OMG. Birds and Bees.

I just turned out the lights and left the girls in their bunks to ponder one of life's bigger questions.

They must be too, because it's quiet.  Like a stunned silence, I think.

It's hard to remember exactly what started the conversation, but I know it was about our skin and why it is the color it is.  Libby wanted to know why some people are super light brown, while others are super dark brown and everyone else falls somewhere in between.

I told them (and I'm sure I have this all wrong) that it has to do with the amount of *pigment we each have in our skin.  Those of us who are lighter have less pigment, while people with darker brown skin have more.  I told her that pigment is a chemical.  Or is it?  Or does it have to do with reflection of light?  See, I know nothing. Also, some of us have spots of pigment called freckles.  I remember Libby asking how someone with dark brown skin can also have freckles.  "Pigment."  I told her.

Then, when I should've maybe given them one more kiss goodnight and shut my mouth and left the room, I kept talking.  I remember it going something like this...

"The way our bodies grow and develop are similar to our parents.  If your parents have a certain skin color, yours might be similar to one, or both of them.  It has to do with genetics, what our parents pass on to us.  And genetics have to do with the millions of cells that make up our bodies.  Amazing, right?"

Have you ever heard that advice to "answer only what the child is asking.  Don't get all nervous and start rambling on about things they don't know that they don't know."?  Well, that's good advice, but to be honest I started talking and as I listened to what was coming out of my mouth, I just sounded so freaking smart.

Are you nervous?  Me too.

And with the next question Libby dropped I knew I was in serious trouble.  She said, "But when a baby is born, how can it look like the daddy when the it grew inside the mommy's belly?"

Let me tell you.  I don't know who nominates for the Oscars but if it's you, please put my name in.  I deserve one.  I was calm. composed. Scientific-ish. And it's not like I was worried about giving them too much information, or overwhelming them.  I was just trying to not laugh.  Because this topic is funny to me.  Really funny.  

So I explained to them that they have ovaries full of eggs.  All the eggs they'll ever have.  And when an egg joins together with a sperm a baby starts to grow.

And Libby says, "Yeah, but where does the sperm come from?"

(Poised and holding my Oscar) "It comes out of the daddy's penis."  

"The daddy's penis?! Yeah, but how does it get to the egg then?"

And I can't write here exactly what I said, but I can tell you it was the truth.  And what followed makes me reeeeeally believe in genetics.  She was horrified.  Confused. Taken aback, and wanting to laugh.  Laugh.  Which means she's sooooo mine.  This was all hysterical to her, and she blurted out, "BUT WHEN DO YOU GUYS DO THAT?!"  

Thank God I didn't elaborate.  I simply pointed to each of them and said, "When we had you and you."

Libby, who'd been propped up on her elbow flopped back on to her pillow and said, "I'm NEVER doing that.  I am NOT having a baby."  I liked her answer.  I think at five, I don't need to convince her otherwise.

Peyton, who'd been on the sidelines for most of the conversation, panicked and said, "But what if I don't want to have a baby, and one gets in my belly anyway and what if they have to cut me open to take it out?!"  

"Oy.  Cesarean Section.  Can we tackle that tomorrow, babe?  Mommy's tired."

*It turns out I'm not that smart.  Pigment wasn't at all the word I was looking for.  Melanin.  Melanin.  Jeez.  How am I going to break this news to them?  They'll probably think I made up everything.

Let's Work!

The other day a colleague of mine posted this article Why Are American Kids So Spoiled? on facebook. I read it and took it to heart. It's true. It made me consider all of the things I do for my kids without thought; things they could, and should, do for themselves. And then we got down to business. Now, they're making their own toast with butter and jam, microwaving their own veggie sausage, getting their own glasses of milk and water, washing and folding laundry, picking up their toys and peeling hard boiled eggs. Tomorrow, they're going to learn to make a pot of coffee. Coffee made before I get out of bed!? Yes please! I've got kids who can make coffee! Woot Woot!

Laundry

Peeling Eggs

Restocking Bathrooms

Tonight for dinner they had egg salad sandwiches, which means they helped to make dinner. Dinner! The very thing I'm no good at. The thing I said I'd get good at when I had kids. Now I don't have to get good. I've got kids for this!

Summer's Here....

I'm pretty sure my offspring are plotting a coup.

