The Damp Mop

As I write this blog, it is 12:30 at night and I have 8 awake girls in my basement. They don't seem to be running out of energy, so I finally encouraged them to put on a quiet movie and turn the lights out. I'm hoping that they will finally pass out so that I can go to bed. I am going to need a very long nap tomorrow.

I just wanted to share a humorous Christina story. Her class uses a reading program called Open Court Reading, and as part of the program, she brings home short stories that she reads to me. One of the short stories that she brought home this week was called Panda Band.

Let me give you the gist of the Panda Band short story. It is about a Panda that cleans a jazz club for a living. She is sick of her job and wants to be on stage and play the saxophone. I was pretty surprised that I didn't get a hundred questions about what a jazz club is, but that is not the point of the story.

Each story emphasizes a new sound. The sound for this story was the mp sound as in lamp. The panda in the story is pushing a damp mop. Here is the funny part:

Christina has always had speech issues. Most have cleared up, but she still has problems with the r sound. She also seems to have issues with the mp sound. She just pronounces it as a straight m sound.

Here is the story (as I remember most of it) of Panda Band. Imagine a child that can't pronounce the p in damp:

"I work at a place that plays jazz music. I push a damp mop. I am tried of pushing the damp mop. I want to be on stage and play the sax..." and then the panda ends up playing saxophone and being on stage ..."I don't have to push the damp mop anymore."

As Christina was reading this story I was really trying my hardest not to laugh, but it was so hilarious. She has no clue, either. I am convinced that the story was written by a former janitor or cleaning lady that was sick of their trade. There can't be any way that the writers didn't know what they were doing.

I needed the laugh that day. It was stressful. I enjoyed hearing Christina read it so much that I had her read it to whatever adult I ran into that afternoon. Maybe I'll share this story for her one day. She just thought that I was proud at how well she could read. If she only knew...

Accident Prone

Yesterday wasn't the only time this week that Mark saved one of our children. Last Sunday he was given the same opportunity.

The worst sound that any parent can hear is the sound of their child shrieking in pain. Thanks to Micah, I've heard this sound two too many times. I don't know if it is because he's my first boy or if it is because he just has a special inclination towards injury, but Micah is able to find danger in what seems to be the most harmless of situations.

At church on Sunday Elena received a coupon for a free donut because it was the Sunday before her birthday. She couldn't wait to claim her gift, so we all decided to go upstairs with her to the cafe. After we picked up Micah and Christina, Elena ran up the stairs to the main floor of the church. The other 5 of us went to take the elevator because Isaiah was in the stroller. Mark had to run to the bathroom and separated from us.

Christina pushed the button for the elevator. I was talking to Isaiah, when I heard the highest-pitched, blood-curdling shriek. I look up, and Micah's fingers were stuck between the door of the elevator and the wall. I guess that he decided to push the door open with his hand and his hand went into the pocket for the door.

The elevator for the church is set away from all of the activity, and we're always the last ones to leave, so there was NO ONE around. (Yes, out of almost 2,000 people there wasn't a soul anywhere within ear shot.) My first instinct was to try and pull Micah's fingers out of the door, but they wouldn't budge. In the meantime, he is screaming at the top of his lungs. Christina was yelling and panicking at the same time. If Elena was with us, I would have had her run for help, but she was upstairs.

I tried to push the door in a bit to give me some more room to pull his little fingers out, but I had no luck. I squeezed into the open part of the door and started pushing the buttons, but the door wouldn't respond. I was about to push the alarm button, when the door all of the sudden opened.

Apparently, Mark was in the bathroom mid-stream when he heard the scream. He finished quickly and ran outside, where Micah is screaming, Christina is panicking and Isaiah is watching the scene half-awake from his stroller. As I was trying to open the elevator from the inside, he tried to pull his fingers gently, but they wouldn't come out. Then he decided to yank them out. He pushed his weight against the elevator and pulled as hard as he could. I guess he's a little bit stronger than I am, because Micah's fingers finally pulled free.

Micah was still screaming at the top of his lungs and staring at his fingers now. We hurried into the elevator and went upstairs to reunite with Elena and get ice from the cafe. The whole time Micah was screaming. His fingers swelled up like little balloons.

I reported the incident at guest services and I was starting to worry that his fingers might be broken. I asked him to bend them and he wouldn't. Then, he saw one of his friends from his Sunday School class. He started playing, all the time nursing his hand. We kept trying to get him to keep his hands in the ice, but he want to play more and more. Finally, we saw him give his sister 5 with the elevator hand. He winced a little, and then switched hands, but he didn't scream. That was when I knew he was going to be okay.

You know, this reminds me of his last trip to the ER. I will have to share that one with you a later time. Oh, and it reminds me of the escalator incident. I'll put that on the list, too. Now, I need to go make sure the boys aren't getting into any MORE trouble.

Locked

When Mark and I designed our basement, we thought it would be a good idea to put a lock on the office door. That seemed like a good idea up until Isaiah was locked inside the room.

Before I continue, let me assure you that it is no one's fault that the baby was locked in the room. From listening to my kids, you would think that the door somehow magically locked AND closed itself. I've always believed in miracles. It was definitely not the girls fault. Micah couldn't really defend himself- he just said that Isaiah did it by himself.

Anyway, I was putting the kids to bed. The girls were already in their PJs, but the boys never showed up to put their PJs on. I walked downstairs into the basement and saw Micah playing with his blocks. Isaiah was happily sharpening pencils, crayons, tips of glue bottles, paperclips - what ever he could fit into the pencil sharpener. I walked towards him to stop his sharpening-fest when I tried to open the door. The handle didn't budge.

At first I was glad that he was sharpening random items. He had no idea that he was locked in the room. I went to the place where the keys were SUPPOSED to be. No luck. I looked where I keep the tools to open the doors that lock but don't have a key. No luck. This is when I started to get nervous. I looked back in the room. Isaiah was still sharpening, but he was running out of ammunition. Mark wasn't home yet. He had been installing a tankless water heater. He left at 7:30 AM and was still gone at 8:30 PM. I called him to tell him about the situation. He told me that he would be home right away.

I looked in a few more places. No keys. I ran downstairs. Now Isaiah's face was pressed against the glass panes on the door and he was tapping on the glass with his little fingers. He tried to open the door a couple of times, but the handle wouldn't budge. I grabbed Micah from his block building and placed him in front of the door. I didn't want Isaiah to be lonely.

Next, I opened the door to the furnace. The furnace is basically in the office closet. There was a little room around the side of the furnace, but not nearly enough room for me to fit in. There was insulation around the furnace and sharp corners. I didn't want to send the older kids that way. I glanced over at the door. Isaiah was drooling on the window and starting to whimper. Micah had wandered off somewhere. I grabbed him again and firmly told him to stay at the door and keep his brother company.

I decided to go out in the cold and try the window. It looked locked, but sometimes it won't lock all the way when the window is slightly open. As I worked on trying to remove the screen from the wrong side, Isaiah came over to the window and started to climb on top of the printer. As I was trying to get the window open, he climbed on top of the printer and leans towards the window so far that only one of his little feet remained on the printer. I was starting to worry that he was going to hurt himself and I wouldn't be able to get to him. I kept telling him to get down - he just kept whimpering and staring at me with his big, brown eyes as he was perched on one single foot.

At this point I decided to call Mark. I couldn't use the cordless phone because it was locked in the room with Isaiah, so I had to go upstairs. I grabbed Micah, who had wandered off again and put him back in front of the door. At this point, Isaiah had noticed that my laptop and a mouse were sitting on my desk. He started to climb on top of the desk. I grew even more worried.

As I dialed Mark's number, he came running in the door with a flash light. He descended into the basement and I pointed out that the only option I saw was to somehow make it through the closet. I was sure that he was going to use Christina, so I had already called her out of bed when I saw Isaiah starting to fall off the desk.

As a mom there is nothing worse that seeing your child about to fall of something when you are absolutely powerless to help. He was trying to hold onto the desk with his chunky little fingers, but there isn't a lot of traction, so he was starting to slide off the desk with his legs dangling. Right behind him was a small wooden chair at just the right angle to do damage to him. Mark saw the same scene. That was when he decided that he was going to make it no matter what.

Mark removed the insulation and started to squeeze his body between the unfinished wall and the vent shaft towards the room. He wasn't quite thin enough to fit, but he pushed himself hard and started making a moaning/grunting sound as he forced his body through the opening. Once he got past the vent shaft, I looked at Isaiah, and he was still trying to not fall off the table, but he was sliding a little bit at a time. Then, I heard an awful scraping sound and the door to the closet opened. Mark materialized and grabbed little Isaiah - who was very excited to see him. He wasn't without his battle wounds. There was a long scrape across his belly from a metal piece sticking out the side of the water heater and a red mark across his back from the light switch being shoved into his back as he squeezed by the water heater. Victory!

My personal project for tomorrow is to find the keys or get new ones made. Somehow it is supposed to be really easy to get a new key made (which kind of defeats the purpose of having keys in the first place). I am very grateful about this feature on my door hardware. I also get to reclean the office, which Isaiah made a mess of as he was climbing different surfaces. I guess it's just another day in the life of my family. Baby saved from certain doom: Check. Another injury (this time it was Mark's turn): Check. Mom needs the kids to go to bed so she can emotionally recover: Check.

My next blog is about Micah getting his fingers caught in an elevator door on Sunday. You just can't make this stuff up...

