Festivus: For the Rest of Us

At this special time of year, our family gathered together to share in a cherished family tradition--Festivus.

If you do not know what Festivus is, you perhaps also do not remember when Thursday nights were "Must See TV." You may not have memories of sitting in Mr. Meyer's math class having a heated discussion about how lame the final episode of Seinfeld was. You may not one day stand accountable for the hundreds of hours you have spent in your life watching Seinfeld reruns. But if Stott blood flows through your veins, then not only do you know the meaning of Festivus, you celebrate.

Our celebration includes traditional Soup Nazi soup. We also try for other Seinfeld themed foods. Once I found a loaf of marble rye bread. Some years we have had a Festivus pole, watched Seinfeld, or played Seinfeld trivia. This year we decided to do some Feats of Strength.

First, since we were trying for Feats of Strength, we decided to test the strength of our feet. Clay won the "how many marbles can you pick up with your toes in thirty seconds" contest.

And though he didn't win, I had to say I was amazed and impressed that my father could stand on his head for almost thirty seconds.

Peter might have won the headstand contest, but I think my hubby won the "best picture of person looking like their head is about to explode" contest.

Deacon won the "person who has not changed out of his Buzz Lightyear jammies since he got them on Christmas Eve" contest. Yes, there were many tears when I would not let him wear them to church today.

Jace won the "I will humor my sister by allowing her to take goofy pictures of me pretending to be Uncle Ricco from Napoleon Dynamite" contest.

Let me close with some final thoughts from the Festivus originators.

Frank Costanza (on a tape recorder): "All right, George. It's time for the Festivus Feats of Strength!"

George Costanza: "No! No! Turn it off! No Feats of Strength! I hate Festivus!"

Frank Costanza: "We had some good times."

Yes we did.

How to Get Your Husband to Come Home in the Middle of the Day

1. Put two youngest children in the bathtub.

2. Ignore children.

3. Hear laughter coming from bathroom. Feel happy that your children are happy.

4. Listen to Parker tell you that McKay and Deacon are dumping water out of the tub.

5. Find your children happily dumping water out of tub. Find two inches of standing water on bathroom floor.

6. Reprimand children.

7. Get towels to soak up water.

8. Go downstairs to get laundry basket to haul soaking towels in.

9. Notice giant puddle of water on kitchen floor.

10. Wonder if rain water is leaking from roof.

11. Remember kitchen is on first floor.

12. Remember flooded bathroom is above kitchen.

13. Call husband.

14. Listen to husband swear. (Inwardly giggle as husband NEVER swears.)

15. Reprimand children again on advice of husband.

16. Get phone call from husband. Husband wants to come home and assess the damage for himself.

17. Continue soaking up water.

18. Listen to husband decide that the water came out through canister light and not drywall, causing only minor damage.

19. Feel happy.

20. Hear husband tell children they are not allowed to break anything else until after Christmas.

21. Giggle when husband tells Deacon he is not allowed to be a crazy monkey anymore, and Deacon responds, "I can still be a good boy monkey."

22. Tell husband how fun it was to see him in the middle of the day.

23. Respect husband's opinion that the fun was not mutual.

Merry Christmas

Dear Friends and Family,

In the true spirit of Christmas, I am informing you that none of you are getting Christmas cards from me this year.

I have my reasons. My Christmas cards in the past have consisted of a family newsletter with wallet-sized pictures of my children shoved in. This year I realize that if you have been following my blog, you know everything about our family. Probably more than you wanted to know, as I believe about a third of my blog has been devoted to Deacon's toileting issues. I also have no cute pictures to send out, as the pictures of my kids hanging in my home are the same ones that were hanging here last Christmas. I know, my children will be scarred for life without smiling photographic evidence of 2010. I've been meaning to get around to it.

Then there is the issue of gathering addresses. My computer crashed this year, and we were able to save everything except my address book. Which means I would be making a lot of phone calls and emails to try and gather all of your addresses. Which, while that is loads of fun, also takes up a bit of time, and I am naturally lazy.

I have decided that the Christmas traditions I want to continue are the ones that are fun to do together as a family, and not the ones that make me swear at my children. If you've ever had piles of cards and pictures and envelopes spread across the floor, and then got up to answer the phone, you know what I mean.

I realize that the real reason we send out cards is to tell the people we care about how much we love them. I love you all! And instead of spending money on stamps and cards this year to show you, I am spending the money to help others. A donation has been made in your name to the American Red Cross to purchase blankets for disaster victims.