Paranoid, I know. I felt this way a year ago too. I remember blissfully easing into the hot sand and cool waters of summer after wrapping my end-of-the-year school duties only to wonder in the first hour why summer was no fun at all. Eventually it was great, but not the first week. This time of year takes some serious readjusting for everyone. We have to get our family bearings all over again. Currently, I'm getting my bearings while the girls are spending some quiet time on separate beds. In separate rooms. This, after Child A spit in the face of Child B, who tried to pick up the package of crackers that Child A was eating from. You might be surprised to know who was the spitter. Let's just say when anyone is eating crackers in this house, if you would like to have one also, it would behoove you to please ask first. Unless you like the soggy, sprayed-in-your-face with screaming variety. It seems we have an abundance of those.

-or-

We will work on our manners with our sister. We will cool our jets. We will role play. We will walk away when necessary. We will practice how not to explode for a sister who loves (and who's an expert at) lighting the fuse, all the while looking angelically innocent.

Wish me luck.

Send us a prayer.

Or both.

Breathing Deep and Finding Perspective

How cute is she?

Remember how I said I'd quit posting about my health? Yeah, I totally lied about that. I went back to see the nurse at our district clinic on Monday mostly because a doctor friend of mine suggested that maybe I don't have asthma, but instead, whooping cough. It helped that I was all kinds of wheezy for that appointment, so the nurse (who is my personal hero of the moment) was very interested in getting to the bottom of all of this. After another breathing treatment (which seemed to make things worse), swabbing my nose for whooping cough, taking blood and going for chest x-rays she called to tell me I have pneumonia, and to sleep for the next week. Well, well. Happy Birthday to me. Now, I think we might be gettin' somewhere. For now, I'm on another stair ride and on day 2 of 14 of a superbiotic that makes me ultra sensitive to the sun apparently, because my skin now has a healthy glow like I've been laying by the pool for a week. Nice little side effect.

I did go to work this morning just to drop off notes for my sub and make sure the place wasn't overthrown yet. Turns out I'm totally replaceable there. I can leave plans and another qualified individual can carry them out. Good to know. Good perspective for me, because lately I haven't been my best at work or at home. This morning though, I took two deep breaths on my inhaler and didn't even cough. Progress.

Musical Gifts

Me: "Girls, just so you know.... any sort of musical ability you come away with doesn't come from the Groshong side of the family."

Libby: "I already know that. Daddy, please stop singing!"

Bah. Humbug.

This little rant is an attempt to clear my head, have my tantrum, and get over it and move on. If you are fully enveloped in the Christmas spirit, you might just forgo reading this post.

There are a few things I need to quit being surprised about, quit complaining about and just embrace.

#1- This time of year, especially the last week of school before vacation, is a frantically paced go Go GO. The minute I stop, I get sick. It might be a cold, could be a sinus infection, but usually I'm blessed with both. Two doctors have said sinus surgery. I'm hold out hope for something that isn't sinus surgery.

#2- I've told my girls, "There is nothing you could do to make me not ache with love for you. I love you. I'm over the moon for you. Daddy and I are head over heels for you." However, I guess they don't believe me? For every time school lets out for vacation, they test me with the whiniest, clingiest most annoying behaviors that haven't shown themselves since ...... well ....... the last time school let out for vacation. Newly added to the mix just in time for 2012 ....... drumroll ............ fighting with each other! Hooray! Both are equally antagonistic. I guess I should look at the bright side. My head is so plugged with fluid I can barely hear what they're screaming at each other. And this morning at Walmart, no one seemed to notice.

(The next two on my list aren't regular visitors. I guess this is just my year.)

#3- Something is wrong with my computer. It's so slow that every time that little rainbow colored beach ball starts to spin before me I get all red in the face and have to talk myself off of the ledge. I know it's just my computer doing its thinking. But I swear, last night as the ball was spinning, it flipped me off. And as I calmly set my computer down and walked away to pour myself some Christmas spirit, I heard it laughing at me.

#4- My good camera doesn't work. Just in time for Christmas. Awesome.

#5- Right now I'm a slave to my To Do List. It's long. It's my own fault. And this morning I started crossing things off without doing them. I'm just not going to get to everything I wanted to. Yesterday, Shane and I took the "divide and conquer" approach. He took Libby. I took Peyton. As we were running around town with the other 500,000 people I said, "Peyton, I love spending the day with you." She replied, "I like being with Daddy the best." Faaaaaaantastic. After that, we just listened to the Christmas music on the radio much louder.

