eight

Eight years ago today

I had my smallest baby. 8 little pounds and 9 teeny ounces.
I gained a daughter.
I spent that day studying her, as I did every day for the next few weeks.
I wrote this down in my journal:

You have my hair.

May you let it down more than I did.

You have my eyes.

May you always see yourself the way I see you.

You have my hands.

May you accomplish all you dream with them.

You have my feet.

May you always walk on solid ground.

You have my ears.

May you only hear the good things people say about you.

You have your own thoughts.

May you always share them with me.


You have your own heart.

May you always keep mine close to yours.



Eight years later as I re-read that I said,

"Amen."

Dear husband III

It's almost Christmas! I know we don't do gifts for each other, but I think we should start. I mean, stuff is cool. And if you felt so inclined, the following stuff is the coolest:


#1  Sleep. The uninterrupted kind. The kind childless people get. Remember that? [insert nostalgic sigh here]

#2  A door that closes for our master bath. Because I am a fan of closed bathroom doors. Especially when I am in them.

#3   A ticket to the 21st century so I can get something fancy like a phone that is more than just a phone. It's got the Internet! A GPS! A gaming system! A personal chef! A maid! The list goes on and on.

#4  A time waster that comes in the form of an ipad. Because I am a fan of wasting time.

#5  Another home phone. Why in the crap do we have one home phone in this 3000+ square foot house? And why can I NEVER find it?

#6  A set of children that actually knows what a garbage can is and how to use it.

#7 A pair of slippers to complete my whole, "I don't get dressed anymore" look.

#8 A trip to the spa for an eyebrow wax. (have you seen me lately?)

#9 The Dogwhisperer, but for toddlers. The toddlerwhisperer. Someone to tell me what that kid wants already. ( I am so over the screaming, aren't you?)

#10 A treadmill to serve as a constant blaring reminder of my failures.

 Okay, nix number 10... I already have a mirror.

But really what I want most is for you, my dear overworked and underpaid husband to relax and enjoy this holiday season. You deserve it.

Oh and P.S. While you are relaxing and enjoying, could you make good use of your hands and give me a back rub?I mean, hey, there is a limit to my generosity.

At the table

I love family dinners.
I don't love cooking it and I certainly don't love cleaning it all up. Especially when you have a child like Porter who can, in a matter of minutes, make the kitchen floor look like it threw up and make his face, clothes and body look as if he has been slimed by one of the ghosts on ghost busters.

The real reason I love family dinners is the conversation. For example, Caleb the other day, over a dinner of baked chicken and new potatoes, announced to us that he knew what he wanted to be when he grew up. We have heard some interesting announcements of his future in the past so we all perked up to hear what this would be.

"You know those guys that knock down stuff they don't like?"
"Um, Nope." I said.
"You know the ones that get in the big machines and they swing the big ball at the stores they don't like?"
"Do you mean a demolition man?"
Caleb, nodding and grinning, "Yep. That's what I am going to be."

This sparked a "Career day theme that night".
We talked about what we wanted to be when we grew up (or what we thought we would be when we were little). Then we started speculating on what Porter will be, using what we know of him now.

We thought a professional wrestler, because of his love of tackling and wrestling and mildly injuring his house mates.
We thought a food critic, due to his devotion to food.
We thought a shoe designer stemming from his OBSESSION with shoes.
We thought a sanitation engineer thanks mostly due to his over enthusiasm about throwing anything he can pick up in the garbage.
We thought impersonator, mostly due to his constant and consistent growling.
On top of whatever he actually ends up being, he will surely be a father. That we have no doubt of thanks to his supreme baby fascination.

When dinner was over and only the ghost of dishes remained, I washed them with a goofy smile on my face because...

Well, how could I not? These kids are the best dinner theater anyone could ever have.

Totally worth the price of crusty dinner dishes.

This time last year...

I had a baby:

A bald, slobbery baby who couldn't get around much and who spent his time being cuddled and biting things and drinking bottles.

Today, I have this:

A toddler.