Tooth Fairy Take Two

I have previously confessed to being the worst tooth fairy ever here. Well, I was ashamed to blog when my worst tooth fairy experience repeated itself. However, we are always trying to improve ourselves. Last night we had a much more positive tooth fairy experience.

Once the kids went down last night, Mark and I collapsed on the couch and started to watch the Biggest Loser. That's when we heard the dreaded sound - little footsteps coming down the stairs. Usually, that sound means that we are about to be tortured by Micah for an hour as we try to get him back to bed. We were pleasantly surprised when it was Elena that came around the corner, but she did not look very happy.

When anything happens that might rock Elena's world and it is after 7:00, we're in for an emotional cry-fest. Her big brown eyes were brimming with tears - I was almost afraid to ask what the problem was. "I have to tell you something..." she began.

Elena then proceeded to delve into a long, overly detailed story about losing her tooth. I'll just share the shortened version: Elena had some candy at church. It started off as a chewy candy, but then it started to crunch in the middle, and she thought is was strange, so she threw it away. Well, it turns out that the crunchy part of the candy was actually her lose tooth that fell out. She threw the tooth away with the candy. As she was laying in bed, she realized what had happened.

At this point in the story, with the way that she was telling the story, I was starting to worry that she really wanted us to go to church in the freezing cold and go from door to door, looking inside hoping that a janitor would let us in. I could already picture us with our winter jackets on, leaning on our cupped hands, looking inside for anyone to help. Instead of letting her come up with a solution, Mark interjected, "Why don't you just write a note telling the tooth fairy what happened?"

If you recall our last tooth fairy blog, Elena has plenty of experience writing to the tooth fairy. She liked this idea and perked up as she went to find a piece of paper. Once she went to bed, Mark got thinking, "Why don't we take one of the old teeth that we have upstairs and stick it under her pillow with the money and see what happens?" And that is exactly what we did. (You might wonder why we still have teeth laying around the house - when you do the tooth fairy thing at midnight you just throw the tooth on a high shelf and deal with it later.)

Mark went to go grab the note and place the substitute tooth and a gold dollar coin. He brings back a cute note that read:

Dear Tooth Fairy, I thought my tooth was a rock because I had candy and felt it. On axadent I threw it away. (I never claimed that she would win the national spelling bee. LOL)

This note was way better than the last note. The last time that I failed my tooth fairy duties was when Christina lost her first tooth (or at least the first tooth that she actually could find after it fell out.) I swear that note used the word "please" about 10 times....

The next morning Elena runs in the room. First, she said, "The tooth fairy came the first time!" (*ouch*) Then she said, "She found my old tooth. I guess she dug it out of the trash? Can I put it back under my pillow and get another dollar?"

Thus continues our tooth fairy adventures...

Who wants to be a millionaire?

I decided to blog today just because I am feeling a little burnt out. Micah called 911 for the 6th time this morning and Isaiah just walked by with a huge Tootsie Roll pop that he found somewhere in the house, leaving a dripping red trail of stickiness behind him. I feel like my sanity is about to reach the tipping point, so it's time for a little stress relief.

My last blog was about our last trip to McDonalds. As I was writing it, I remembered the other half of that adventurous fast food trip. Elena discovered the McDonalds Monopoly game. She is convinced that we are going to win a million dollars.

It all began when she saw the Monopoly tabs on the side of the french fry box. She pulled the tabs and started reading them. She asked what they were for. I told her that they were for a game and showed her the boards.

All of the sudden, she is peeling every game tab off of every box that we have, and then she began searching the floor for more. She was so excited, "Mom! We have Park Place. All we need is Boardwalk and we'll have a million dollars!" If only it was that easy...

Now everyone we meet and everywhere we go, Elena is sharing that we are going to win a million dollars. I don't have the heart to tell her that McDonalds has most likely only produced 1 Boardwalk tab and it is probably on a french fry box in the windiest part of the country, where the experts know that it will blow away before it will ever make it back to their corporate office. Actually, telling her would probably make my life easier.

As soon as we returned home from McDonalds, she had to call Mark and tell him the wonderful news. Then she pleaded for him to go to McDonalds for lunch so that he might find the "golden Broadway ticket." Mark must have been skeptical, because then she went into detail about the game works and how she is sure that the Broadway ticket is only a Big Mac away from fruition.

I remember when I believed that I was going to magically become a millionaire without lifting anything but a sticker on the side of my food box. Now I realize how the world works, but I can't break it to her. She hasn't believed in Santa since she was 6. I have to give her something! Plus, I have guilt from being the worst tooth fairy ever, but that is an older blog.

I'm not sure I'm done with this blog, but I have to save Isaiah from certain destruction. He's standing on my dining room table next to my crystal cake pan...

Survivor Part 2

I wrote a couple of weeks ago about my scavenger child: Isaiah. He loves to find food and eat it - no matter how old it is. Well, he has reached an all new level.

My MOPS group had a play date at McDonalds last week. All 4 children were with me because it was fall break. (By the way, does anyone else remember fall break? I keep sending my kids to school and the school keeps inventing reasons to send them back. Sorry, I digress...) Isaiah slept while the older 3 kids were eating. When he woke up they swept him into the play structure.

I try my best to not think about what might be happening in the play structure. They are designed to let really small children in only to a point. At that point there is some type of barricade that prevents them from going further. As long as Isaiah looks desperate enough, some other child will always hoist him over the barricade and he will find his way into the part of the structure that dangles 12 feet in the air. I keep telling myself that the equipment is safe as I see him waving from a place that there is no possible way I can get to. I at least had my older 2 girls with me. Whenever one of their brothers is in distress, they are always willing to drag them kicking and screaming and throw them down the first available slide.

Well, apparently, the girls threw Isaiah down a slide and failed to tell me. I was chit chatting with some other MOPS moms when I looked over and saw Isaiah holding 2 half eaten ice cream cones, licking from them both one at a time. I was horrified. When he exited the slide, I guess he looked up and saw all of the left over food that other kids didn't finish just sitting on the tables. He felt free to help himself to whatever he could find.

One of my MOPS friends saw Isaiah and told me that the ice cream cones belonged to her kids, but he could have them. I wish I could express how embarrassing it is to have THAT child. I have the child that steals food. When I took the empty cones from him, he started casing the food tables, looking for his next tasty snack. That's when we went to visit the food counter. Now I know why he always seems to have a runny nose.

The moral of this story is: If you see Isaiah at McDonalds, and your kids want to save their food for later, then you must hide your food in a location that Isaiah cannot see. Then, it may be safe. Some children aspire to be astronauts, some aspire to be firemen. My child aspires to be a homeless person.

Package Deal

My kids are a package deal. I have very little patience for kids that want to play with one of my kids and won't let the others participate. Now, I understand that younger kids can sometimes be a pest (especially little brothers), but I'm not okay with any of my kids excluding another for no reason at all. I always tell them that friends may come and go, but you have your family forever - so you should treat each other with love.

Elena just had the ultimate character test around this principle. She was forced to choose between her friend and her siblings and she chose her siblings. I just finished comforting her as she told me the story in tears. I want to share because I'm so proud of her! She is a pleaser and hates to ruffle any feathers, so I know that what she did was very hard for her.

Let me begin with our shopping trip yesterday afternoon. Elena and Christina were NOT getting along in the back seat. Usually they have fun together, but I noticed that Elena was being a little ruder than usual. I realized that she had been spending a lot of time with one of her friends, and whenever she plays with that friend, she is a little more negative and more rude with her siblings. After I separated the two, Christina suddenly blurted out, "I miss Elena! She and (her friend) wouldn't play with me and now Elena is mad at me!"

I asked Elena what the deal was. She said she never said anything to which Christina replied, "No! They said that I couldn't play with them and it hurt my feelings!"

Elena then began to explain the situation. Apparently, her friend said that Christina couldn't play with them and Elena said nothing. I told Elena that when she said nothing, she was essentially agreeing and was just as wrong. I have been especially passionate about this school of thought since I read The Autobiography of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. He said, "He who passively accepts evil is as much involved in it as he who helps to perpetrate it. He who accepts evil without protesting against it is really cooperating with it." After our chat I think she understood that what she did was just as wrong.

Fast forward a couple of hours. I was talking to a friend and she said that her son thought that Elena was mad at him because she wouldn't play with him. That was when I learned that the situation with Elena wasn't a solitary incident. Mark and I had another heart to heart chat with her. We tried not to accuse her about the situations, we tried to put her in the shoes of the other person. I told her that her friend was sad and then I asked her how she would feel. She looked at me with her big brown eyes and said, "I would feel terrible!" That was when we knew that she understood.

Skip to today. Today the friend came to the door. I told her that I was not okay with her excluding the other kids. She tried to say that it never happened, but I had 3 witnesses. She agreed and I called Elena. Christina came up to me a little later and said, "Way to go mom. Thanks for standing up for your kids." I had to chuckle at that comment.

The kids played together well for a couple of hours -- and then the drama began. Elena came upstairs to the kitchen where I was baking and was visibly upset. She said that they were playing together on the Wii when the division began. Christina just left frustrated, but Micah was trying to play with Elena and her friend and the friend didn't want to play with him. Elena said that she stood up for Micah and the friend left mad at her. She started to tear up as she told the story.

Elena hates to make anyone mad, and she was so heartbroken. My heart was hurting for her. I hugged her. She was trying to not cry, but I told her that when something that hurts her this bad happens, it is okay to cry. "Sometimes it is hard to do the right thing, but we need to do it anyway," I shared with her.

She took a big breath, and kept trying to hold it in. I could tell that she just wanted to burst into tears, but she was trying to be strong. I finished what I was baking and she stared out of the kitchen sliding glass door. Then, she said, "Mom, I have to tell you one more thing..."