#6- Two artists I really can't stand are Gloria Estefan and Aaron Neville. All year long I don't listen to them. They both have a Christmas album. Apparently every DJ loves them.

Last but not least, Libby asked me this morning why I call Ella, "Ella Boo". I said, "Well, sometimes when you love somebody you give them a nickname. It's why we call you Libby Lou. It's why Peyton is Peytie Pie, Pea Pod and (Daddy's favorite) Pey-TONE! Peyton responded with this loud rant: "DON'T CALL ME PEY-TONE! I DON'T LIKE YOU CALLING ME PEY-TONE! I DON'T WANT YOU TALKING. I DON'T LIKE WHEN YOU'RE TALKING TO ME!

At which point I'd heard enough. I yelled, "Hey! Stop! That's enough!"

"Mom?"

"Whatever you're about to say, it had better be nice!

"Mom?"

"What!?"

"I love you."

Maybe my little rant worked. The girls have been quietly playing together for the entire time it took me to type this. I think I'll poor myself some Trader Joe's candy cane tea, turn on the tree lights and work on our Christmas cards. It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas..........

Just Fishin'

Shane prides himself on periodically having a theme song. Past examples are Pink's "Let's Get This Party Started", or more recently, Britney Spears "Toxic". Yes, you read that correctly. It's his ringtone. Embarrassing, yes. But on the upside, he can actually here his phone ring, so I roll with it.

A friend of mine posted this song on facebook today though, and I couldn't find a more fitting song if I tried. Darlin', get a tissue. And watch this.

The Birth of a Cowboy....

I went back through my pictures and I'm pretty sure I know how my cowboy got to thinkin' he's a cowboy. To his credit, he did grow up around horses. His dad played polo and Shane even had a horse of his own named Small Wonder. He worked summers on a ranch from the age of twelve. I love to hear him tell his boyhood stories. In fact, hearing him talk about his dad, it's easy to see how those childhood days shaped the man he is now. So, I guess he's got some real cowboy in him after all.

In looking back to last month, there was a moment at the rodeo when he said to me, "You know how you can tell who's really a cowboy, and who's not? Real cowboys don't where leather hats in the summer. It's too hot. They'd work wearing a straw hat."

A week later, Tex picked himself up a gen-yoo-wine straw Stetson on our way through Sisters, and a real cowboy was born.

Slugo, the Eugene Ems Mascot

The girls' favorite moment was when one of the rodeo clowns, came out riding a pretend horse that lifted his hind end and sprayed the audience from his backside. Hysterical!

Aside from all that, can you believe I grew up in Central Oregon and this is the first rodeo I've ever been too? I guess I just see myself as more of a city slicker.

Not Cool

My plan for tonight was to be the cool mom. We went for frozen yogurt waffle cones at about 6:30 for dinner. And then, we headed to a park for some splash time, since the sun finally showed up today. Look at the happy faces at approximately 6:55....

Then, promptly at 7:00, the water turned off. Lots of disappointed kids scrambled around trying to find the button that would get it going again. There wasn't one. Peyton looked with them, and then she got mad. Bummer. We'll try again another day.

A Victory for Mothers Everywhere

This is a shout out to mothers everywhere. Especially those who have eyes in the back of their head....

Peyton walked by me with these in her hand the other day. I acknowledged her absentmindedly at first, but then somewhere deep within me a siren sounded, red lights flashed and I was suddenly hyper-alert of my immediate surroundings.

"Hey Peytie. Whatcha doin?"

"I going to play huh tut (hair cut) with Libby."

"Um, but you're not, k? Please go put the scissors away."

While she stood there letting my words sink in, I snapped a quick picture to remember this as The Moment I Saved Her Sister. Libby, you're welcome. I can probably hang this over your head until you're at least eighteen. Maybe longer.

Nobody's Perfect

I kinda had high hopes that my girls would always be best friends, be kind and loving toward each other and always watch out for one another.

Ha.

As it turns out, they have flaws just like every other human on the planet, and often if they're in a sour mood, they'll go looking for, and then direct their attack at each other. They tattle, blame and generally snit at each other. And if they're hungry or tired, look out. In fact, after Peyton inhaled a piece of pizza I offered her a mini bag of M&Ms in hopes that a shot of sugar will help the mood she's been spewing since she woke from her nap an hour ago. Things are looking better....

