...not unlike the chaos that comes when they don't have microphones. Without the microphones, they suffer and we suffer. And with the microphones we suffer. This is what I call parental sacrifice. They better buy me a beautiful coffin some day.

Though I joke about Sage praying us into this soon-to-be-home-owners situation, Eliza literally did. Here's a quote from her morning prayer today: "Please help us find a house with all kinds of cool stuff."

Cool stuff, huh? Well, Eliza's easy to please. As long as the Disney microphones move in with us, Eliza will be happy. But cool stuff this house does have....including a dog run (snort snort), a large swingset, a huge yard, and plenty of room for GUESTS and visitors. (And this time, Heather, you won't have to sleep on our living room floor, and your friends can have the entire dog run to themselves!)

So mark your calendars, my friends. It's time to plan a trip to beautiful Salt Lake! And please bring your lawn mowers.