He cries, he screams, he bites, he throws himself on the floor, he demands, he makes messes faster than all three other children combined. His idea of a good time always involves destruction in some form.

But when he is getting his way,

he is sunshine. 

He is laughter. 

He is superbaby. Supertoddler.

And we are ever thankful for those times.

No matter how rare they are occure lately.

my mind...

Today I have wondered,

- Why Oprah has a show about Michael Jackson like once a week.

- If anyone else has realized that having a toddler is like a mirror image to their idiocynracies.

- When I am going to actually get some Christmas shopping done.

- What happened to radio. Remember when there were lots of stations that played lots of music as opposed to lots of stations playing 6 six songs over and over and over.

- I also wonder who it is that likes those 6 songs.

- I wonder where my baby Jesus is. He gone and run off again. (explanation here if you are confused)

-  How people bake frequently and manage not to resemble a beached whale.


What's on your mind?

Gratitude post 3: 1st Anniversary

A year ago today,
                         we were scared.


A year ago today,
                        we were overwhelmed with confusion.


A year ago today,
                        our lives as we knew it, changed.


A year ago today,
                        modern medicine saved her life:



 

Today, we are still overwhelmed with confusion at times,
                                                                             but we are no longer scared.

And that change in our life, is now our new normal.

And today,
              we are so incredibly grateful and forever thankful for that modern medicine that is now
                                             her life support:

Thankful post 2: You all know what I am talking about, right?

I love a good shower.
A good, hot shower is the best way to start the day... or to end it.

Unfortunately as a mom, a good shower is hard to come by.

Why? (honestly is there anyone who doesn't know why? Just in case...)

Because a good shower is an uninterrupted one.
           I don't think I have taken more than a handful of uninterrupted showers in over a decade. I think when a mom steps in the shower some kind of internal signal blinks inside my children. It signals to them that now is the best time to ask mom what her favorite color is or when they can go to the zoo next or tell her a funny thing that happened in school. I spend half of my shower sticking my head out, nodding or asking them if I can talk to them in a minute.

But if I do have an uninterrupted shower, that doesn't necessarily mean a good shower. Because scary things happen when children are left unattended.
When I step in the shower,
Things get spilled,
Unauthorized food gets consumed,
Boxes of wipes get opened and wipes are spread on the floor like a blanket.,
Books get wiped off the shelves in the library,
Toilets become a play place...

and that's just in the space of fifteen minutes.

But sometimes there is a rare occasion when Brian is home, and I beg him to watch the monsters children while I take a hot, uninterrupted, and extremely long shower.

I am thankful for those days.
I am also hopeful that it will start happening more than like twice a year.

Thankful post 1: Am I the only One?

It all started because I left the dinner dishes undone. I hate it when I do that. I was in a rush that night to move on to other things so I put them off.
Then it took forever to get the kids in bed.
Then there were meal plans to make and carbs to add and bills to pay and a husband to talk to.
Then Conan came on. And everybody knows Conan comes before dishes.
Then I fell asleep. Right there on the couch like a tired idiot.
 When I woke up and made the trek upstairs I passed the kitchen and made the decision to leave it until the morning.
Only tomorrow brings breakfast for and it's dishes.
And lunch packing and the mess it leaves.
Then there is (hopefully) a shower and dressing small children and running errands and preschool.
When caleb and I got home he announced he would like chocolate milk. I went into the kitchen with the intentions of getting that chocolate milk.
But I forgot.
Because their were dishes in the sink,
Cereal boxes to be put away,
Counters to be wiped,
Little milk rings on the table left from cereal bowls,
a floor to be swept....
I set to work.
A while later, Caleb came in. He sighed and tugged on my shirt until I crouched down to his level.
He said with disappointment heavy in his tone,
"Mom, something is stuck in your brain."
Then, speaking slowly as if communicating with an elderly woman who is half deaf,
"I. Wanted. Chocolate. Milk."

I unstuck my brain, got him his milk, and smiled. I am so thankful for a little 4 year old that keeps me in line EVERY SINGLE DAY.

When you have children...