To give you an idea of what that mood was like, I sat down and rocked Peyton while she screamed and writhed around on my lap. Finally, I set her down and walked away. When she calmed down (and after she'd eaten) I asked if she wanted to sit with me again. She did. Then through tears and hiccups she said, "Mom, Libby gave me her hiccups!" Followed by more tears. Sigh.

This too shall pass. This too shall pass. This too shall pass.....

....and for those of you who knew me as a kid, I can hear you. It's not funny. Seriously. Stop laughing. Whatever.

Just a Chair? Please.

Y'know that chair I bought at IKEA? The one that hangs from the rafters of the wood shed? It's totally my kind of thing. I'm always trying to figure out the optimum way to use the smallest of spaces. It's sooooo not Shane's sort of thing. I know when I brought that home he raised his eyebrows when I wasn't looking. He thought of better ways to use twenty five dollars. But just now as the girls and I were playing with stickers at the kitchen table, Shane walked through the kitchen to the back door and announced, "I'm going out to the wood shed."

"Daddy, I'm coming with you!", was Libby's reply.

"Daddy, I'm coming with you!", echoed Peyton.

"You are?", he said. "Now wait a minute. You guys just want to come out and watch t.v. But, you've already watched enough t.v. today."

"Noooooo." answered Libby. "I just want to BE with YOU."

Case closed.

Christmas Performance

Libby's School Christmas program was on Thursday night. I'd hoped that she'd sing, but wasn't holding my breath. The last time her class sang, she sat on my lap and cried. I wasn't in a hurry to get to the performance, because I thought if we were near the front, where she could see us, it would surely increase the chance of a four-year-old nuclear meltdown. When we got there, the only seats left were the last two pews in the church. I wanted to be hidden, just not that hidden.

Anyway, people filed into the church after us and the isles against the walls started to fill in with people willing to stand. Nelson and Valerie snagged a seat behind us, at the other end of the pew, near the middle isle. When the classes of preschoolers came in, I scanned each class looking for Libby and crossing my fingers. When I spotted her she was marching happily with her classmates smiling as she came. And then she spotted (we think) Nelson and Valerie, two people she knows and loves like family. And that's when she exploded right smack in the middle (literally) of the church. I ducked down and told my mom, "I think I'll let her teacher deal with this one." I was prepared to wait it out hunkered down in my seat until the crying ceased, but Anita (the mother of Libby's best friend and classmate) saw what was happening and jumped out of her seat to console my crying child. When I peeked up over the heads of the people sitting in front of me, I could see Anita and Libby's teacher desperately scanning the crowd looking for me. Busted. I went up the side isle saying to people, "Excuse me. Hi. Excuse me. I'm the mother of the crier." Libby and her teacher continued with the preschool procession up the main isle and I met them up front to intercept my child on stage. Sigh.

I was sure the story would end here....

...and we'd try again next year.

But, it didn't.

Luckily, Libby's class was the last to sing and as the other classes gave their performances it gave me time to talk to Libby. I told her, "I know this is hard for you, but Daddy and I really want you to try. Please try." And she said she would. And then she did. She got up and sang with her class. Since I was now sitting on the floor in front of the stage, every once in a while she'd glance over at me and start to whimper, but as soon as she'd look at her teacher again, she was fine. She even sang. It was awesome.

Next year, we'll all sit in the balcony. She'll never spot us up there.

Bahahahahahaha....

Remember last week when I claimed that I single handedly had my sore throat and Grunden's fleas under control? Well, in retrospect as I typed that bold statement I believe I heard, in the distance, laughter. Now, I know it was Mother Nature laughing in the face of such arrogance. She laughed at me and then..... she sent a flea infestation. Unfortunately, I'd treated Grunden with flea medicine that works when the fleas bite. They bite him, get a taste of the medicine in his bloodstream, and die a quick death on my kitchen floor. So looking back now sending Grunden to fish with Shane for the week was, in the words of Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, a BIG MISTAKE. HUGE. Because without Grunden to feast on and die, they turned to the girls and I. They'd bite us and go right on living. Yesterday Libby said, "Grandma Margie, There are bugs in my bed." And there were. UGH.