The next time a hurricane or earthquake occurs and you see pictures of victims wrapped in Red Cross blankets, pretend you're reading our Christmas card.

We love you all! Merry Christmas!

Love,

The Davis Family

Dinner at the Davises

Our family is the blending of two great families--the Davis and the Stott. Davises are talkers (particularly my Davis). Stotts love to share a good story. Bring those genetics together, and you have a dinner table of nonstop chatter. Chris decided to implement conversational turn taking at the table in hopes of restoring sanity.

Chris: "Deacon, you have the first turn. What did you do today?"

Deacon: "I fell down, and a laser broke off my arm!"

Chris: "What did you do, Kodie?"

Me: "I played in the snow with the kids. Deacon wanted someone to be the bad guy, so he could throw snowballs at him. I had to be the bad guy. Unfortunately, Deacon couldn't make snowballs himself, so that was my job, too. I handed him a snowball. He said, 'Thank you, Bad Guy.' Then he threw the snowball at me, and the process repeated itself."

Chris: "How was your day, McKay?"

McKay: "First I went to dance class. Then--"

Parker: "Did you know Henry the VIII beheaded two of his wives?"

Chris: "Not your turn!"

Parker: "But it's so disgusting!"

McKay: "Then I went to the library."

Parker: "Deacon's sucking on the salt shaker."

McKay: "Then we went to Costco. Then I played in the snow."

Chris: "My turn. I had a lot of meetings. And each meeting gave me more work."

Deacon laughs hysterically.

Chris: "I'm glad someone finds that funny."

Chris: "Parker?"

Parker: "First, I woke up. And then I went downstairs. Then mom asked me if I wanted a bagel or grapefruit for breakfast, but I wanted a cookie. Then mom said to go upstairs and get in the shower."

Chris: "This is going to take all night."

Me: "Just let him go."

Parker (drones on for a few more minutes): "....then I volunteered at the Red Cross. Then I ate pizza for lunch..."

Chris: "Deacon's salting his neck."

I looked over, and yes, indeed, Deacon had the salt shaker and was generously salting his neck.

Me: "Are you salting your neck, Deacon?"

Deacon laughs and begins salting his ear.

Parker: "...and then I finished my snow fort, came inside, and ate dinner. The end."

Vampire Art and Other Stuff You Learn in School

I have a confession to make. I really love homeschooling. This surprises me, as before this year I mostly made fun of people who homeschooled. Psychos. I've seen the light, and now like Saul becoming Paul--I believe. I believe I love it. And this is why.

A few days ago, I was doing a history lesson with Parker. We were study this painting by Jan Van Eyck.

The next morning Parker told me, "I dreamed about that creepy, pale guy in the Van Eyck painting last night. He was a vampire. It was very scary. Let's not study Van Eyck anymore."

Reason 1: More educated nightmares.

Today Parker was learning about Martin Luther. He was supposed to draw a picture to illustrate what happened to Martin Luther in Worms, Germany. If you are unfamiliar with this historical event, Martin Luther was summoned to Worms to denounce what he was preaching against the Catholic church, specifically his 95 Theses. He refused, and the Pope banned him from the Catholic church.

Parker drew a picture of the pope saying, "Eat worms!" Martin Luther is next to him proclaiming, "Hey--I'm not a spider." Then the pope has a thought bubble that reads, "But you are a pest."

I loved it! Parker understood more than the facts relating to history; he understood the attitude.

Reason #2: People with attitudes like learning with an attitude.

Now Parker is reading over my shoulder explaining that a special meeting is called a "diet." So if Martin Luther went to Worms he had a "diet of Worms."

"Write that, mom. It makes it funnier," Parker explains.

"I think it should be explained, not explains," Parker further explains. "I taught mom a lesson in grammar."

Reason #3: Refer to Reason #2.

Dinner and a Show

Picture this dinnertime scene. Deacon is standing up in his chair, wearing nothing but a pair of Parker's undies. They are very baggy. He has pulled the underpants up, so they are resting comfortably at nipple level. He has drawn a black line under his nose with a marker, and it resembles a small Charlie Chaplin mustache. He raises his hand.

"Yes, Deacon," Chris says.

"Umm, I need," he starts, and places one of his hands down the back of his loose underwear and proceeds to scratch, "I need to show you something pretty."

"O.k."