You have files and files full of pictures of them in weird places

Doing weird things

 

And you find yourself thinking that these are some of the best pictures in the world.

Parenthood really does make you crazy.

a day of rest

Sundays are my favorite day of the week.
But yesterday I found myself wondering why that is.
I woke up at 6:30 to get myself and four children up, fed, dressed and ready to go through 3 hours of church. (my husband is on his own.)
I packed the church bag. The church bag is easily the largest bag you have ever seen. It's like packing a 72 hour kit each week for a family of six. Extensive.
Once we got to church, (on time, whew!) the work started.
I braved the weekly fight over who gets to sit by me. (Caleb always wins one side.)
When church started, the volume goes down.. for most everyone except for the Swanson row.
Caleb usually does something strange the entire first hour at full volume.
This week his shoe laces were having a conversation that quickly escalated to an argument that ended in a fierce battle.
Hailey and Jonas were having poking wars and throwing dirty looks at each other as punishment for breathing too loud or looking too long or reaching for the same hymnal.
Brian was bouncing his legs like a maniac with restless leg syndrome. (can someone say sugar high?)
Then there was Porter.
Porter has a tendency to yell AMEN during any pause in the speakers talk. He uses "Amen" like a 60 year old baptist woman at a tent revival.
After the sacrament I began shelling out sippie cups and baggies of food and pencils and crayons and notebooks and magnets and Kleenex and apologies to every family unfortunate enough to sit in close proximity to us.
I "shooshed" so much, I think after a while I was contributing to the chaos by a constant low shooshing tone being like the violent undercurrent of distraction.
But we made it.
On my way out of the chapel, someone caught me and said she loves watching my family every Sunday.
[insert awkward laugh here]
Then she said, "I love watching you with your kids. You do such a good job."

Then I checked her forehead for fever and asked her if she had taken any narcotics on the way into church this morning.
She said no, but I don't believe her.

Even with all the chaos stacked against me, I still maintain Sunday as the high light of the week. I just feel like that highlight starts the second my children head of to their Sunday school classes.

Is it just me?

Is it just me, or do you think of cancer when you see this picture?



No? Weird. Because I do. And I am going to let you know how:

I see this tree.
I think "pretty!"
"look at all the colors!"

Then my thoughts get sad because that the tree will only look this perfect for a week, maybe two.
Then I start to think of the Robert Frost poem (the first poem I ever fell in love with as a cheesy little 12 year old).
I recite it in my head:
Nature's first green is gold;
Her Hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower,
but only so an hour...

Then I have a sudden and very urgent desire to watch really cheesy 80's movies like the Outsiders because that is where I first heard the poem.
Then I think about how terrible, but how gloriously terrible that movie and many from the 80's, are.

Then I think about Patrick Swayze (who co starred in the flick among other big names who were not big names then like: Tom Cruise, Matt Damon, Rob Lowe, and Emilio Estevez...) and I think about how Patrick was the 80's. [And yes, I do believe we are on a first name basis.]

And then I get sad that Patrick had to get cancer and die.

Then I start thinking about how lame cancer is.



And that my friends, is how this mind works.

Don't be jealous. I am sure your mind is a wonderful place to be too.

Tounge, Anyone?

While looking through the years pictures I noticed a slight theme:















Or should I say problem?

Never Ever

[picture taken in February of this year, makes me laugh every time I look at it.]

Brooke was over today and Caleb asked her if she wanted to watch a scary scooby doo movie.

Brooke: Okay! Is your sister scared of it?
Caleb: No.
Brooke: Is your brother?
Caleb: No.
Brooke: Is your Mom?
Caleb No.
Brooke: Is your dad?
Caleb: No!! [exclaimed emphatically] My Dad isn't scared of anything!
Brooke: Yes, My dad is never scared either.

Here's to the brave dads who are the heroes of their children's hearts.

But I still change more diapers. I will always wear that badge.

Forever

This was one of those mornings was full of four year old drama.
lots of "No's" and "Stop that's" were uttered.
It continued after the kids were gone and finally reached the climax with one giant "I don't like you, Mom", followed by a dramatic exit of the room.