This was a four day weekend. We spent day three out of the house while flea bombs were penetrating every nook and cranny smoking out the little crawly b@$+@!ds. Last night I put powder on the carpets and washed bedding. Today I shampooed carpets and started doing laundry to try to put our house back together. This morning after I loaded the girls into the car to run a few errands I turned the key and.... nothing. Dead battery. My fault, because I listened to the Duck game in the driveway yesterday since we couldn't go in the house.

Now, in the midst of all of it I know I'm blessed. Yesterday, Margie spent the day with me and the girls and we went to gymnastics, Red Robin for lunch and Barnes and Noble after. She didn't seem the least bit grossed out that we have bugs, and if she was, she hid it well. We finished with a stop at Costco and then home to open up (and air out) the house. Dave and Becky came over after I could get back into the house, turned the pilot back on on the fireplace which Dave had turned off for me earlier, helped me scrub the place top to bottom and Dave even treated our front and back lawn to get rid of fleas living in the grass. This morning, Toby jump started my car so I wasn't stuck at home. And as I sit here typing this Nelson just dropped off some smoked salmon and arranged a time this week that he'd fix the window of my car that won't go up or down. Are you kidding me? I have the best friends in the world.

Here's where I also give a shout out to Lacey for bringing Grunden home from the coast, and to Antone for bringing me a box of Borax after reading this post. What's a few fleas when you're well loved?

I'm easily overwhelmed these days. I don't think I'm doing mom as well as I did. I know I'm not doing it as well as I want. But, I have great support. Friends and family who love me and my family. It could be a lot worse. Some people wander around all day waiting to go to a meal and a bed at a shelter. I guess I'm grateful for my flea infested house. Besides, Grunny's home now, and I've only seen one flea all day. Though, this time I won't claim to have ANYTHING single-handedly under control. I know better.

Surfacing for Air

It has been quite a busy few weeks. The first week I reported back to work (sans students) was the hardest. But, true to all the advice received on motherhood and working, it has gotten easier. The single determining factor that makes the whole thing work is that I know my kids are in the best hands possible. I've had a harder time adjusting than they have. This, I know for sure. I just miss them like crazy. I miss my life of the last 3 years, 279 days 12 1/2 hours and some change. But who's counting? I just really loved being home with my girls.

Thankfully, standing before elementary students feels like riding a bike. Once I've gotten all of the procedural tidbits in place that make our day run smoothly, it does. We're getting there. Not to mention how lucky I am to be working with some women who understand my tendency to boo hoo. ....and they don't make me stop.

But, enough about that. Today I managed to get home reasonably early and have the afternoon I thought possible even as a working mom. We (in Libby's words "my whole family!" and in Shane's words "a wolf pack of four" (a nod to the movie "The Hangover")) jumped on the trampoline, took the girls to the park, went to dinner at Dickie Joe's and finished the night at the Nelsons. Perfect. Just the kind of thing we'd do when I wasn't working.

So, I guess working doesn't mean giving up what I love, just sharing who I love. I was never good at sharing....

And hey, Shane was behind the camera for a change. I like having pics with my girls.

Static Heads.

New Toy

It's been a big week for us. So many transitions and somehow we survived it all. Shane stayed home with the girls on my first official day back to work. Then, on Wednesday they played at a friend's house. Thursday and Friday Grammy Jane was in charge and then the Dover's came for the game weekend. On Saturday the girls and I made a new purchase for the backyard. Assembly was a team effort after the game, and we've been jumping ever since....

On the flip side, I think Libby is feeling the magnitude of all of the changes we've just handed to her. Besides my return to work, she started preschool this week and has spent a fair amount of time in time-out. This morning just after my family left, she got upset and threw a bottle of gummy vitamins across the floor in anger. Then, she picked it up and threw it again. I sent her to time-out where she screamed so loud I had to close the doors. When I came to get her she said, "Mom, I don't like you telling me not to..... not to...... um, what did I do?" Every action of the moment seems to be a reaction. Sigh.

I've been working on school stuff this weekend against my better judgement. I can't help it. It's been a while, and others seem more confident in my teaching ability than I am. So, I'm relying on my ability to organize. That'll get me through the first day, right? That and a smile? Can you sense my nerves? I'll let you know how it goes....