"This!" And he thrusts out his bum-scratching hand for all to see.

Beautiful.

Deacon Days

I've been getting grief about not posting for awhile. There is a reason for this. Life has been full of the everyday, normal, non-exciting stuff. Since we might be waiting awhile for something blog-worthy to happen, here is an update on my most exciting and crazy child.

Deacon has managed to stay alive, and I have managed to stay sane (mostly) parenting him. Yesterday, there was a knock on the door. I opened it and was surprised at the person standing there. That person was Deacon. I had yet to discover he was missing. I did learn he can open the door to the garage. Once in the garage, he simply needs to crawl under the garage door that I had left cracked open for the cat, and then--freedom. I'm glad he came home this time. Last week when he went missing he was at the park. He has also survived this past week burning his fingers when he successfully figured out how to light a match; burning his fingers when he wanted to touch a light bulb in the lamp; breaking a lamp; removing protective covers from outlets, assorted bumps and bruises from jumping off things not meant to be jumped off; scissors removed from his hands several times a day, etc., etc. In the last five minutes the following events have occurred:

Deacon walking up to me with McKay's purse around his neck. Pointing to the purse, "I need a sandwich and a banana in here."

I threw some corn dogs in the oven, but apparently that's not fast enough for him. He's pushed a chair over to the toaster oven and is trying to figure out how to operate it.

So pretty normal stuff here. Someday something more exciting than Deacon taking off his shoes in church and throwing them across the chapel will occur, but until then, it's same old, same old at the Davis house.

Potty Humor

In an age of too much information, I am about to share a story that I probably shouldn't. Also, I would like to share a story once in awhile that doesn't revolve around potty-training, but, sadly, this is my life. I have no other stories.

Today, I am happily talking to my sister on the phone while folding laundry. My peace is interrupted by the entrance of Deacon, completely naked, holding something out to me in his hand. Automatically I reach for his offering. Luckily, my brain's sense of self-preservation kicks in three seconds before I grab the object, and I realize--Deacon is holding poop in his hand.

I quickly clean my child up. Pondering what other "treasures" might await me elsewhere in the house, I ask, "Where did you poop at?"

Deacon looks at me like I'm an idiot, and then slowly points to his bottom.

Field Trip

My preschool co-op that I do with McKay does monthly field trips. Another mommy planned this one to the Farmstead. I thought it was just a corn maze. But it turned out to be filled with all sorts of fall/farm themed outdoor fun. We started out with a hayride. Parker loudly proclaimed that he was an expert at hayrides because he got to do them all the time at his grandpa's farm. That statement was amended by, "Well, it's been two years, but still...." He was also knew all about ponies, because he had one once, though perhaps it was kept at his grandpa's house. This was followed by, "Look, it's a bull!"

I replied, "Actually that's a steer."

"How do you know?"

"I'll explain that to you later."

At which point another mom said, "I think it's because it doesn't have any horns."

Who knew field trips could be both fun and educational?

Homeschooling or Something Like It

Question: How has teaching Parker at home this year been going?

Answer: Great!---as long as you don't mind Toaster Strudel in your bathtub.

Pros:

• The IDVA (Idaho Virtual Academy) curriculum is far superior to that taught in public school. I have taught in public school, and there is no contest on this one.
• Going to school in your pajamas. Parker is most definitely not a morning person. I love, love, love not fighting him all morning to get up, get dressed, brush his teeth, etc.
• No homework! Yet our whole family is way more involved in Parker's education. Tonight Parker and Chris dissected a fish together, identifying all of its body parts. (Chris took one for the team and took the day off work to catch said fish.)
• I love learning alongside Parker. Parker and I were having a conversation about Dante and Botticelli. "How do you know all this?" Chris asked, amazed. Ha! I may have never saved anything on a flash drive in my entire life, but I know a little something about third grade history.
• I know exactly how Parker's doing in school.
• Parker is speaking German. Granted he mostly goes around the house saying, "And what is that? That is dirt." But I'm hoping he branches out eventually.
• Parker is happier.

Cons:

• My house is messy. Really messy. Teaching takes a lot of time. So much time that I'm not getting my house cleaned top to bottom each week. Which is why I gave Parker the day off last Friday and cleaned my house. During this cleaning I discovered something in the kids' bathtub. That something was a Toaster Strudel. As I have yet to multi-task breakfast and baths, I'm unsure of how that Toaster Strudel made its way up the stairs and into the tub.
• Parker teasing his siblings all day.
• Me yelling at Parker all day to stop teasing his siblings.
• My time spent calling my sisters and mom, blogging, napping, lying around reading books, and making brownies has (sadly) greatly diminished.

