Who woulda thunk?

…that Claire would get stitches (3, to be exact) before her effervescent brother. It had little to do with activity level and lots to do with sidewalks. Wicked, wicked sidewalks and a mother who doesn’t fasten the stroller seatbelt.

8th Anniversary

Engagement picture

We met 19 years ago. David claims it was love at first sight, but frankly, considering his teenage hormone level, I think it was love at first sight for at least 90% of the girls he saw. It was my first temple trip and I became good friends with his cousin Emilee. He had her invite me over to his place as much as possible. I was attracted to his confident sense of humor. But the teenage years weren’t kind to him—I’m not talking physically; he was just plain weird at times (still is, but now it’s endearing). He would call me and sit in silence for very long periods of time or ask me lists of silly questions. So we were just friends. He was my escort to my sweet-16. He wrote me notes with the “do you like me more than a friend” checkboxes. I tried to let him down easy. He got back from the mission and we had a spectacular date when he flew up to Utah to apply for jobs. We dated for a week and he started hinting at marriage. I tried to let him down easy. I went on a mission and we met up again at Leah and Mark’s wedding. I was 50 lbs heavier and he was a nervous wreck, couldn’t even manage a normal conversation=perfect recipe for love. Started dating 3 months later, engaged 2 months after that, married 4 months after that.
And here we are 8 years later.
8 years is a long time. The miracle of it all is that considering David’s eating habits, we aren’t morbidly obese (stay tuned) and with my quirks we are still semi-sane (again, stay tuned).

To celebrate this day, I will reminisce. My second favorite date-with-David-story happened a few years after we were married. About 25% of dates with David are spent at PF Changs. This was one of those nights. Nothing significant happened, but toward the end of dinner, David retired to the bathroom. While he was away, a few women approached me and said, “Are you ok? Do you want to use my phone? Can we give you a ride home?” I was baffled for a little while until I realized they had been eavesdropping on the progress of our date and had not been impressed. David and I wracked our brains to think of what about our date could have left such a bad impression. But it was just a normal night for us. Is this the general perception of our marriage? We disagree, we fight, and I of course reign supreme not only on the scrabble and chess boards, but in general. Just joking, kinda. Anyway, we are even more crazy in love (emphasis on the “crazy”) than ever and I can’t imagine it being any other way.

David-like children

I would like to dedicate this post to all those parents out there who have active, energetic, loud, unruly, David-like children.
Note: I write this in the wake of the last of a series of monthly parent/teacher conferences.

David and I are some of the younger parents at E’s school. We are also unique b/c our children don’t have additional caretakers, besides yours truly. I get several comments about the lack of one along with “how do you like having 3 kids.” Smirk, smirk and a glance at my disheveled appearance and screaming, disheveled children who likely dressed themselves in clothes that fit another sibling, have bruises from any number of accidents…you get the picture. Is this just me being paranoid? Yes, sometimes.

And the monthly parent-teacher conferences on how we can be better parents aren’t too helpful either. I want to write a note-to-self to read before all such future conferences, because I’m sure there will be many:

Self,
No matter how the teachers accuse you, the fact that your child has extra energy in the classroom does not reflect a lack in parenting nor is a direct result of the IV of pure sugar you insert in his arm daily. Praise the teacher profusely, be an advocate for yourself and your child and inform the teacher that everyone has weaknesses. Fortunately immaturity is usually grown out of. When he is a president of the universe, you will call her, laugh, and hang up. So Ms Teacher, criticize the lunches I pack for him all you want (because you already do), criticize my age, number of children, parenting techniques, or lack thereof, absence of a second, third and 4th caretaker for them, but neither I nor my child need therapy from you nor anyone else.
   You’ve tried prayer, positive reinforcement, negative reinforcement, rewarding, bribing, praising, reading parenting books, pulling out your hair, pulling out their hair, and praying some more.

IT’S NOT YOU. It’s your wonderful, beautiful, loveable, adorable, crazy children. If they end up failures, it’s probably not your fault (even though they may say it is). If they end up successful, it’s probably not your fault either (but you have earned the right to say it is).

   So smile at the teachers, praise them that curse you, and give that crazy little kid an extra squeeze and maybe even a lick on the cheek, b/c dag-nabbit they didn’t get those genes from the stork!

Words I hate

Obama, this first one is your fault: FUNDAMENTAL. Did you really have to use it so much in your campaign? Almost as much as “yes we can,” which wasn’t quite as annoying just because if you say it with a southern drawl, it’s really funny. Yes you can change the world Obama: FUNDAMENTAL now bleeds through politics as I was noticing when we were watching the Republican debates last night. And now I get a little taste of vomit every time I hear it.