I looked at her and she started crying and babbling. I couldn't understand her between the tears. I sat with her and tried to get her to calm down. Finally, she told me the rest of the story, "When I stood up for Micah, she told me that she didn't like you, Micah, Isaiah or Christina anymore and then she left." This, for her, was the most terrible part of the story. She put her arms around me and started to cry non-stop. I could just hug her and assure her that she did the right thing. I think that her friend's last comment just justified her in her own mind.

I feel really bad for Elena. She is so good at pleasing people. In fact, I am so opposite from being a people pleaser that it really scared me. I was afraid that she would always go with the crowd as long as the crowd consisted of people that she really liked. Now I understand that as a parent I may have enough time to work with her so that she is able to stand up for what is right. Now my job is just to go cheer her up a little.

"All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.” - Edmund Burke

Of Churches and Parking Lots

Our church just opened a spectacular new building. There is more room in the sanctuary, classrooms, and children's areas. There is more room everywhere but the parking lot.

I knew going into this church campus change that there were going to be less parking spots, but I didn't realize how much that was going to affect me until the switch happened. In short: there are nowhere near enough parking spaces for the amount of people that come on Sunday. This changes me from the already stressed out mom that had to get 4 young children ready for church kind of woman into the crazy woman who has to drag children into a church building so you better not park in the close spots kind of woman.

One day (no joke) there were about 20 spots open when I dropped Mark off to help out in Sunday School (we're always running late so he has to be dropped off and run like crazy). I missed the area that I wanted to park in, so I decided to drive once around the building and park in my favorite area. When I came around the back of the building I saw (and I am totally not kidding) about 6 cars race to get the last of the parking spots and a bunch of other cars go into stalk mode and start following people that might be attempting to leave. There is a street nearby and I saw about a dozen huge SUVS trying to parallel park on the street before any more people came. It was total mayhem!

Now, the church does provide a shuttle service from a parking lot that I've heard exists, but you cannot see from anywhere within the vicinity of the building. The last thing I want to do is park there for two reasons: I will have to drag my children onto a shuttle bus and we talk a lot after church so that shuttle might just not be there when we need it. Then I will have to drag my 4 kids down a sidewalk conveniently placed between a high voltage power plant and a curvy road. Nope, I'm fighting for my parking space.

This morning I dropped off Mark and 2 of my kids early and he got super HELPFUL, which takes a super lot of TIME. He started wiping off the baby's face and fixing his collar. Within the first 30 seconds, I saw about 10 cars fly past us heading towards the last precious parking spaces. I finally told Mark, "I know you're trying to help, but GO! Those cars are going to park in my SPACE!" I then jumped in the driver's seat and took off, leaving a bewildered husband behind. I headed towards the area that was always open, noticing that the last of the close spots had just been filled. Luckily, I got one of the last spots around the corner. When I got of the car, the gentleman who got the last spot looked at me and breathed a sigh of relief. "We just made it!" he called to me over his car. There is a sense of camaraderie when you claim the last precious parking spots.

On a positive note, they are expanding the parking lot. The expansion is halfway done. But until it is completed, I will fight for my right to park within walking distance of the new building.

Survivor

I write this post after my son's 5th call to 911. When he would call in the beginning, they would always call back to make sure that we were okay. Now they don't even care anymore. *sigh*

This post is actually about Isaiah - the ultimate survivor. If there were a show that was really about survival (and not about group dynamics like the TV show Survivor), I would totally enter Isaiah. Well, I'd enter him if there were no minimum age... I really think that if something happened to us and Isaiah was the only one left, that he could live on his own for a month or two.

You might ask why I believe that my 16 month old is the ultimate survivor. Well, let me explain...

Since Isaiah was first able to crawl, he has had an attraction to the trash can. When we first put him in his high chair, he was immediately drawn to the assortment of food that lay in the trash can. (He can see down into it from his chair.) I remember having to move the trash out of his reach at the earliest age. Then, when he was first able to crawl, one of the first places that I had to banish him from was the trash. He would sneak over to the kitchen, crawl up on the chair and see what kind of wonderful foods he could find. Our lid for the trash broke a couple of years ago, so we can't keep it covered. Isaiah likes it that way.

Isaiah never cries for food. He scavenges. The other day I heard knocking on the patio door in the basement. I walked downstairs to see what was going on, because my four kids and the neighbor were just watching a movie. Apparently, Isaiah was the one who had been knocking on the door (which is right next to the TV area). The kids, not really thinking about the fact that he's 1 year old or that that was raining, let him out into the backyard. I'm sure that if the movie wasn't so good that they would have thought twice about letting him out into a monsoon-esque rain storm. By the time I got downstairs and realized what was going on, Isaiah was knocking on the door from the outside. I opened the door, and he came toddling in the house with a half-eaten rotten apple in hand. He was as happy as can be. He proceed to sit down with the kids and eat his find.

Realizing that he was hungry (and eating a really gross looking apple), I went outside to grab him a fresh apple off of our apple tree. I took the rotten apple from his little clutches and replaced it with a perfect, fresh picked apple. He immediately threw it at me and started crying and pointing at the rotten apple. It took me a while to realized that he prefers rotten apples because they are easier to bite. Once I had this revelation, I would cut a slice out of a fresh apple. Then, he would resign to eating it.

I wish I would say that this was a solitary incident, but it is not. Mark planted a garden this year full of carrots, strawberries, and tomatoes. Isaiah doesn't like the tomatoes, but he loves everything else. He digs in the strawberries until he finds some good little morsel that he can get his hands on. If he can't find anything, then it's off to the apple tree to find another rotten apple!

Isaiah tries to be a well-rounded baby, so he doesn't limit himself to food. Last week, I was standing in the kitchen making dinner, and Isaiah walked right past me to the patio door, which was open. He walked with purpose, so out of curiosity, I watched to see where he was going.

Isaiah climbed down the deck stairs, and walked to the play house, where the kids had left a couple of plastic cups. He grabbed a cup and then turned around, walked to the stairs and climbed back up to the kitchen. Holding his cup, he walked past me again, down the hallway and into the bathroom, where he pushed the step stool up to the counter. He climbed the stool and onto the counter, where he turned on the faucet, filled his cup with water and started drinking. That's a baby that knows what he wants!

Now I just have to be more aware of Isaiah when we're out and about - I can imagine how excited he'll be about eating out of someone else's trash. At home I bury anything that has touched raw meat in the bottom of the trash - or if it is empty, I throw any dangerous items in the trash outside. Now I just have to come to terms with the fact that my kids don't need me anymore. My 16 month old doesn't even need me! Actually, now that I'm writing this, it's actually kind of liberating. Hmmm... I wonder if I can potty train a 16 month old. We already know that he can climb onto the toilet...

911 - Not An Emergency

This morning Micah woke up earlier than Mark or I was willing to wake up. In a sleep-induced fog, Mark turned on his cell phone, found a game for Micah to play, and then handed him the phone. Micah was quiet and happy, but Mark jolted awake when he heard a distant voice say, "Is your mommy there?"

Apparently, Micah had gotten bored with Brick Breaker and had moved on to bigger and better things-such as calling 911. The 911 operator was the friendly voice that Mark heard on the other side of the phone. I wish I could say that this was a solitary call to 911. It is actually our 4th call to 911 this year.

Is it possible to be "The Boy That Cried Wolf" when it comes to calling 911? Will the police station recognize our phone number and stop calling back to see if there is really a problem? Micah has the greatest knack for calling 911. He has called 3 out of the past 4 times. I don't even think he knows what 911 is. He just knows that if he pushes a certain button (we're not sure if there is a special emergency button on Mark's cell phone), that a friendly voice will talk back. Don't even bother suggesting that we lock the phone. There is some special way to call 911 with the lock on. The funniest thing is, Mark and I don't know how to call 911 with the lock on-only Micah has solved this mystery.

Isaiah has joined his brother in the excitement of calling 911. Our 3rd call of the year was my then 15 month old dialing 911 from the fax line. There is no phone attached to this fax line, so when the police called back, I couldn't answer the phone and tell them not to bother. I knew I was about to get a visit.

The first thing I did was look around the house. It was a Monday morning, and the house was a disaster from the weekend and I hadn't yet had a chance to clean it. (Not that I was really going to clean it right away, but I figured that I at least had a reason for the mess.) In anticipation of my visit, I started running through the house, cleaning as fast as I could (well, I was mostly cleaning, but I just had to update my Facebook page about what was going on). The house was looking better, but was definitely not perfect when the officer showed up at my door.

When the police officer showed up, I explained to him that my 1 year old dialed 911 from the fax line. I thought he might be impressed at how smart he was, but instead he looked at me like I might be a little crazy. I guess with a lame reason like that he figured I might be held silently at gun point and had to resort to making up some last minute story to get rid of him. He just said, "I need to check out the house, ma'am."

Now, when a police officer is checking out your house, you notice all of the things that are laying around that just didn't bother you before he showed up. He methodically checked every room until he saw the boys in the basement. The baby was happily playing with a toy and Micah looked up and gave him a wide grin. At that point, he stopped checking the house. The boys were obviously under no stress. I breathed a sigh of relief that he never made it to the laundry room. I was a little behind on laundry.

The officer politely left and I thanked him. I breathed a big sigh of relief - hoping that I didn't have to deal with 911 again. Then, there was this morning. My kids keep me wondering what excitement each day will bring.

The baby did it!