Question: Now that you've written a post about this will you stop talking non-stop about IDVA when I call you on the phone or come visit you?

Answer: No guarantees. Though I'm trying to be less obsessive and find other things to talk about. (Apologies to Brigette, Jenna, Aleisha, and anyone else that I have talked about IDVA for more than an hour straight.)

Dreaming

This morning I woke up at 5:45, because I had a weird dream. It was not as weird as the dream I had last week. I told Chris about it when he woke up.

Me: "I was very mad at you in my dream last night."

Chris: "Not again."

Me: "We were in Idaho Falls touring a US Mint. There were coins laying all over the place, and you were allowed to pick them up and put them in your pocket. Then when you got done with the tour, it became like Chuck E. Cheese's."

Chris: "That makes sense."

Me: "You exchanged your coins for a little piece of paper that said how much money you'd earned. Then you took your paper to the prize counter and got a prize."

Chris: "Obviously."

Me: "So when we got done with the tour I had $500 in coins. The worker people weren't sure if they could give me that much prize money since most people only had about $10."

Chris: "Were your pockets bursting at the seams?"

Me: "No, and that's besides the point. So I'm standing at the prize counter, deciding that I will forfeit most of my winnings in exchange for a pizza. Suddenly, you come up and say you've talked to the manager. I can keep all my money, because you've donated it to charity. At this point I become livid."

Chris: "Because I did something nice?"

Me: "Because I really wanted a pizza! And you'd donated all my pizza money!!!"

Chris: "Um, I sorry for trying to do the right thing in your dream."

Me: "I never got my pizza!!!!"

Chris: "I hate it when my real self gets in trouble for things that my dream self did. If I buy you a pizza will you stop being mad at me?"

Me: "Deal."

So this morning after my weird dream, I tried to lay back in bed and fix it in my mind. The fix wouldn't take. So I got up and went to Walmart to do my grocery shopping. McKay was awake, and she didn't want to stay home with the sleeping boys, so she came with me. Her hair was sticking up in a million directions. I considered combing it, but I was too lazy. Ducky followed me around the store trying to get me to buy goat's milk and asking me my opinion on Bigfoot. McKay told me she didn't like it when Ducky follows us around the store.

Chris came home at the end of the day and announced, "I have had the greatest day. How was your day?"

I answered, "I cleaned poo off the floor and tried to learn how to ride a ripstik."

Moral of this story: A weird dream is an omen to a weird day.

High and Not So Dry

Saturday was the Relief Society broadcast, and I really needed to go to escape my children.

Me: "I've thought it over, and I've decided to trade our children in for a puppy."

Chris: "Rough day, huh?"

Me: "Uh, yeah."

Chris: "What are you doing now?"

Me: "I'm on petfinder.com. Oh, look at this puppy. It's black and white."

So at six o'clock, I turned childcare responsibility over to my hubby. I went to the broadcast with my mom and left the kids and husband at my parents' home. With a steady supply of college football and snacks, what more could they want?

Answer: A clean pull-up.

As all readers of my blog know, I am very slowly and painfully potty-training Deacon. I left Deacon in a clean pull-up. I, however, failed to leave extra pull-ups in case of accidents. I also failed to leave detailed instructions on Deacon's toilet training habits. Consequently, a disaster occurred.

Note: My husband works for the Red Cross. He is trained to handle disasters.

Chris: "You didn't leave me any pull-ups."

Me: "Oops."

Chris: "And Deacon pooped."

Me: "What did you do?"

Chris: "I made my own diaper."

Me: "What?"

Chris: "Well, to be fair, your dad and brother helped me gather supplies."

Me: "Supplies?"

Chris: "Toilet paper, a pad, and electrical tape. We couldn't find duct tape."

Me: "This I have to see."

I found Deacon sound asleep, completely dry. His bottom was swathed in a toilet paper bundle, held together with many layers of electrical tape. That thing was so secure I had to use scissors to cut it off his body.

As the incident made me laugh much more than any puppy could, I have decided to keep my children. Besides, puppies don't come potty-trained.

Be Careful What You Rhyme With

Me: "It's easy peasy, Mr. Cheesy."

Deacon: "I'm not cheese. I'm Deacon William Davis."

