The middle one

I have been sick the last few days.  Today I threw up in the bathroom sink.  All three kids heard me and rushed to see what was going on.  Their reactions were amusing (...well, they were when I thought about it after the fact).  After I’d emptied my gut, Lily continued to stare at me silently like I was some freak of nature.  Sage rushed over to me with a glass of water she’d filled up in the kitchen.  And Eliza asked me (in THAT tone of voice that says "I'm trying to be patient") if I had forgotten to get her shoes.

Nurture or nature?  Middle child syndrome? Second child syndrome? (That hits a little too close to home for comfort!)

Happy General Conference

In case you wondered, General Conference is where we listen to this guy:

President Monson, by Sage

  Not to this guy:

Satan, by Sage

A lunchtime visitor

Even though Mark's work is 12-15 minutes from our house, he never comes home for lunch.  Which is good, because he might be astounded at the number of chicken nuggets and bowls of rice and cheese that pass for good enough nutrition around here.  Really it probably has more to do with his tendency to take two and a half minutes to eat and then it's back to work.

But I have a suspicion that today might be an exception to his stay-at-work routine, because we have been counting down March 29 for a LOOOOOOOOOOONG time...

Maybe you know what I'm talking about?

Or do you need a clue?












Or two?
 

Yes, we are the proud and very excited owners of the movie Tangled!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Lily keeps saying "Not at the library.  At our house."  Meaning, can you believe that we actually got a movie that we're going to keep?!?

It's been about 5 years since I last bought a movie.  Curious George, to be exact.  And prior to that I bought a whole slew of other ones that sit around and collect major dust now, including Dora the Explorer and The Lord of the Rings [two separate movies, by the way].  That was back in the era when I didn't really consider the mathematics of student loans--those lovely little things that need to be repaid several times over after law school ends. 

I have it on pretty good evidence that Tangled will be well used and loved (unlike The Two Towers).  Based on the number of times we have watched clips from it on Youtube in the last month.  And based on...is that the garage door opening?  A visitor coming home for lunch (or rather, for Tangled)?

This is the "BEST. DAY. EVER."

The Law of Moses

Right now I am the one and only gospel doctrine teacher in my ward.  Which means weekly lessons.  Which translates into, I feel strange writing things that don't end with my testimony.  To ease me back into blogging, I'll try to split this blog entry evenly between the New Testament and my kids. 

Tonight [actually written a few weeks ago] I almost put the kids to bed without scripture time because it was close to 9.  Mark had gone back to work, and he usually coordinates scripture times since I am nearly always out of mommy energy by that time.  But I remembered (with guilt) the girls' primary goal of reading every day, and I decided to tell them a story relating to something I’ve been studying. 

I taught the Sermon on the Mount on Sunday, and while that isn’t necessarily chock full of interesting stories, the idea of Christ changing the laws from really specific to “vague” is important and interesting and, I decided, comprehensible by a six-year-old.  So I told the girls about how the children of Israel (previously slaves) having a hard time obeying and even “getting” spirituality.  Then I told about their arrival at Mt. Sinai, and the golden calf incident while Moses was up receiving the law.  

(Eliza got a little fixated on the idea of worshipping idols [which are HARD to define…dolls, sometimes golden, that were supposed to remind people of religious figures, but sometimes became more important than the religious figure itself?].  Following my attempted definitions of idols, Eliza proposed several examples of idol use, all involving Lily playing with idols in her bedroom at playtime.)   

I gave them some examples of the detailed rules of the Mosaic law and Sage and Eliza were totally amused.  (Sage was momentarily distracted over and concerned about whether or not we took more than 55 steps (the random number I threw out hypothetically) on Sunday.  And Eliza, after hearing about “an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth,” had great fun extrapolating to “what if you cut off someone’s head…then they get to cut off yours?!?” (She usually asks weird questions like this anyway, but it was extra exciting to her that this was a legitimate issue in someone’s law.)