I am always amazed at how it is never anyone's fault when something happens at my house. Today I was folding laundry in the basement when I heard Mark lecturing my children. I had to go upstairs to see what was going on.

When I got upstairs, Mark was giving Micah a hard time about scratching a bunch of lines into our nicest leather chair in the living room. As he is speaking, Christina was looking REALLY guilty. I was about to interrupt until I heard Micah replay, "I don't do it--baby do it!"

Mark looked confused, "Did you say that the baby did it." Isaiah, with his plump self, was watching the whole scene unfold. When Micah pointed him out, he looked as innocent as could be.

"There is no way that Isaiah put these scratches in the chair!" I had to laugh. Whenever I get upset with the kids, Elena is the first to say that she didn't do something. Then, Christina always says that Micah must have done it. Now, Micah is blaming the baby. Who's next? The cat? I guess she is the only one left for Isaiah to blame--once he is old enough to blame someone.

I promptly gave Christina up. Mark said that when I suggested that Christina, with her guilty face, did i--he realized that the scratches in the chair were a design that Micah could not yet make. She got in trouble, but I joking had to pick up Isaiah and tell him that there were rules in the house that we all have to follow, and he is not the exception, even if he is only 10 months old!

When we were your age, Pluto was a planet

Last night Elena was telling me and Mark about the 53 caterpillars that the second graders have at her school. She told us that about half of them are hanging out in their chrysalides (I just found out that is the plural for chrysalis). After she told us about the caterpillars, Mark was quiet for a moment and then he said, "Do you even know what a cocoon is?"

I smiled. I was thinking the same thing as Elena was giving us her very scientific run down. She looked and him and explained, "A cocoon is very similar to a chrysalis, but caterpillars spin chrysalises." (Okay, she didn't get the plural exactly right, but it sounded official to us.)

Mark replied, "Back when we were kids, they were called cocoons."

I absentmindedly added, "Yeah, and when we were your age Pluto was a planet."

Elena looked shocked. "I thought that people thought Pluto was a planet a way long time ago. WOW."

I had to chuckle. I just turned 32 on Sunday. I guess 32 is the new old.

He pulled my hair first!

This blog is somewhat of a flashback, but I was reminded of this incident yesterday.

A few months ago, when Christina was just breaking her thumb sucking habit, she was an emotional wreck. Apparently, thumb sucking was her main coping mechanism. She was a real *joy* that first week.

Well, one day that week Christina, Isaiah and I were hanging out in my bedroom. They were playing together and I was folding clothes. Isaiah (about 7 months old at the time) grabbed Christina's hair and yanked it. Now, I'm sure what happened next had to be an impulsive reaction--Christina reached over and yanked his hair back.

Isaiah started screaming. I looked at Christina, "What did you do that for?"

"He pulled my hair first." She said it as matter-of-fact as possible.

This is one of those moments when I really want to say something really sarcastic, but I know that by doing so I might cause my child emotional harm and I'll hear stories for the rest of her life about having to go to a therapist, so I bit my tongue. All I said was, "He's just a baby. He doesn't know that he pulled your hair."

Cue watery eyes. I think she thought about what she did. Then she looked at her brother, who was still screaming as I cuddled him. All of the sudden, the most blood-curdling wail came from her mouth. She proceeded to throw the most dramatic crying fit ever.

I am not kidding--Christina threw herself from the bed to the floor and started the biggest temper tantrum/crying fit since she was 2 years old. I was speechless. I mean, she literally hadn't had a temper tantrum in about 3 years, and I was watching her throw one on my bedroom floor. It was so dramatic that Isaiah stopped crying and looked down to watch it. After about a minute she took her thumb and started rubbing it on her cheek. It seemed to calm her down a little bit.

At that point I knew that we were going to have to work on learning some coping mechanisms. During that long month she spent a lot of time to herself trying to find new ways to deal with issues. I had no idea that thumb sucking was such a crutch. (I've been lucky enough to only have 1 thumb sucker out of my 4 kids.)

She managed to survive the month thumb free, but now she's starting to revert 2 months later. I think I need to find a more effective substitute for thumb sucking. If you have any ideas, please let me know! I really don't want to deal with that drama again.

You did WHAT in the front yard?

I am still relatively new on the raising boys scene. Today I realize that the difference is even bigger than I ever imagined...

My son has been potty trained since right before he turned 2. We taught him to sit on the toilet, because he was too short to effectively pee into it. For him it was easy-he has 2 older sisters. It was also easy to keep the bathroom clean. That was until we started to confuse him.

Micah's confusion began In March when we went to Nebraska to visit my mother-in-law. At one point we drove from Omaha to Columbus to visit some family friends. About 4 blocks from our destination, Micah started to cry and yell about how bad he had to go. Mark stopped and as he was pulling Micah out of the car to pee on the side of the road near a farm, I told him I was pretty sure we were almost there. He wasn't so sure, so he insisted on having Micah pee outside. As he was pulling down the little guy's pants, I was looking across one of the farms, sure that I could see their property from the car. Nevertheless, Micah was getting a lesson in peeing standing up.

Once Mark pulled his pants down, he told Micah to pee. He looked down and the ground for a second, then tried to squat. Mark stood him back up and told him, "Just pee like Daddy." Micah gave him a blank look and tried to squat again.

This time when Mark stood him up, he started to cry again. "I go potty real bad," or something like that came from him mouth. I leaned out of the car and told him, "Just hold him in a sitting position."

"What?" Mark said, but looking at the sadness of his son, he decided to hold him. I swear that kid peed a gallon of liquid. Mark even commented how ridiculous it was that that much liquid could come from someone so little. We threw him back in the car and drove the last 2 blocks to our friend's house. Little did we know that we planted a seed in the back of his head.

Last week I went to my favorite consignment store. They had just marked down their left over winter clothing 75%. I was having a shopping good time buying Gap jeans for $1 and $2 and finding great quality winter coats for $7.50, Well, when I was there Micah had to go to the bathroom. I showed him where the bathroom was and continued to shop. All of the sudden I heard crying coming from the bathroom. The pain kind of cry.

I walked over there and another shopping mom said that he was going to the bathroom with the door wide open (big surprise) and she saw him slam his fingers when he closed the toilet lid. I cuddled him and thought nothing more of it. We bought our stuff and left.

Well, once I arrived home, I realized that we were going to have to return to the store. I had forgotten some of my stuff. It's a little bit of a drive to the store so I returned the next day. Once I got there, I found another rack of clothes to go through and began to shop.

Apparently Micah had to go to the bathroom again, but there was no way that he was going on that finger-crushing toilet again. So, he made for the front of the store. About this time, I started counting heads (something you do frequently when you have a lot of kids). I was missing one. I called up to the owner of the shop (this is a laid back, small shop) and asked her if she could see Micah. There was a lady with her grandchild standing in the front of the store. "What does he look like?"

I described him to her and she began to nod her head and pointed out the window, "I think he's peeing outside."

I stopped, horrified, "What did you say?"

"Well, he just pulled his pants down in the front of the store and he's peeing in that little patch of grass in front of the store,"

I put my shopping bag down and walked to the front of the store. Sure enough, Micah was pulling up his pants and walking back in the door. "Please button?" he asked as he pointed to the button on his jeans. I was speechless. Little did I know that was the beginning.

Since last week he has peed twice in the front yard of the house. I kept telling him to stop. I think Mark, although he would tell him to stop, was secretly glad that his boy was finally able to pee like a man. Today was the worst. Today, he was out taking a leak in the front yard, when he realized that he had to poop as well.

First, let me just interject that there is a reason that I am starting to blog after a long absence. Something about dealing with poop makes me have to release my frustration by writing. Hence the address of my blog: poopyday.blogspot.com. Back to my story...

Anyway, Mark had stopped by to grab something out of the garage when he saw his own flesh and blood squat in the front yard and plop his business right on the front walkway. I heard my name being yelled from the front yard and I stepped outside. Mark, in a state of disbelief, told me, "Our son just pooped on the front walk!"

My first reaction was to look around and make sure that no one was around. Thankfully, there were no neighbors out at the time. Next I made Micah get toilet paper and a bag a clean up the mess. Then.... okay, there is no "then." I am completely at a loss on how to deal with a kid who has no qualms with doing his business on the front walkway. Maybe I'll have to blog again once I have that epiphany...

College Education Is Not For Everyone?

I just read this article about whether or not college is for everyone:

http://www.usatoday.com/news/education/2010-03-16-1Acollegeforall16_CV_N.htm

Personally, I grew knowing (I was quite sure) that college was the only way to succeed in life. I spent a large chuck on my life getting an education, and I knew that I was doing the absolute right thing.

During my college years, I fell in love my husband. He had no desire to go to college-he told me that he knew it would be a waste of time and money for him. He told me that he knew kids that probably weren't cut out for college and spent large amounts of money for a degree that they never achieved. Now we own a successful plumbing business and he has a masters license and has achieved his dream.

Then there's me. I remember taking an IQ test and being told that I had the same IQ as Oprah. So, where's my talk show and my billion dollars? Actually, I really don't care about the money. The truth is, I have been bothered by my lack of accomplishment ever since I was watching Oprah the other day. She had a show about amazing people and she said, "I always felt that I would do something great." I always believe that I would, too. We have the same IQ and grew up with the same feeling about ourselves-we're also both African-American women. What happened to me? Lately, I've felt like the most successful thing I accomplish during the week is finishing the laundry.