Me: "Cleany, cleany, little wienie."

Parker: "Mom just called us an inappropriate body part!"

Grocery Shopping Wheelchair

A breakthrough has occurred in my life. I have learned how to cope with my grocery shopping disability. My wheelchair--6:30 a.m.

I set my alarm for six. I multi-tasked scriptures and breakfast. I put on my comfy shoes. I pulled into the Winco parking lot at 6:30. I did my entire grocery shopping trip in one hour!!!! I also did my entire grocery shopping trip in my pajamas. It was awesome.

Chris: "How did grocery shopping go?"

Me: "Wonderful. No kids. Empty aisles. My brain still working. I tend to slump the later in the day it becomes."

Chris: "I'm well aware of that fact. I still remember Monday when you fell asleep before the kids."

Me: "Yes, but weirdly enough I was the only person shopping in her pajamas."

Chris: "But you put your shoes on."

Me: "I KNOW!!! And I wiped the mascara off from underneath my eyes."

Chris: "And I slept the entire time you were gone."

Me: "What's not to love about this?"

Nothing. I love you 6:30 a.m. grocery shopping trip.

Home Is...

Home is the place where popsicles are kept.

I was in my kitchen, when I noticed the neighbor girl jumping over my back fence. She proceeded to walk through my back door.

"Hi, I'm home," she said, as she opened my freezer. "I just needed a popsicle." With popsicle in hand she was back out the door.

Home is the place where mom says no.

This afternoon I find Deacon trying to drag his scooter up the stairs.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm going to ride my scooter down the stairs."

"That's going to be a no."

This evening after Deacon successfully used the potty, I pulled out the matches for his "blowing out fire" reward. Deacon grabbed the matchbox from me and put it in his pocket.

"Deacon, hand me the matches. It's time for bed."

"I want to play with matches in my bed."

"That's going to be a no."

Home is where we learn.

Today while teaching Parker a lesson on weather, I dragged him over to the window.

Me: "What kind of clouds do you think are in the sky? They look like stratus to me."

Parker: "Holy cow! Look down into Chewie's yard. You can see all of his poop from here!"

Ahh, home sweet home.

Grocery Shopping

There are a few things in this world that I am completely and utterly helpless at. I am parallel parking disabled, copy machine disabled, and grocery shopping disabled.

I have learned to cope with most of my disabilities. Parallel parking is an easy one to adapt to--just find another spot, even if that spot is miles away. I've tried to adapt to my inability to correctly operate a xerox machine by avoidance. The last time I had to make copies, Parker was in kindergarten, and I was volunteering in his classroom.

Parker's teacher: "Could you make some copies for me?"

Me (beginning to sweat): "I'm slightly disabled when it comes to making copies."

Parker's teacher, laughing hands me the paper to copy. "This is easy."

Frowning, I take the paper. I return twenty minutes later, holding the solitary paper. "Here you go. I broke the machine."

I'm pretty good at avoiding parallel parking and making copies, but I have yet to figure out how to avoid grocery shopping. No one has stopped eating in my family, and it's kind of annoying. As I push the super-sized, kid-friendly cart that allows me to push all three kids and towering cart of groceries through the store, I enviously look at the people pushing their tiny carts with a handful of groceries through the store. I bet it only takes them thirty minutes to shop, and they spend under $50. It takes me two hours every single time, with or without children. I cannot understand why. I cannot understand how despite my couponing it always costs me a bazillion dollars. I cannot understand how my cart full of groceries will be consumed in three days. I am retarded when it comes to grocery shopping.

So today as I pushed my mammoth cart through the store, Deacon decided to jump off and stand in the middle of the aisle, completely blocking an elderly couple from moving. "Deacon, move out of the way, kiddo," I said, as I tried to shove the produce I had in my hand into a bag. Of course, no movement occurred. "Come on, move it." He stared at me. "Parker, move him." Parker picked him up, and Deacon was vocally unhappy about it.

This sweet-looking old woman turned to speak to her husband. I expected some comment about "how quickly they grow up" or "remember when ours were this tiny," so I was quite surprised by her comment. In a sarcastic voice she said, "Let's have more children."

Ha! For the rest of the shopping trip whenever I felt my patience ebbing, I thought of that little old lady and smiled. It helped ease the pain of my grocery shopping disorder. At least for this trip.