Porter and I continued our routine of me following him around and cleaning up the messes he leaves with every step he takes.

After a few minutes had passed, the four year old made his re-entrance tentatively, with a frown on his face.
I opened my arms for a hug.
The frown melted, the hug was reciprocated.
Then he said,

"Mom, can we still be best friends?"



To which I answered with one giant hug,
one even bigger kiss,

and a very firm yes.

My heros have always been...

My father in law is a cowboy.
In almost every sense of the word. I say almost, because I don't believe he has ever chewed tobacco and spit into a brass spittoon, or ever shot somebody in a shootout at high noon in the middle of a dusty street...
but I have been known to be wrong once or twice.

My little Jonas was the first grandchild, and for my father in law, the first shining beacon of restored hope to have a little cowboy in the family. You see, one by one, all his six children has broken his horse-lovin' heart by pledging their disinterest for the cowboy way of life. It probably has to do with cleaning out so many horse stalls full of manure. One time of that would cure me of horse-love, you can be sure of that.
Anyway, Jonas got a cowboy hat in every size growing up. He has several pairs of cowboy boots, some nice riding jeans, and some chaps... all of which have been good for nothing other than some Halloween costumes.
Until now.

This summer, my father in law's hopes and dreams have come true.



He has found himself a riding partner.



An eager student.



A cowboy in training.



In fact, he may have found himself two.



He can now die happy. But we would all prefer it if he could wait on that for about 49 years.
As for me, I think that all this is cute and everything, but don't you be thinking for one minute that country music is going to get played in this house.

Lines have to be drawn somewhere.

note to self:

dont let the big kids eat their oreos unattended.
human vacuums stand in waiting:





another note to self:
while you are cleaning up oreo mess,
don't leave the days worth of hand picked tomatoes





on the kitchen table





Or the pears left to ripen:



because there is a bottomless pit cleverly disguised a small boy residing here.

home.

A year ago today, the day we moved in:


(I took one single picture and yes, it is blurry. I am careless like that.)

Today:





The backyard, when we moved in:



Today:



We have made a few improvements:
Black shutters
Black doors
Window grates
A garden
Cutting down a massive tree
A basketball hoop
Crown molding in the library
New door nobs
Trees
Bushes
Stupid solar landscape lights

When we got our first home, I remember it took months for it to feel like ours. It took months for me to feel like when I am sick, that it was the place I wanted to hole up in.

But this home felt like home the first moment we stepped in it.
It wasn't the perfect home, it was just ours and I knew it. I love it for that fact. Sure I would love it if I could do my laundry in my house instead of in the garage, and I would like one more bedroom, and I wish that my fake wood floor was real wood, and that I had a fireplace...
But I don't really care about any of that,
because I have a kitchen to cook for my family in,
a kitchen table to sit around and eat and talk and laugh.
a bathtub to fill with chubby babies and bubbles and toys and laughter.
And a garage to park my car in to protect it from the evil white stuff. To keep my hands thawed and my scrapper buried in the trunk.
I still walk in and love it for all it's perfect parts and all it's imperfect parts.

It's just ours.
Happy anniversary home!

new camera!

It's back!


...And pretty much the same as ever.

I had been holding out thinking I would get a real live camera, with real live lenses, but then I realized I have a home and four kids that need food, clothing, shelter, life saving medicines, and silly bands, and I realized that a fancy schmancy camera is not a need. (boo)

So here I am, one cute Canon point and shoot later:



The kids were thrilled to be subjects for me again...




For like, five whole minutes.





But I have commenced the documenting here and on my picture a day blog.

Things you are going to see more of than you ever possibly hoped to:

Sleeping children.




Partially tooth-filled smiling children.




And children who are in the whole it's awkward to be told to smile phase:



So thanks all you friends and friends of friends and complete strangers for sticking with me through my camera-less existence. It's nice to know you were just hanging around for the words.






It's either that or a chance at glimpsing this irresistible mug:







I know, I know... it's the words.