The other day my sister brought me some stuff from my childhood. Occasionally, when my dad is cleaning out the crawl space, he randomly dumps old stuff of mine at my house that I don't want. (He's probably laughing as he reads that.) This time my sister brought a story that I wrote in 1991. I ignored it for a while, but the other day I picked it up during some down time. As I read it, I realized that I was actually a better writer at the age of 13 than I am now. My ideas for the story were definitely immature, but they were written really well. It got me thinking that maybe there is something that I can do and take care of kids at the same time. Maybe writing can help me to feel a sense of purpose and accomplishment outside of my children.

So, I'm trying to be optimistic again. I'm starting up another blog. This blog is for cathartic purposes and the other blog is more for future job purposes. I'll reveal that one as it gets closer to being finished. Best wishes as you discover what you were meant to do!

A quote I just read on USA Today:

"We must learn to honor excellence in every socially accepted human activity, however humble the activity, and to scorn shoddiness, however exalted the activity. An excellent plumber is infinitely more admirable than an incompetent philosopher. The society that scorns excellence in plumbing because plumbing is a humble activity and tolerates shoddiness in philosophy because it is an exalted activity will have neither good plumbing nor good philosophy. Neither its pipes nor its theories will hold water."
--John Gardner, "Excellence"

Babies Never Have Gas During the Day

Sorry I haven't been around, but I was being reminded of law 47 (or so) of Murphy's law: Babies never have gas during the day.

Monday night seemed like a normal night. We watched Chuck with the neighbors. Mark was a little under the weather, so he went to bed at 10:00 while I chatted. I returned to the house at about 10:30 and got ready for bed. At 11:00, just as I was laying down, I heard Isaiah start screaming.

Disappointed that I couldn't go to sleep, but glad that he woke up before I fell asleep, I picked him up. He was NOT happy. He had gas. LOTS of it. After about 45 minutes, I decided that I might as well get comfortable, and I went down to the basement where the nice couch and the TV are. I watched Chuck again with Isaiah screaming, rotating his position during the commercials. At 1:00 Mark showed up.

I went to sleep, but Mark said that after an hour of screaming, at 2:00 he took Isaiah on a scenic drive of the neighborhood. He said that he checked out the new shops in the Highlands Ranch Town Center. He even found a nice new restaurant. By 3:00, he and Isaiah were asleep.

Enter Micah. He decided that he wanted to join the fun. At about 5:00 he had an accident. The first accident he had at night since the first month we potty trained him--of course it is the same night that Isaiah was up. I drug myself in his room, changed his clothes and all of his sheets. I put him back to bed and then dropped into bed--at which point Isaiah woke back up with more gas.


At 5:45ish I fed Isaiah a bottle and helped him relieve some more gas. Exhausted, I climbed back into bed.

At 7:00 the alarm went off. Time to get the girls to school.

Tuesday night we had a similar routine. I totally need a vacation.

The Worst Tooth Fairy Ever

I have a confession to make. I am the worst tooth fairy ever. Let me share why--I'm sure you'll agree.

Elena lost a tooth on Thursday. She couldn't find her tooth fairy pillow and was a little concerned, but I told it would be okay if she put the tooth under her pillow in an obvious location. She chose a basket and went to sleep with happy expectations.

Well, Mark and I forgot about the tooth. Didn't think about it once again all night. The next morning, Elena rushes downstairs.

"Mom, my tooth is still here!" She looked worried.

Ooops. I tried to make a recovery, "Maybe she's on vacation?"

Elena looked confused, "The tooth fairy went on vacation?"

"Tooth fairies need breaks, too. Where's your backpack?" I knew I had to change subjects before it got too deep.

That night, Elena faithfully returned her tooth to the basket under her pillow. (I have no idea how she slept like that.) Mark and I had a relaxing Friday night with my dad. Once again, the tooth never crossed our minds.

Saturday morning came and Elena was upset when she realized that the tooth was still under her pillow. This time she picked it up and brought it downstairs to show me that the tooth fairy didn't show up again. She was upset as it was, but being a normal child, she set the tooth down somewhere on the trip to visit me and forgot where it was. By the time I saw her she was sobbing hysterically.

I went to see why she was crying. I found her dramatically sobbing with her head buried in her arms. To help visualize the scene, remember that my daughter is a TOTAL drama queen.

"What's up?" I asked.

She looks at me with red, tear filled eyes, "The tooth fairy forgot...." dramatic pause, "AGAIN!" She continued her crying.

I've never been a guilty mom, but at this point I'm starting to feel a little bad. I couldn't believe that I forgot AGAIN.

Taking a deep breath, Elena then proceeds to tell me that she lost find the tooth. "It's so HORRIBLE. This is the worst day EVER."

I sighed. I knew I was in for a long, emotional day of drama. The worst part was that I did it to myself. "I think the tooth fairy is still on vacation. Maybe she wanted to see her mom."

Elena looked at me, "Is she ever coming back?"

I hugged her, "I'm sure she is."

"Well, I lost my tooth. How will she know I lost it?"

"Write her a letter."

Elena ran straight to my office to find paper and a pencil and wrote the following letter to the tooth fairy (word for word--wrong punctuation and all):

Dear Tooth Fairy,
I lost my tooth and I can't find it. I tried and tried to find it but I just can't. I wan't to find it just for you.
From,
Elena.

Elena tucked the letter in the basket under her pillow. That night she went to sleep assured that the tooth fairy was coming.

Fast forward to Sunday morning. Okay, I am ashamed to admit it--we forgot again. Repeat previous drama. Repeat the story that the tooth fairy is still on vacation.

By the way, my daughter does not at all believe in Santa. Every year she gives me about 10 reasons why Santa's trek across the earth is impossible. Why can't she figure out the tooth fairy? Especially since I'm so BAD at being the tooth fairy. It would relieve a lot of parental pressure. Mark and I joked about writing a blog about this mess that evening. It made me feel a little better.

Fast forward to Sunday night. We went to sleep and forgot. I know, I know. How is that even possible? All I know is that I have 4 kids and I haven't had enough sleep in weeks. Plus, Mark and I painted a lot of the day. All that adds up to falling asleep on the couch in a state of exhaustion. Luckily I got a break.

Mark jumped straight up out of bed at about 3:00. Yanked out of a great sleep, I jumped up, too.

"What in the world?" I asked groggily.

Mark looked at me, "I was dreaming about you blogging."

"And."

"You said you were going to blog about being a bad tooth fairy. We never took care of the tooth fairy thing!"

We stumbled out of bed- Mark much faster than I. Half asleep I tried to direct him to where I had some cash. We decided that we should pay a dollar for every night she waited. It was the tooth fairy's way of say sorry.

Elena was ecstatic the next morning. She thought that it was awesome to receive 4 whole dollars. Mark and I tried (in our exhausted state) to show just as much excitement. In fact, I'm yawning as I type this.

Most parents are good at playing the roll of the imaginary fairies with their first child and then lose steam as more kids get older. What are we going to do? We're on the first child with 3 more to go.

I'd really like the tooth fairy to get fired, but in all honesty she probably won't be. By the time Isaiah starts losing teeth I'll probably end up owing him enough money to pay for a year at a small private school. Cha-ching.

Flashback Friday: Trust Me, You're Going to Need a Stroller

I've decided to make Friday an official flashback day. It is the day that I can share some of the crazy things that have happened to me in years past. This flashback is in honor of Micah.

When I was in my last trimester of pregnancy ever, my son Micah decided that he should be an Olympic sprinter. Since we did not have a track--or room enough for him to get in his sprinting practice, he put in his best practices when we were away from home.

One day, as Mark, the kids, and I were passing the mall, I needed to buy some pregnancy clothes. The mall we were passing was an outdoor mall, and it was easy to run in and out of stores. Mark decided to take the kids to Cold Stone for some ice cream while they waiting.

When I left Mark with the 3 kids at Cold Stone, I began to take out the stroller. Mark shook his head, "I don't need it--it will just get in the way. I'll carry Micah." BIG MISTAKE.

Trying to make him see reason, I told him, "Micah likes to run. I keep him strapped in a 5 point harness at all times when I'm out in public." You'd think that he would listen considering I am with the kids all day long.

"I'm not pregnant-I don't need it. How fast can a 2 year old run anyway?"

I shrugged, knowing that he was just asking for trouble. Then I left. Here's what happened next as told to me by both Elena and Mark:

Cold Stone had the door propped open for fresh air. The side wall of the store was lined with windows, so you can see a panoramic view of the mall. Between Cold Stone and the next store was a street leading to a small neighborhood. Mark sat the 3 kids at a table and told Elena to watch Micah. (She was about 7 1/2 at the time). He then went to order ice cream. Just as he pulled out his wallet to pay, he turned towards the windowed wall and saw Micah running and laughing and Elena chasing him-outside. About a second after he turned around, Micah looked back at Elena and then dove into bushes that were separating the sidewalk from the street and proceeded to run as fast as possible down the middle of the street toward the neighborhood. When Micah cut through the bushes, Elena stopped and stared at him with her mouth dropped open.

At this point, Mark dropped his wallet and keys on the counter and took off running. He ran out of the side door, hopped the bushes, and then ran after Micah down the middle of the street. He said that he was running as fast as he could to catch up to him. Then, when he grabbed him, Micah giggled and had that look in his eyes--that look that said that he loved this game!

When I returned to the store, Mark was holding Micah in his lap with an unusually tight grip.

"How'd it go?" I asked. It looked like he had it all under control.

"Don't ask."

He never questioned why I used a stroller again.

Mom vs. The Wii

I regret asking for a Wii for Christmas. There, I admitted it. Or more accurately, I regret letting my kids know that we got a Wii. I'm really okay with having it around for me and Mark to enjoy.