Vacation and Stuff

After spending ten days in Utah, I feel like I should write a truly epic post to chronicle our adventures. But I find I have no talent in summarizing big adventures. I only know how to write about the minutia of life. So here's the summary on vacation: It was fun. Thank you friends and family.

Now on to more interesting matters like the price of spilled rice in the Davis house.

This morning I was sitting at the computer paying bills. I was fairly focused on the task at hand; consequently I was completely ignoring my children. Ignoring them until I heard Parker say, "You are in big trouble. Mom!!! Come here!!! Who made this mess?"

>

The mess would be about five pounds of rice that my two youngest children were gleefully spreading throughout the kitchen. I was still fresh from vacation, so my children got to deal with good mom instead of frazzled mom. I handed them two brooms. Two minutes later McKay began whining.

"This is too hard."

"I'll clean up the rice for you. But you will have to do one of the chores I would have done if I wasn't cleaning up the rice."

"O.k."

"I need you to take Deacon's jammies off, sit him on the potty, put a clean pull-up on him, and get him dressed."

"O.k.," she said gleefully, excited to play the "mommy" role.

A minute later she's back, happily showing me a potty full of yellow liquid. (Note to self: Assign McKay the task of potty-training Deacon.) "Deacon didn't want to go upstairs to sit on the potty, so I brought the potty to him."

"That's fine."

"I put it inside the laundry hamper where he was playing and let him sit on it there."

Unconventional. But it worked...

A few minutes later, I came to check on McKay's progress. Deacon hopped over to me. Literally, hopped. Both of his legs were in one hole of his shorts. He did not seem at all concerned about this.

"McKay, we have a problem. Both of Deacon's legs are in one pant hole and for some reason your shirt is off."

"Well, I tried to take Deacon's shirt off, but it was too hard. So I had to teach him how to take his own shirt off by showing him how."

Glancing at my topless son, "You taught Deacon how to take off his own shirt? And you got him to go pee-pee in the potty? You are hired, my dear."

McKay gave me one of her smiles accompanied by her happy little laugh, which literally sounds likes someone saying "heehee."

"Now about pant legs, McKay. Generally, we have two..."

Summer

Back to School

At this time of year mothers across the country are buying lunch boxes and backpacks. Though the price of school supplies is high, they realize no price is too great for seven hours of sanity. Seven argument-free hours. Ahh, bliss.

I am planning on losing my sanity this year.

Parker will not be going back to public school this fall. He is going to stay home and do online/homeschool through K12 Virtual Academy.

Homeschooling does not seem very Kodie-esque. First of all, I do not eat enough whole wheat. Secondly, I haven't given up my nap yet. Maybe when I'm forty.... I take a nap almost every single day. I love my nap. I've tried to give it up by distracting myself with chocolate or calling my sisters on the phone, but I tend to slump after lunch. So I'm thinking this homeschooling thing should be interesting--"Parker, you do your math, and I'm going to sleep on the couch for an hour." Third, I really, really love kid-free time. One time last year Parker was in school, and McKay and Deacon both took a nap at the same time. As McKay rarely naps, this was a major event. I may have done a little happy dance that involved me kicking up my heels and squealing for joy.

So you may wonder what would make me decide to pull my child out of public school. I am not opposed to public school in general, but I was dissatisfied with Parker's public school in particular. I will spare you the rant. If you are one of the two or three people I have not given the long rant to, call me--I can go on for hours. My real excitement about K12 is the superior curriculum and the fact that Parker can work at his own pace. That means that if he finishes his third grade work by Christmas, he can start on fourth grade work. But the best part is that Parker is really excited about learning.

Look at all the cool stuff K12 sent him. Besides a computer and printer, he also got boxes and boxes of textbooks and manipulatives. I counted the books. He got 36. Do you know how many books my students had when I taught third grade? Two--an outdated reading textbook and a math book they had to share because there wasn't enough to go around. They definitely did not get their own graduated cylinder, science goggles, or math cubes. History textbook? What public elementary school still teaches history? Parker gets to learn it this year. He pulled out one of his history books and read the title out loud. "Michelangelo? Where's the rest of the Ninja Turtles?"

We have a lot to learn this year.

If I can stay awake to teach him.

Baptism and Little Green Men

Parker's baptism was on Saturday.