I'm a lover, not a fighter.... No, really.

We've got some pretty massive (for us) changes on the horizon, and lately the activity around our house seems like the nesting you'd be doing if you were about to welcome an infant into your lives. We've installed a sprinkler system, replaced two lawns, a deck, built a sand box and moved the contents of our storage shed and our garage. We are go go go during the week and then bust outta here on the weekends to try and take in summer before it all slips away. That's what it feels like; it's all slipping away. I'm trying to stay in the moment and not let the panic of working outside the home sneak up on me. But let me tell you, that monster is waiting around every corner and loves to taunt me by rearing its head. I cannot escape the fact that I'm about to start doing something very different with my time. Maybe that's why lately I'm a bit more confrontational than normal....

Rewind to about a week ago.

Exhibit A:

I love playing out front with the girls. I love talking to the neighbors and we have a lot of foot traffic on our street and people are friendly. What I do not love is that we live on a straight stretch of 25 mile per hour road, where people generally go 40-45. Many go even faster. It feels like we live on a highway. There are also lots of small kids and dogs in the neighborhood. So, the other day as I'm leaving I notice our side gate is open and I pull back into the driveway to close it. As I'm getting back in my car a 70s-ish Chevy Chevelle (I know nothing about cars, but this one had a giant label across its windshield to identify it) takes off and goes hauling past our house way too fast. So I follow him in a low speed (25 mile an hour to be exact) pursuit. I go to the end our our road and then wind through the neighborhood, but of course there's no way I'm going to catch him. So, I surrender the chase and head (on a main street) toward town to resume my errands. Three blocks later the Chevelle pulls onto the road behind me. I watch him in my mirror and when he takes a right, I take the next one. I wind through a neighborhood until I spot him pulled over talking to a man in a Suburban loaded with kids. By this time my heart is pounding. This is soooooo not like me, but I'm so fed up with the speed on our street. So, I pull up to where the two men are talking.

I ask him, "Hey were you just out on [our street] driving north?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Listen I'm not just trying to be a hard---, but I live on that street. I have a two and a three year old. We play in the driveway as do lots of other families. There's really no reason for you to be driving that fast, and we'd sure appreciate it if you'd slow down."

"Uh, yeah. No problem. I can do that. Sorry."

"Thanks."

And I drive off. Then Libby says, "Mom, who was that man?" and I say, "Just a man who drives too fast. End of story. Well, not really. After that I called Shane to tell him what I'd done. For me, it was a small victory, and he was a nice guy. It's not going to solve the problem, but at least that guy's not going to be the problem.

Exhibit B:

Now, fast forward to last Friday. We're returning home from lunch at The Scandinavian Festival and pass by a driveway on our street where five people are piling into a small car. That car pulls in behind me and just as I'm about to turn into our driveway I look into my rear view mirror. I wish I hadn't looked into my mirror. Because what I see is the teenage driver of that car with his window down, arm out, making gestures that I can only interpret to mean, "Get the ---- outta my way. You're slowing me the ---- down." Oh, I wish I hadn't looked in my mirror, because now I'm hot. Not Halle Berry in 007 hot, but more Steve Martin buying hot dogs, hot. I slam on my brakes, put it in park and tell Shane, "Stay in the car." The problem with getting so fired up, is that much of that confrontation is a blur. I know I came at this kid yelling. I know I told him that I have small kids and that there's no reason for him to be speeding past my house. I know his rebuttle was the fact that he was "only driving 26 miles per hour." to which I replied, "ONLY BECAUSE I WAS IN YOUR WAY GOING THE SPEED LIMIT!" But from inside the car Shane heard him talk back to me, which was enough to get him hot, so when I returned to my driver's seat, my passenger was missing. Then when I jumped back out of the car to break up the fight that I'd started, I realized I'd put my car into reverse, and now it's slowing rolling toward the car behind us. I jumped back in, put it in park (phew) and got back out only to stand in between my husband and this gesturing kid's front seat passenger who is now out of his seat. He appears not to be a teenager and is no small guy. Shane later told me the three kids in the backseat were staring wide eyed, but seemed intent on staying put. I also thought I heard someone tell Shane to get control of his wife, but maybe those were just my own thoughts.