Let me explain... On Saturday it was BEAUTIFUL outside. The temperature had to be near 70 degrees. Before the Wii, my kids would beg to go outside and play. They would love to explore the yards and play with their friends. Not anymore.

Saturday morning my kids begged all morning to play the Wii. I kept telling them no, but they were persistent. I don't know how many times I told them to get dressed and go outside, but they had one thing on the brain--the Wii.

Finally, I got their clothes and got them dressed (Elena was gone--I learned later that she was playing the Wii at someone else's house). Finally, I literally opened the door, picked up Micah and Christina, placed them on the porch, and then closed the door. I peered through the door hole and saw them stare at the door for a few moments and then slowly walk towards the other kids.

What have I done to my children! Last year at this time we had no video games and a 19" TV with a weird spot in the corner. My kids had no problem playing imaginative games and LOVED to play outside. Now they think that they have to be entertained all of the time. Right after Christmas I let them have fun playing on the Wii for half the day, but now even with the 2 hour TV limit reinstated, they still don't seem as excited about free playing as they used to. Now they act like going outside to play is some kind of punishment. After about 20 minutes they seem to remember how have fun, but getting them outside is painful for both of us.

I think I'll invest more time reminding my kids how they used to have fun just 2 1/2 months ago. Maybe I'll hide the Wii in my bedroom so Mark and I can play, but the kids won't know about it. We can play Super Mario Brothers while they rest up for their next fun day of running around outside.

Beautiful Is Looking Like Everyone Else?

The Oprah show had a special report entitled Beauty Around the World. I found it very disturbing and just had to react to it.

Part of the show was about how western (aka. American) culture has influenced the rest of the world. Just 40 years ago Chinese women were forced to dress like men and makeup was outlawed. Now, I guess the beauty industry in booming in China. The editor of Vogue, Chinese edition, said that when a new trend is shown in the magazine, they have to explain where the trend came from and why it is popular. Things we take for granted like nylons are even new to many women in China. (And why would anyone intentionally want to embrace that tradition?)

The part that disturbs me the most is that companies are showing the Chinese women what is popular so they can sell their products. They aren't using Asian models. Companies are selling the same look that they sell over here. That just is preparing a new generation to want to look like someone else. How is that good?

For example, Chinese women are having thousands of eyelid surgeries to make their eyes westernized so that they can, in turn wear trendy eye makeup. I think that Chinese beauty needs to be promoted to Chinese women. Encouraging women to look more western so you can sell more eye makeup is SO wrong on so many levels. We need to love what God has blessed us with and not want to look like someone from a country far away.

As an African American woman, I have seen the self-doubt that is produced by living in a society that valves a beauty different than your own. African American women aren't changing their eyelids-they are paying way too much money to change their hair so that they can have the hair styles that are shown on the popular models. I think that embracing ones own natural beauty is the first step towards embracing who you truly are.

I am always trying to tell my girls how beautiful they are. I know that they have a unique look because they are a mix of races. I'm just not sure if I'm winning the battle against popular culture. At least one person a week tells me that Elena could be a model, but she still wishes that she could have blond hair or green eyes like her daddy. I'm trying to figure out how I can make her realize that God made her perfect just the way she is. I'd gladly take any suggestions.

I just think that there is SO much more that we can instill in our girls than vanity. How about character and integrity? We could even mix in a little fiscal responsibility. That reminds me: I was in the toy aisle at Target and I saw that a lot of the dolls were pushing an empty fashionable coolness. I guess a Helen Keller doll wouldn't sell very well next to all of those fancy dolls out there. I guess it's hard to "sell" character in a toy.

I could go on forever on this subject, so I'm going to end here. This is just a subject that touches my heart. Feel free to comment! I enjoy listening to other opinions.

George Washington Lives in South Dakota

Christina asks me the other day, "Do you know who George Washington is?"

"Yes. He was the first president of the U.S."

"Well, he lives in South Dakota. Can we go see him sometime? Here's a map."

She hands me a picture of a colored rectangle, a line going from the rectangle up, then it goes to the right to another rectangle. She might be a little confused when she sees that "he" is a mountain, and not a person. At the least the map was generally accurate!

I Stand Corrected

I was incorrect in my last post. Mark read my blog and rightly accused me of not listening to his story. SO, Tabitha and Shabitha (not Sabitha) did not, in fact, have rainbow socks. Their story was lame, so Mark had started a new story about the magical socks. The jist of it is this: The rainbow socks went to a few different houses by mail until it landed at a boy's house. The boy made the rainbow socks stinky and dirty and then the boy tossed them away. Then a poor girl, who had hardly anything to her name, found the socks. Anyone else would have thrown them away, but the little girl didn't have much and so she washed them and took care of them. When she wore the socks (this is where it gets good), apparently they made her into a professional basketball player for the WNBA and she was never poor again. They were better than a pair of Nikes. LOL! I must apologize to Mark for not getting it right the first time. :)

Magical Stories

Tonight Christina begged to sleep in our bed with us. I tried my best to explain that we don't go to sleep right away. I left out the part that we stay up as late as possible so we can have as much fun as possible without kids. Instead, I told her to sleep with Elena.

Well, Christina went to ask Elena if she could sleep in the bed with her. Elena "all of the sudden" had a stomach ache and couldn't sleep with anyone for fear that she may throw up on them. How considerate of her... So, I jumped in bed with Christina. Soon Micah wanted a part in all of the love.

At this point, Elena was feeling a little left out. The girls share a room, and Micah kept counting the three of us in Christina's bed--kind of rubbing in that Elena was alone. So, she called her daddy. Mark came in, looked at both beds, and then jumped in with Elena. That's when the fun began.

"Daddy, tell us a story!" Elena begged. Mark has this ritual on the nights that the girls go to bed on time--he makes up bedtime stories. He had been working late all week and the girls had missed his stories. They always rave about how wonderful they are. I was honored to be a part of the story time magic.

We turned off the light and only the glow from the hallway remained. Then, Mark starts this crazy story about a girl named Tabitha and her sister. He had a hard time coming up with the sister's name when all of the sudden the name Sabitha came out of his imagination. I really wanted to laugh, but the kids were totally engrossed in the story.

A whole story about Tabitha and Sabitha begins. They had some magic rainbow socks, and no one ever could see how magically special they were because the girls didn't have shoes and the socks were caked in mud. That's about where Mark lost me because it was way over the top corny. Before I spaced out, I looked at the girls-- and they were totally invested in the story.

Kids are so innocent. We expose them to adult themed shows and movies so early in our culture. I think that they just want to believe that the world is a magical place. I watched them as they listened to Mark. Elena forgot about her stomach ache. Christina forgot why she wanted to sleep with us. I could see from their faces that they wanted a magical pair of socks of their own. That story-corny as it was-was better than any movie we could have shown them.

Somewhere near the end Elena sat up, "We need Isaiah! He's the only one not in here."

At that point Mark jumped up to check on him. He had fallen asleep in our room. She was disappointed that he couldn't join the rest of the family. (It's not like a 9 month old wants to hear a story about socks.) I tucked the kids in bed.

"Don't worry," I told her. "I'm sure Daddy has plenty more stories for another day."

I'm sure they are dreaming about their magical rainbow socks right now.

The Famous Shoeless Christina Friesen

Christina and shoes have never gone together. Ever. In the summer she loves to run through rocks, bark, mud, and sand in just her bare feet. Cold? No problem. She has been known to run outside shoeless in winter weather. I really wasn't sure how to remedy this situation.

For example, almost every day my daughter has her shoes on backwards. I don't know how many times Mark has sat down with her and showed her how to figure out which shoe goes on which foot. Nevertheless, even if we send her to school with her shoes on the right feet, she returns home with them on the wrong feet. I swear she does this because it irritates us and we can't get mad at her about it.

One morning we got all the way to school and I hear her little voice from the back seat tell me, "I don't have my shoes."

I looked at her through the rear view mirror. "What do you mean you don't have any shoes?"

"I left them at home."

At that point I let the other kids out of the van and put the van in park. From that point Christina and I proceeded to climb through the car looking for anything that might fit her feet. I really didn't want to go back home.

We were in the car searching for her shoes so long that we heard a knock at the window. I reached over to open the window. It was the vice-principal. "Is everything okay in here?" he asked. I can imagine what he was thinking. We were sitting at the front of the carpool line and I'm sure that he could see the car shaking and shadows moving around inside.

"Everything's fine," I smiled, "We're just having shoe issues." I then went to the trunk where I found a pair of snow boots. Christina began to put them on and then made a mad dash into the school. Another exciting shoe related day.

Almost every morning we do a housewide shoe search. About 90% of the time Christina has no idea where her shoes are. We drive carpool in the morning, so we really need to leave on time. All 5 of us who can walk end up searching through the house for the creative location of the day where Christina's shoes might be. They are almost never in the same place. This morning one was in the laundry room by the cat litter box and the other was in the bucket with the train pieces in the play room.

The fact that we are almost late every day had been bugging me until I got a great idea on how to remedy the situation. I was listening to Kevin Leman on Focus on the Family. He is the author of the book Have a New Kid By Friday. He shared a hilarious story about a mom who had a son that made everyone late everyday. One day she left him and took everyone else to school. Then she picked him up and dropped him off without a note to excuse his absence. He was never late again after he had to go to the principal's office and explain why he was late. I thought I'd try this idea myself. Christina is too young to leave alone, but Mark is usually home until I return from dropping the kids off at school.