MOISTURE. I have a little more history with you. I never realized I could “hate” words until I moved in with my cousin in college and she hated words like “tampon,” “maxi pad,” and “pamphlet.” It was quite eye opening. Then a drought passed through the West and everyone was concerned about rain and snow. The apprehension was most pronounced in prayers: “please bless us with MOISTURE.” Moisture, really? Are you asking for more dew dripping from flowers, or perhaps an additional line of sweat on your upper lip when you exercise? Or what would be really cool is if the sewers filled with kool-aid. The worst part about it was that it was in Utah: land of the glottal stop where “mountain” = “moun’n” and MOISTURE also became a contorted ugliness.

Brother and brothers-in-law, you have discovered a new way to annoy me. Don't take advantage, or else this August my hands will go numb every time there's a dirty diaper, your kids and mine.

Soapbox

Nothing of significance has happened lately (besides everyone being sick all the time but you’ve already gotten those pleasant details, several times), so let me just get up on my soapbox again. Yesterday at church we had a lesson on obedience. It made me think of the following:

I have been going to church since birth. It was never hard because it was always part of the routine, no questions asked. Until NYC. The first year we lived there, we lived an hour away by train. David had to go early and stay late. So I rode with 2 kids, 1 of which has some kind of 6th sense that tells him to talk to all scary-looking people. There’s also some kind of magnet in his butt that’s turned upside down and makes it very difficult for him to stay seated for any amount of time. And I got a church calling that sucked all the remaining juice out of me. Then my lonely hour ride home with 2 overtired children and a juiced soul. The torturous session lasted about 6 hours and we arrived as it was getting dark. The result was a weekly 1-woman party which usually included tears, snot, with a whopping side dish of self-pity. I did not want to go to church. But I did. And the spiritual blessings were phenomenal.
Soapbox message: Obedience is necessary. It can drain my will to live, but the rewards always fill me right back up again until flowing over. There’s nothing a little discipline and a whole lot of praying can’t solve.

Isn’t it crazy, with a tiny little drop of obnoxious, how your greatest blessings are usually also your biggest challenges, like pre-packaged paradoxes.

Speaking of paradox: The corrupt police stopped D again a few weeks ago. He gave the man a lecture on faith in the constitution of Mexico and upholding the laws of the land. The cop kept insisting, “But there are other ways of getting around this.” David’s discourse droned on and finally the baffled cop let him go. Without a ticket, but more importantly, without a bribe.

Pets: To have or not to have

Yesterday a friend was talking about buying his kids hamsters. I wasn’t prepared for the onslaught of negative pet feelings from my childhood the conversation brought on:
Dog attacked by coyotes, finding dog drowned in pool, watching hamster eating babies (several litters), gerbil rotting in enclosed wall, dog hit by car, brother sleeping with (suffocating) guinea pigs, pet rabbit given to a hungry family, a rabid ferret, cat escaped, cat found in dryer tube, hamster found after a few weeks having eaten all my favorite shirts, dogs eating hamsters, “rescuing” deserted desert animals and hopelessly seeing them starve to death, countless fish and frogs flushed. Don’t even get me started on cockroaches, crickets, and rodents (documented earlier). Although not pets, nor welcome in the home, they have also left marks on my soul.
Ok, so there are a few good memories: Hunting for ticks on the dogs was like a gold hunt: we’d “pop” them either with fire or with a magnifying glass. Cutting my initials into my dog’s hair and receiving foot massages by the tongue of my dog=sweat bliss.

Believe it or not, I have been highly pro-pet up until having children. Since then, I just can’t imagine having to care for additional living creatures nor pooper-scoop more than I already do. Human feces has me up to the eyeballs! But little Elijah has always had a soft spot for animals (Claire has always been terrified—Iris too). About 2 years ago David told E he could get a dog when he is 8. We both hoped the toddler would forget. Alas, 8 is no longer the magical age of baptism, but the dog-owning age. I dread the day and will be devising subtle, underhanded ways to not get a dog until then.

Anyway, a few more happenings in our household:
Iris: loves clapping.
Claire: most used word: “ay-ay-ay.” She got that one from me, then took it up several hundred notches.
Elijah: Often used words: “ay caramba” and “falta de respeto.” He must get the “falta de respeto” lecture often at school; he liberally passes it on at home. He also passes on many other zany lectures like talking with food in your mouth will suffocate you and eating too much candy will result in plastic teeth.
David: recently decided that it’s immodest to walk around the home in just underwear. This is a very fickle decision.
Caroline: I have enjoyed showing my kids the fruits of my college education. I really am a champion grape-catcher-in-my-mouth, if I do say so myself. I was trained on skittles (a much more suitable college nutrient), but almost chipped a few teeth that way.