But then we talked about Jesus’ “upgrade” to a more celestial law during his sermon on [another] mount, and they totally got it.  And they were excited about it, because it made logical sense to them—much more than the 55 steps business.  When I posited the “new law” of “love thy neighbor,” Eliza proceeded to rattle off four examples of how to “love your neighbor” at the exact same time as Sage excitedly recounted a long story she had read in the Friend about (as far as I could tell) a child who included a wheelchair-bound child in their game of basketball.  At least that’s what I could make out of their excited tones, since I couldn’t quite bring myself to curb the enthusiasm even the tiniest bit by making them take turns to express their new ideas.

And that is how the scripture time that was going to be a minute or less (in my mind) turned into an awesome story-telling session and discussion about truth that lasted ten or fifteen minutes.  And I didn’t regret a second of it.

Desperate times call for desperate measures

We're going on two weeks of sickness for Lily.  Which means my energy is waning, and my desperation to keep a cranky 2-year-old happy is waxing.  So we've resorted to a few unorthodox measures.

Like storing markers in a rainboot

Or having multiple tea parties per day.  (No shirt, no shoes, no Shout stain-remover needed.)

Lots of reading with Daddy 

(not an unorthodox or unusual measure, but too cute of a picture to pass up)

(Supervised) filling of Mommy's pill case.  And then repeating it again the next day. And the next.

Lots of Mommy-doesn't-care-what-toys-you-want-with-you-as-long-as-you-nap naps

Some of which result in some pretty awesome hair.

Lots of baths each day.  Some three minutes long.  Some thirty minutes long.  But all with huge puddles on the bathroom floor.

Parties with Lily's dog friends.  This one was a gum party, and each guest got a piece.

Not pictured:
Lots of tylenol and amoxicillin, and lots (I mean like danger-to-the-Amazon-rainforest lots) of Kleenex boxes.

And (thankfully) we've had lots of snuggle time, too. 

Yep, that's a swimsuit.

The Pink Cow Day

On Monday, before anyone got up, I decorated the kitchen with a few balloons and streamers, and set out individual plates with valentines and candy (including homemade chocolate molds) for each of my girls.

Breakfast was heart pancakes and pink milk, thanks to a nighttime visit from The Pink Cow, which is a tradition that has lived on since my childhood.  Just ask Danielle's friend, Alice.... Sorry, inside joke.  But too good of a joke to not share.

I grew up drinking powdered milk, and on one V-day, my little sister, Danielle, took a thermos of Pink Cow (Powdered) Milk to elementary school as part of her lunch.  In the lunchroom, one of Danielle's friends, Alice, noticed Danielle's BEAUTIFUL pink milk, and delightedly reached over, picked up Danielle's cup, and took a big slurp without even asking.  The slurp may or may not have stayed down.  For Krista and me, this was the best thing that had ever happened on a Valentine Day.

Thankfully The Pink 1% Cow graced our house and thermoses this year.


After breakfast we loaded up Sage with all her homemade Valentines, which she had worked on for hours, to make no two alike. 


Hypothetically speaking, if a mom were to sneakily change the message inside one of her daughter's Valentines, would that be a retraction of free agency?  Even if it weren't a love message?  I found something questionable on the valentine Sage made for the one boy in her class that can beat her at math.

Notice the casual placement (by me) of that red heart?  Hopefully he doesn't have a two-year-old sibling that likes to pick off heart stickers, because beneath lies the big ol' contraction: 't.  Them's fighting words, and not so appropriate for Lovers Day, don't you think?  I took the easy road out and covered it up without bothering to use this as a teaching moment.  Blame the excessive sugar in my blood.

After half a day of Valentines excitement had passed, Eliza graciously suggested to me that "It would be a big help if you could give me a valentine, Mom."  Which I took with a grain of salt and an Aspirin to warn off the impending sugar shock headache that was already forming behind my temples from my balanced breakfast of heart pancakes and oreo truffles.