Highlights included:

1. Having so many of our family members coming to share in Parker's big day. (Thank you.)

2. Deacon asking after every talk, song, etc. during the service, "Are we done yet?"

3. After Parker's baptism, Deacon saying, "I want to go swim with daddy, too."

4. Parker telling me he hasn't sinned once since his baptism.

Though that last statement might be in question, as he got very upset at Deacon for knocking down some of his army men and Lincoln Logs. (See picture.)

And while your looking at that, see another.

Or how about some more from this angle.

I went to download the pictures from Parker's baptism, and I was quite surprised to find 73 pictures on my memory card, especially as I had made sure it was empty for the big event. After looking at the ten pictures or so from the baptism, I was greeted with sixty pictures of army men. (Note to self: Don't leave Parker alone with a camera.)

How to Have a Successful Marriage

1. Don't Get Grumpy Over Being Grumpy

"Aaaagghhh! Why are the children making me so grumpy lately?" I asked Chris after I'd finally got all of them to bed tonight.

"Actually, you've just been grumpy in general lately."

"I know it."

"That's why I love you. You don't get mad when I call you grumpy."

2. Laughing at Pain=Love

Last week when Chris ended up in the ER, (Note: Visits to the ER have become so routine, that they no longer warrant their own post.), he had sticky band-aid circle things stuck to his chests. When it was time to leave, the nurse told him he could take the band-aids off.

"Oh, please, please can I take them off?" I begged.

Before Chris realized what was happening, I had that band-aid in hand and with a quick yank, band-aid and chest hair came flying.

"AAAAAHHH!" He screamed. "This is band-aid removal, not a waxing!"

I was laughing too hard to respond to his comment. The nurse, sensing Chris's pain, showed me how to gently remove the next one.

"I get the last one!" I declared, giggling.

"Are you worried about her laughing?" the nurse asked.

"I love my wife," Chris defended, "She's--AAAAAAGGGHHH!"

She's holding a band-aid covered in chest hair, laughing hysterically.

3. Don't Go to Bed Angry.

"You're not letting me go to sleep," Chris said last night. "You keep talking to me, and you're sleeping too close to me."

"One, my side off the bed is too cold, so get over it. Two, all I said is you should have told me the Backstreet Boys were coming to Boise on Saturday."

"Why would we have wanted to go to the Backstreet Boys concert?"

"For entertainment and humor value."

"That wouldn't have been funny or entertaining."

"For you. Also, I resisted telling you that a New Kids on the Block song came on the radio today, and it was awesome."

"Are you going to stop talking to me? And please roll over to your side of the bed."

"Ahhh-I'm so mad at you!"

Two minutes of silence later. "I hate it when you're mad at me. Why aren't you talking to me?"

"I'm not mad. And I'm not talking to you because I'm almost asleep."

"Oh, I love you."

"I love you,too. Goodnight."

Parenting Olympics

In my eight years of being a parent, I have never attempted to take my kiddos camping until this weekend. Camping is like the Olympics of parenting. When camping, you cannot do what I did thirty minutes ago.

Me: "Alright, Parker, I don't care what you do, but you're in your room for the rest of the night."

Parker: "Why?"

Me: "Because I'm done being a mom."

Parker: "Oh. What are you going to be now?"

You cannot check out of parenting during a camping trip. All my mommy senses were tingling as I mentally checked off where each of my children were in relation to fires, bodies of water, and dead animals. I felt no danger as Deacon bounded off in pursuit of the deer and chipmunks. Those living animals are relatively harmless. It was the bacteria-laden dead ones alongside the road, that I was concerned about.

We were out on a family bike ride together, when Parker noticed something amazing alongside the road.

"It's a snake!" he exclaimed, slamming on his brakes and turning around for a second look.

Hallelujah for me, the worst creature known to mankind was lying dead alongside the road.

"Can I keep it?" Parker asked, reaching for it.

"DO NOT PICK THAT THING UP!"

"But mom, it's dead. I have a bag in my knapsack. Can I pick it up with the bag and bring it home with me?"

"Absolutely not."

Parker was grumping along, pretty annoyed that he couldn't have a pet dead snake, when his ever vigilant eyes picked up another equally delightful find.

"Look--deer bones!!!"

Lying in the gravel by the road was a pair of amputated deer legs with one random white bone lying beside them.

"Mom, since you won't let me have a dead snake, can I have these deer bones?"

If you are the type of mom who would let your child bring deer bones home to your house, please let me know. Parker has informed me he would like to live with one of those types of moms, and not with his type.