I gave Christina a week of warnings. I told her that if she wasn't ready that one day I was going to leave without her. One day she had the nerve to tell me, "You always say that and you never really do." Game on!

On Tuesday I gave her a 15 minute, 10 minute, and 5 minute warning. Then I told Elena to get in the car. (She wanted to go find Christina's shoe herself, but I wouldn't let her.) I think Christina was hand feeding the cat. As soon as the garage door opened she showed up at the door. No shoes, socks, coat or backpack.

"Mommy-don't leave me!" she screamed in a panic.

I leaned my head out the window, "I told you I was going to leave and you didn't get ready. I'm outta here!"

From that point she didn't run in the house. She started crying from the garage door with a look of shock on her face. She didn't believe that I was going to really do it. The most amazing thing was that the rest of us were actually on time to school with TIME TO SPARE. No one had to run into the school to make it before the bell. It was so much more relaxing than usual.

When I returned, Christina was dressed and laying across the floor in a state of depression. "I can't believe you left!" I put her in the car and took her to school. When she entered her classroom she paused, looked at me and sighed. I figured that she wouldn't do that again. I was wrong.

The next morning was a complete repeat of the day before. This time when I was driving her to school late she told me, "You don't even like me!"

I looked at her through the rear view mirror, "This has nothing to do with me. You are responsible for yourself. If you had been ready, you would have made it to school on time."

She crossed her arms and huffed. I continued, "Do I have to ask Elena to put her shoes on in the morning?"

A weak NO came from the back seat.

"Do I ask her to put her coat on?"

"No."

"Do I ask Elena to get her back pack ready?"

"No."

"What were you doing when I left?"

"Ummmmmm. Playing with the cat?"

I think it was beginning to sink in. I closed the conversation, "All you need to do is get yourself ready. I'm not going to do it. Elena is not going to do it. Daddy is not going to do it. I always love you. You just need to take care of yourself."

The car was quiet for the rest of the trip, but I think she learned a lesson that day. The next day I went to leave and she had been waiting in the car for ME. She was so proud of herself--she was beaming. I told her how proud I was at her when I saw that she even had her shoes on. They were on the wrong feet, of course, but she had finally taken some responsibility for herself.

Reading ideas...

Let me just preface this blog entry by saying that I do love the Tattered Cover Book Store. I thought it was awesome that someone from the store took the time to read my blog and comment on it. Of course, I wasn't saying a lot of nice things about the new reader chapter book literature selection, but I don't think that the selection of chapter books for new readers is even their fault--the publishers want authors that pump out a book every 3 months. (And they at the Tattered Cover say that is what sells-probably because sometimes we as parents don't take the time to find out what are kids are reading.) Maybe I should write children's books instead of talking about them.... There's a thought.

Here are some reading suggestions from Dawn. Other friends suggested some of these books, too, but they were all the same books that Dawn chose, so she gets all of the credit. (Sorry everyone else!)

The Little House books, Anne of Green Gables, Narnia, The Secret Garden, Peter Pan, the Ramona series and Superfudge. Also, Ella Enchanted and Lloyd Alexander's Chronicles of Prydain.

My friends at The Tattered Cover also gave me some suggestions to help find a good book. I haven't had a chance to check them out yet myself, but I will this weekend:

http://www.ala.org/ala/mgrps/divs/alsc/awardsgrants/bookmedia/newberymedal/newberymedal.cfm

http://tinyurl.com/yam7js6

http://news.bookweb.org/features/7307.html

http://www.publishersweekly.com/article/417656-Best_Children_s_Books_of_2009.php

Coming soon to my blog.....Yet another crazy adventure with Christina--but that will have to wait until the morning. I can't keep my eyes open!

Success By Bribery

I was going to write some more of my never ending adventures with Christina. I have a great story to tell, but Elena says that all of my blogs are about Christina. That's probably true--she is the one that exasperates me the most. To be fair, today is about Elena.

Elena is bright (if I do say so myself), but she just didn't have ANY interest in reading. This really bothered me. As a child I spent a large amount of time reading books with a flashlight under my covers. I read everything. One of the hardest feats in reading that I accomplished was reading the Lord of the Rings series in 5th grade. That was a challenge. How in the world could I give birth to a child that had no interest in reading.

SO, I went to the Tattered Cover to check out the juvenile fiction section. About 95% of the section was populated with books from some Fairy series or the Magic Tree House books. I bought a few books (they were really cheap), and I still didn't have any luck.

Frustrated, I decided to read a few of the popular books that are around. I figured out pretty quickly why she didn't like to read much. The writing is TERRIBLE in the new popular book series. I was really shocked at the low quality of the books that were being pushed on kids. I remember the Fudge and Ramona books from my day. They were books for kids that were written by writers. The books that I looked at were just words printed on a paper with a wizard or fairy to make them cool. I was NOT impressed.

I had no idea where to start. I was going to give Elena Superfudge, but I remembered her first grade teacher telling me that it talks about doubts about Santa. That was right around Christmas. Although Elena doesn't believe in Santa, I didn't need to remind her about that belief and have her ruin some other child's Christmas. I looked at some other options before I ran into one of the new American Girl books.

Now, I have to be honest---I was not expecting much, but once I started reading the book I was interested in the story of the girl. I started looking at some of the other books and I was impressed at how history came alive in the lives of the characters.

I guess I'm a little idealistic. I want my kids to read books that improve their skills in reading. I don't want to have them read just to check another book off a list. I think we're already dumbing our kids down and making them immature by putting them at the center of the universe and entertaining them mindlessly at all times. Don't even start me on the effect that texting is having on the younger generation's writing skills...

Crossing my fingers, I handed Elena two of the books that I wanted her to read. She just sighed, put them in her room and then returned and asked if she could play on the Wii. This is going to be harder than I thought-she is already convinced that reading is boring. For a couple of days I tried to come up with a way to get her to start reading. One day I passed the books sitting on her nightstand and had an idea.

For Christmas I bought the kids all 1 large Christmas gift each. I bought Elena an American Girl doll. She had been hinting that she wanted more clothes for her doll, but they are so expensive that I knew that she would have to earn them. When I looked at the American Girl book, I figured that I could merge the two: She reads books and earns clothes for the American Girl doll. Perfect! I wish that my parents had paid me to read!

Elena was all over my proposition. She actually picked up one of the books and started to read it. Not long after that, she was hooked. I found her reading the books on her own. I even found her reading at night with a book light that I had stuffed in her stocking at Christmas. She was finally enjoying reading (and I was enjoying watching her read)!

Elena was told that if she read 4 chapter books (that I chose) she could get an outfit for her doll and one to match for her to wear. At first she talked about the outfits that she was going to pick. Now, she talks about the next book she is going to read. All it took was a good book and a little bribery. In fact, my sister just gave Christina an older American Girl doll. She just asked me today, "Mom, can I read to get clothes for my doll, too?" That made me smile!

I almost had a quiet week

For all you that read my last post about Christina and her antics, it gets better! The day after her multiple trips to the bathroom, we all load in the car on the way to school. Late (as usual), we quickly back down the driveway and start our well-worn drive to school. We get about 1/2 mile away and I hear from the back seat, "Mom, I have to go potty."

Elena and I, thinking that she is joking, start laughing. We had shared Christina's story with all of their grandparents and we assumed that she must be kidding. Well, we assumed until she broke out in tears.

"I really DO have to go!" So, we concluded our dramatic drive with another leap out of the car and dash down the hill towards school. Once again, I wondered why she just couldn't go when we were at home.

That evening my parents arrived just after dinner to take the girls to a local ballet performance. We made sure that Christina went to the bathroom before they left. I was told that from that point they were traveling in the car just a short distance when Christina insisted that she had to go to the bathroom AGAIN. They raced to the location of the performance (about the same distance from our house as their school), and my father dropped the girls and my mother off and they raced to the bathroom. They too were laughing because they had read my blog.

Then, during the first half of the performance, Christina started wiggling and whispers (loudly-as all 5 year olds do) that she had to go potty. So, they found themselves missing part of the performance. Then, during intermission, she went again. That time my father was waiting outside for her and she took so long that he sent Elena after her. (After she went she had to check out all of the stalls, sing a song, use way too much soap, and then dry her hands for an eternity.) So, after missing about half of the performance, they brought her back and shared their experience with me. At least they were laughing. I wouldn't have been so whimsical about the situation.

Now I figure that there has to be something wrong with my child. I assumed that she had a urinary tract infection. I sent Mark to the store to buy cranberry juice while I probed her for information. "Does it hurt when you pee?" "Does your tummy hurt?" To all of these questions I received a hearty NO.

The next day I took her to the doctor. I don't know how many times she asked me if she was going to get a shot. When I arrived I was given a cup and a wet wipe. "Have her pee in here," they told me.

Now, maybe my daughter is different than other children, but whenever either of my older children are asked to pee in a cup it doesn't matter how frequently they've been peeing during the course of the day or how long it has been since they've last peed--once that cup is sitting there waiting for a urine deposit, all of the sudden they can't go anymore.

Now the doctor's bathroom is tiny. It is about the size of a public bathroom stall with a sink attached. Micah, of course, couldn't miss any of the action, so all 3 of us were squeezed into this tiny room while I hold a cup under my hovering daughter.

"Pee in the cup." I was trying to be as positive and encouraging as possible.

"I can't. There is no more pee."

I sighed, "Just try to pee a little bit in the cup."

Christina starts making exaggerated pushing sounds for about a minute. Then, "I can't go."