By lunchtime, even Sugar-Tooth Eliza was ready to forgo sweets for the real four food groups.  But by the time dinner rolled around, I was chomping at the bit to make this recipe for the grand finale of Lovers' Day.

Except something went wrong.  A lot of somethings, actually.  Because my version looked psycho (and much as I'd like to blame my lack of a fancy camera or beautiful cake platter, I know it lacked something else, too...).  Especially when, after frosting the cake, I went to get the plates and forks ready, and the top layer started to crack.

 As anticipated, I ended up with layers of cake and frosting that looked like pancakes.  But I assumed that this labor-intensive dessert wouldn't actually TASTE like triple-sugar-quadruple-butter-pancakes.
(Though that may have been the effect of all that high fructose corn syrup in my bloodstream, inhibiting neurological capacity.)

Mark and I sat down to large slices of our pancake cake with high hopes (no pun intended).  We took the first bite with gusto.  The second followed a little more cautiously.  And by the time the third and fourth loomed, we met the other person's gaze apprehensively (Mark not wanting to offend, and me not wanting to cry, and both of us not wanting to barf).  Thanks to eight Valentine's Days and eight years of marriage under our belts, we reached a mental agreement without saying a word, and, simultaneously, we pushed the plates of sugar-bomb-pancakes away and began to laugh. 

Then we washed it all down with some Pink Cow Milk, set the timer on the camera, and took twenty pictures of us making disgusted faces at the horrible cake (of which maybe three were actually in focus). 

 And, all sugar-coating aside, I felt happier than ever that I am married to my best friend.

Doritos and dog drama

Research companies declared the Doritos' pug commercial the most recalled ad of the 2011 Superbowl season.  When I showed it to Sage and Eliza, they sat glued to our computer screen, watching a tiny dog knock over an adult (not to mention a door) for a bag of Doritos. 

At first I thought they liked it because they could relate to the little dog's obsession with Doritos.

(In March 2010, I recorded the following:  Eliza was munching on a bag of Doritos.  Sage got antsy for Eliza to share the chips.  When Eliza finally passed over the goods, Sage said with a look of disgust, “This bag smells like lots of hands have been in it.”)

After some more thought about the Pug commercial, I realized that even greater than Sage and Eliza's love of Doritos is their fear of dogs.  What I took to be an interest in fake orange cheese powder was more likely a visual representation of Sage and Eliza's deepest fear and firmest suspicion: that every dog on the planet wants to jump on them and knock them down.  Interestingly enough, this commercial might actually be a cure for my girls' love of Doritos.  (Example: If I eat Doritos, dogs will knock down doors to jump on me.)

But a discussion of fear of dogs (mine as well as the genetically inherited case of my girls') will have to be saved for another post.   The real question remains--is a love of Doritos and Cheetos and fake orange cheese dust hereditary?  In the simple random-ish sample of me and my posterity, I'm forced to conclude yes. 

Genetics of a sweet tooth

Yesterday was a pretty busy day for me, and in the evening, I looked back to realize, with dismay, that Lily had eaten cold cereal at three separate meals.  

That girl has a sweet tooth problem, which is compounded by my inattentiveness on busy days.  And by her ability to finagle treats out of any occasion.  (Lily, you ate two pea-sized bites of cauliflower?  Have a doughnut!  You let the dentist count your two big teeth?  Have a sucker!  You took off your diaper for the tenth time today, and used the big potty?    Have a sleeve of oreos!  You didn't cut your hair or stuffed animals or my sheepskin rug?  Have a three layer cake!)

Maybe it's just because she's so easygoing, or maybe it's her little dimple on her right cheek, or maybe it's just that I know whose genetic material produced Lily's sweet tooth, but it's hard to resist this cheery little face.

Cupcakes from here: raspberry lemonade, toasted coconut, grasshopper, root beer float