In the end some neighbors had quite a show, no one fought and luckily our next door neighbor who almost dialed 911, didn't. Peyton was asleep, but Libby heard the entire row. I'm not proud of that. Later that day, the father of the girl in the backseat of that car came down and introduced himself, shook our hands, had a beer and agreed about the speed problem on our street and the disrespectful nature of some teenaged drivers. I think his words were, "Sometimes punk--- kids need an ---whoopin'." I like this guy. A lot. For the record, neither Shane nor I are interested in whoopin' on anyone. Least of all, drivers who are still kids themselves. But, I definitely took this one personally. My tolerance is down. My hackles are up. And if I'm really honest, it probably has to do with what's on our immediate horizon. Not just the speed of the drivers on our street. Maybe we all just need to slow down and spend some time takin' it in.

I think it's no coincidence that a friend of mine posted this on facebook today. Talk about taking the high road. If this guy can do what he did......

A little time away....

Early last week we had dinner with our friends Jamie and Devin and their kids Maddie, Kendal and Kolbi. Kendal and Kolbi went to camp with Libby this summer and will be at school with her in the fall. This is their pool full of cuteness (Kendal, Libby, Kolbi and Peyton).

Libby and Kolbi

Peyton finds her own place to hide in my classroom. I've been taking the girls to my classroom one at a time to get a few things done here and there. I can accomplish more having only one of them, because there are so many new (to them) things to play with that my room provides endless entertainment. That is, if you don't have a sister standing next to you clamoring to have the same thing you are holding in your hand. Last week I managed to do some painting and get most of my things put away. Next up, bulletin boards and posters. I still have a long way to go, lots of hours to put in, and by the end of last week I was pretty overwhelmed by all of it. And by all of it, I mean all of it. Like:

Needing to accomplish tasks without interruption.

Having lots of interruptions.

Feeling bad for wanting no interruptions.

Not dealing well with being interrupted.

Having zero patience.

For anyone.

Holy, I see a pattern, Batman.

The truth is, I've already gone back to work. I just haven't gotten paid yet. But in lots of ways I'm no longer a stay-at-home mom. And I gotta tell ya, I have LOVED being a stay-at-home mom. I've loved lazy mornings to snuggle my girls without needing to rush off to school. I've loved fixing them hot breakfasts because I had all the time in the world to do so. I've loved the patience I've had for them, because there were little other demands on me. I've loved that I married a man who has worked his tail off to make these last few years possible. It's not been without its own stress, but it's been so worth it. I've said this before. I know it's not for everyone. But, it's definitely been for me. For us.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying I won't love being a working mom, too. I've always loved my job. It's the perfect fit for me. And already we're off to a great start. My daycare situation is ideal and Libby loves her preschool. A few short years from now, my schedule will be their schedule. Did I mention that I'll get paid? Money? That'll feel good again. I have a great teaching partner. But, last week I had some real moments of wondering if I was up for this new adventure. Add to my anxiety four (out of five) nights of interrupted sleep which severely compromised my brains capacity to function. Did I mention I'm having a hard time with interruptions?

Well, please.

don't.

touch.

my.

sleep.

There are gaps in my memory of last week. I was a bit zombie-like, going about my days as though I had newborn twins. Last week my kids had the same sleep patterns as newborn twins. Okay, nobody needed to be fed in the middle of the night, but the volume of sound that a three-year-old can produce when she's told she needs to return to her own bed, more than makes up for an infant feeding.

We went camping with friends this weekend and when we got home yesterday I was uber productive. Laundry is done and I've started work on a few other projects. It's amazing how two solid night's sleep gave me my brain back. And would you look at this? It's hard for frustration to linger too long.....

Libby got into Shane's stash of latex gloves he uses for fishing. We call this little look "chicken feet".

Sweet moments with a favorite book

There is so much going on in our lives that are represented in this picture. In case it's not obvious to you, Peyton dressed herself. Her shirt is on backwards, and one of the leg holes of her shorts is around her waist. What this picture really represents though, is my child's stubborn independence. She wants to do everything herself. You name it. Get dressed, open her car door, squeeze the tube of toothpaste, pour her own water or drive a car. Whatever it is, she's not having any help. From anyone, but especially from me. This means we have to allow lots of extra time whenever we're doing anything. Remember how I'm short on patience lately? It's really hard to be returning to work (with all that entails) when Peyton needs so much of my time, patience, understanding, nurturing and help (whether she'll admit it or not) right now. She is so much like me. And when she'll finally surrender to accepting help (often after a full blown nuclear meltdown that ends in a puddle of tears and saliva on the floor), there's nothing better than the snuggle-fest that follows. In short, we're having to tread a bit gently with her and let her fail all on her own right now. Even when that means bumps, bruises and skinned knees. Or, when she's really mad, head-butting concrete. That's so hard to do. But in the words of our pediatrician Dr. Bradshaw, "She's not going to be anybody's doormat." And I think she's right.