I remember back to our multiple stops to the bathroom all day. I take a deep breath. Now, Micah had gotten bored and kept trying to escape the bathroom.

"Come on Christina. Just a little bit."

With the most sympathetic look that she could muster she declared, "I just can't go, Mom!"

Trying to be patient, I stood up, rolled my eyes and washed my hands. We returned to the patient room with not even a single drop of pee.

The nurse reentered the room and asked about the sample. I told her that we couldn't even get a drop. She encouraged us to wait and try again. About 15 minutes later Christina tells me that she has to go--and of course it is an emergency.

Now, I want to know how she desperately has to go the bathroom 15 minutes after she has absolutely nothing left in her bladder. Oh, that's right, children like to occasionally exasperate their parents. This time I sent her and Elena to the bathroom. I was doubtful that she really had to go. Of course, about 4 minutes later they show up with a full cup, which they delivered proudly to the nurses station.

A few minutes later the pediatrician comes in. "She doesn't have a urinary tract infection--she is just constipated. The bowels are pressing against the bladder and that's why she has to go so frequently."

All of the sudden, I vaguely remembered Christina telling me something while I was engrossed in reading an article. (Kids never tell you important information when they have your complete attention.) She told me that she had proudly eaten 4 bananas in a row. Suddenly, it all made sense. She was downing bananas at a phenomenal rate-- which caused her to get constipated-- which then caused all of our exciting adventures! Why hadn't I thought of that before?

We returned home and I cooked her a very large helping of vegetables. Thankfully, my bathroom adventures have ceased and my daughter is regular again. What a week!

I have to go potty real bad right now!

I'm sorry that I have been MIA lately. My boys got sick, then they got ear infections. I just haven't been able to concentrate on blogging! I have a list of great stories to share--and now I'm getting more sleep--so I'm ready to write again.

My little Christina is a character. I cannot possibly put all of her little quirks into one blog, so I am going to start with her endless need to go to the bathroom at the most inopportune times.

Christina always seems to have to go the the bathroom just after we left a place with a "safe," clean bathroom. Yesterday we left to go to the bank. Just as we were leaving the neighborhood I hear a desperate plea coming from the back seat, "I have to go potty really bad!" You've gotta be kidding me.

I stopped the car and looked in the rear view mirror. Trying to speak calmly, I asked her, "Why didn't you go to the bathroom when we were home about 3 minutes ago? I have to go to the bank and it closes in 15 minutes."

With the most desperate face she could muster, she pleads, "Mommy--I can't make it! I have to go really bad right now." That time I rolled my eyes, turned around, and headed back to the house.

Then, this morning came around. Elena woke everyone up really early to let us all know that she had a field trip today and that she was already dressed. Since we all were up so early, we all had plenty of time to relax, eat, and go to the bathroom. We loaded up in the car and the girls and I took off to go to school.

On the way to school we pick up a little boy. Right after I picked him up and we were on the way to school, I hear that same desperate plea coming from the back, "Mommy--I have to go potty!" Mind you, we had all of the time in world to go to the bathroom that morning.

"Hold it." I showed no signs of compassion. I think this was the 4th time this week that Christina had to go to the bathroom as soon as we got in the car.

She wiggled, "But I can't make it! I have to go SO SO bad!" I could see her wiggling in the back seat.

This time Elena chimed in, "Christina! Why didn't you go at home? You were doing nothing for like a whole 10 minutes!"

"But I didn't have to go then. I have to go really bad now."

I glanced at the clock. We are like a whole 4 minutes from the girls school. If I stopped somewhere else, it would take longer than that for us to figure out where the bathroom was. "I'm not stopping."

Christina leaned forward, "But MOMMY. I HAVE to go. I'm NOT going to make it. PLEASE stop." I looked around. I don't think anyone would appreciate her peeing in a bush on Highlands Ranch Parkway.

"I'm not stopping."

The biggest groan escaped her little body. As I approached the school I swear I could see the water lines rising past her eye balls. Then, the car stopped. Traffic was back up at the school.

Her level of desperation rose, "I have to go!" She took off her seat belt and squeezed close to the door as we inched towards the school. Finally, the car approached a sidewalk. We were still about 20 cars back from the drop off spot in front of the school, inching slowly. She looked at me, "Mommy--I want to get out and walk to school."

Before the word OK escaped my lips, she had thrown open the door and took off running as fast as she could towards the door. I have never seen a little girl run that fast in my life. In a full sprint, she skillfully swerved past the slower kids and dashed into the school.

Elena started laughing, "She was running pretty fast. I hope she made it!"

Thankfully, she did.

Who Am I?

Today is not so much focused on my kids as it is focused on the mother of my kids. ( I don't even refer to myself by name anymore.) You see, I seem to have lost some of my own identity on the motherhood journey.

Today Mark and I took the older 3 kids bowling. (When you can take your older 3 kids somewhere, that means you have a LOT of kids.) I digress.... We took the kids bowling and I was having fun and dancing to the music at the bowling alley--normal bowling alley stuff. Elena was giggling and she said, "Wow, you're in a good mood!" I got thinking about that comment. My first thought was I'm always in a good mood. Then I thought Apparently, I'm not always in a good mood if she made a comment. Then I remembered back to before having kids I USED to always be in a good mood. I guess I'm all about business a lot of the time. It's hard watching 4 kids and doing a mountain of business paperwork and taking care of the house. Maybe I don't have TIME to be in a good mood anymore. Then I remembered what one mom in MOPS said on Wednesday. I'm the box that the baby came in.

Allow me to explain: On Wednesday Lisa, one of my mom friends from MOPS said that we as moms sometimes treat ourselves as "the box that the baby came in." When I go out I always make sure that my kids look good and presentable. They have their hair brushed (I swear Christina's hair doesn't like that in the morning), nice clothes, and are taken care of. Me? Not so much. I go to the grocery store and the bank all of the time in my half pajamas--hoping the whole time that I don't run into my mother. (She would probably pinch me....) As my friend Lisa said, I treat myself as the box the baby came in. Like I am just a glorified caretaker. Just a chauffeur for those adorable children.

I guess that's why I'm blogging. This is an attempt to remember what I once was--and what I used to love to do. I remember when I wanted to be a writer. Then I also wanted to work on the Spanish language. I just love languages. Somewhere along the way I became an unpaid daycare worker and bookkeeper. Neither job is really too glorious. They are, however, necessary. I want to remember the day when my life was so full of promise. I just have to figure out how that fits in with my family. That could take a lot of time to ponder.

I feel much better now. My rant is done and now I have to finish filing all of my year end reports. Adios.

Flashback-Desitin & Toothpaste

Today my friend Becky was trying to find out how to get toothpaste out of carpet. That conversation brought not so fond memories of toothpaste and Desitin. Neither substance is fun to get out of carpet!

When Micah was about 1 and Christina was about 3 1/2, Christina decided that she wanted to discover her inner artist. Whenever I do something crazy like trying to take a 5 minute shower, one of my kids always gets a new creative idea. After I got mostly dressed I walked in to find the scene above. Destin is NOT fun to get out of carpet. However, poison control wasn't too worried that my son ingested some.

Toothpaste is the other substance I'm not too fond of. There is carpet in front of the sink in my kids' bathroom. Why? I have no idea. Every time I go to clean the bathroom mirror, there is toothpaste at the top of the mirror. How in the world do people that are 3-4 feet tall get toothpaste on the top of the mirror? I can't even reach the top of the mirror without straining. I've given up trying to get toothpaste out of the carpet. It's a losing battle. I just changed my color scheme to match the toothpaste...

Nilk

My son Micah loves milk. A LOT. He loves milk so much that when he was 1 year old Mark nicknamed him Mikey Moo Cow. We've been changing it to Mikey Moose (Mark says that Moose is much better name when he's older). However, his love of milk remains unchanged.

Micah has a morning routine. He wakes up and immediately comes and jumps in our bed. He bugs us while yelling, "POTTY!" the whole time until we walk with him to the bathroom. Why in the world he can't go to the bathroom by himself no one knows..... After he goes to the bathroom, he likes to drink a sippy cup half full of milk. (It HAS to be a sippy cup or he melts down---there are a lot of rules that we have to follow in the morning.) Then he eats a bowl of oatmeal. Deviate from the plan, and we're in a world of hurt.

We ran out of milk on Saturday and on Sunday morning we had failed to replenish the milk supply. Micah walked in in a worse mood than usual and after he had relieved himself in the bathroom, he was ready for the next step: milk. Mark and I knew we were in for it. Micah is NOT a morning person at all. I already feel sorry for his future wife. I hope she will be a very patient woman. We tried to break the news to him gently, "Micah, we have no milk. We ran out yesterday." The drama begins.

Micah begins screaming angrily, "I want nilk! I want nilk!" Mark and I tried to quiet him so he woudn't wake up everyone, but he entered into an angry funk. "Nilk! Nilk!" Finally, he stomps out of the bedroom and we heard him stomp down the stairs. We had no idea what he was up to. Suddenly, we hear the most gut wrenching, grevious scream/wail. Mark likens it to the time on Star Wars when Luke finds out Darth Vader is his father. Micah had apparently checked the refrigerator himself. "No NIIIIIILK!!!!!" Both of us broke out in laughter.

Micah was in the pit of dispair. We hear deep sobs and crying, "Where'd nilk GO! Where'd nilk GO!" Then a few moments later, "Whey are you nilk? Whey are you? AHHHHH!!!" If only life were so simple that not having milk was the worst thing in the world. We ended his time of sorrow by buying milk on our way home from church. Micah won the drama award for the week!