After feeling overwhelmed last week, we decided to blow this popsicle stand and get out of town for the weekend. We headed up to Blue River Reservoir with Jamie and Devin and lots of friends of theirs. Here's our weekend in pictures....

Libby and Kolbi

Peyton, Kendal, Libby and Kolbi having breakfast.

Libby, Peyton and Kolbi play ladderball together. Jamie helped get them started. The balls kept swinging around and hitting them in the head.

Devin

Kendal roasting marshmallows.

Posing.

Breakfast in the big pan.

Heading to the bridge to watch the big kids jump.

Libby and Daddy on the jet ski.

Jamie and Kolbi.

Peyton and Grunden napped together.

Grunden went after some ducks, but the mama duck chased him off.

Mike's boat pulled the kids and some (of us) adults on the tube. I don't have pictures, but y'know when your jaw hurts from laughing so hard? That was us.

Libby loved swimming right on the banks of our campsite.

My days are numbered.

I'm No Fairy Godmother.....

For Libby today is an entire day without toys. She had her toy privileges revoked yesterday after refusing to help clean up what looked like an explosion of plastic, plush and wooden blocks in the house. Instead, she chose time out and a loss of toys for all of today. The consequence stung a little more yesterday than today, and as soon as I'd blurted out, "Okay. No toys for an entire day, then." I regretted it, knowing this was really more of a punishment for me than for her.

We ended the day bearing witness to a series of meltdowns complete with tears. Shane's comment was, "Wow, I've never seen her so far gone before. Usually she can at least recover a little." I had to keep reminding her to take deep breaths. She was so upset that hyperventilation seemed imminent and she was complaining that her head hurt. Through her tears, all red-eyed, drooly and blotchy-faced, she tried to tell me something, but was incoherent. I reminded her to take a deep breath and asked her to try telling me again. This time she said, "You're. not. make. ing. all. my. dreams. come. truuuuuuuuuuuuuue."

Well, she had me there. I was not, in fact, at that moment making all of her dreams come true. She was right. But Marge Kurtz once said words to me that couldn't have been more true. They're so simple and yet they've stuck with me and I hear them (in my mind) often. She said, "No one wants to be around a brat." She was right. I don't. And I want people to want to be around my kids. So today I'm sticking to my guns. And maybe someday in Libby's future someone of authority will ask her to help clean up. And without hesitation she'll jump in rendering herself as helpful and cooperative; a team player. With that she'll be given more opportunity and greater responsibility. Doors will open. The world will be hers....

....and all of her dreams will come true.

Part II

6:38 pm

Alright, I'm adding a part two to this post because I've just had an interesting conversation with Libby over dinner and it seems her three year old self isn't lacking for funny things to say. The filter from her brain to her mouth hasn't developed yet, and maybe never will. One of many charming family traits. So here's our dinner conversation.

Topic: Childbirth.

"Mom, when your were in the hosibul (hospital) having a baby, why did they put a blanket over you?"

"Oh, they do that to keep the mom comfortable until she's ready to push the baby out."

"Well, if I were the nurse, I'd pound that baby down!" (makes a pounding motion with a closed fist)

"What do you mean?"

"With professional help."

Alrighty then. That's my girl.

Closing May

This first pic doesn't have anything to do with the rest of the post, but I had to include it. Peyton checks to see if, in fact, everyone poops.

A friend of mine posts on facebook about the hikes she likes to do around the Delta Ponds. We've never gone, but with the promise of pond turtles I knew the girls would love it. They didn't love it immediately, but they came around. However, snakes also live around the ponds and they were not my favorite feature...

turtles...

Peyton's hat....

Irresistible....

This is my favorite creature feature....

Bye, turtles...

Bebo went with us, but she'd just finished a workout and made me promise not to post the pics she's in. Just so you know.... they're fabulous.