I definitely earned a gold medal for my parenting performance with McKay. I had to assist her in all basic toileting needs, such as pulling her pants up and down and opening the door of the outhouse. She would not let go of her nose that she was plugging tightly to do these things for herself. She actually told me she could wait two days to use the toilet rather than use one that didn't flush.

Deacon still sleeps in a crib. There is a good reason for this. I can put that kid down awake, and unable to escape his wooden prison, he is asleep in minutes. Camping, however, left him unconstrained.

"Mommy, we're together," he declared happily, when he saw me get into a sleeping bag next to his. Then he was out of his sleeping bag, and into mine with me. "Mommy, we're together," he told me happily, patting my cheeks. Then he was out of all sleeping bags and laying above my head. "Mommy, we're together!" Then he went headfirst down his sleeping bag. This one resulted in tears, when he couldn't figure out how to get back out. But back out he got. And back into mine. And back out of mine. And back into his. He finally fell asleep a little before midnight. But never fear, after a short six hours of sleep, he was awake and crawling in and out of sleeping bags again.

Results of parenting Olympics--all children survived. Including Chris. He has a painful speckled sunburn due to his wife spraying sunscreen onto his back in a haphazard manner and not rubbing it in. Looking at his back covered in spots of white and red, he declared, "I look like a leper. Don't they teach you basic sunscreen application before they let you take your babies home from the hospital?" Apparently not.

Adventures in Potty-Training

Some of you know I am potty training Deacon. My mom knows, because she cleaned poo off her bathroom floor. My sisters-in-law know, because they witnessed the brown streaks running down Deacon's legs. My neighbors know because for the past few weeks they haven't seen Deacon wearing pants.

Me, interrupting Chris while talking to him on the phone: "Deacon, you cannot be in naked in the front yard! Come to the back yard if you want to be naked."

Chris: "Yeah, that makes it o.k."

Well, after three somewhat hellish weeks, Deacon had finally started to become the potty master. The real turning point came when I hit upon the perfect reward system. No M&M's for him. "Deacon, if you poop in the potty I'll let you play with fire!" I do not actually give my two year old a box of matches. I have my limits. I just light a candle and let him blow it out a couple of times. He loves it! Last month I was on the phone with Poison Control after Deacon drank some upholstery cleaner (apparently harmless), when he started tugging on me.

"Mom, I want fire."

"Deacon, wait until I get off the phone with Poison Control, and then you can play with fire."

Parenting at its finest.

Anyway, I'm getting off track. Deacon was having several accident free days in a row and keeping his diaper dry at night. I was celebrating the fact that after eight years of changing bums, the end was in sight. Then we went on vacation.

Braver women than me would have left their toilet training child in undies, and stopped every hour to use toilets with questionable sanitary conditions. I wussed out and stuck Deacon in diapers for four days.

When we got back home, it was like starting over. Despite the fact that I told him Buzz Lightyear would be sad if Deacon got him wet, Buzz, Woody, and the rest of the gang have been soaking this week. This morning I stuck Deacon on the potty and he let loose. Unfortunately, I had forgotten to make sure Deacon was aiming for the toilet and not the ceiling. Equally unfortunate was the fact that I was standing between the toilet and the ceiling. After getting a full body soaking from the face (yes, face) downward, I threw a pair of undies on the kid and headed for the shower.

Chris had been out bike riding during this morning adventure. "Why are you dressed so early?" he asked when he got back.

"I had a pee incident."

"Are you the one who peed on the bathroom rug?"

An hour later, Deacon came up to me, arms outstretched. I picked him up, only to discover something slightly unpleasant. Buzz Lightyear was unhappy.

I love you, Deacon, but it's time for tough love. From now on only one pee on mom incident per day.

Road Trip

We spent our fourth of July in Salt Lake with my sister. My newest nephew, Silas, was blessed on Sunday. Thanks, Emily, for your hospitality; it was fun.

Now to get to Salt Lake and back, we have to make a six hour road trip. Except that it took eight hours on the way down and ten hours on the way back. It took so long, because we had to teach our children many valuable lessons.

First lesson: Definition of Irony.

McKay: "I'm going to throw up right now!"

Me: "You're carsick. We're almost to an exit. Eat this cracker. Drink this juice. Roll down a window. Just hold on! I don't want my van to smell like vomit!"

Chris takes the next exit and pulls off into a Walmart parking lot.

Me: "Come on, McKay, let's get you a Sprite and have you walk around Walmart for awhile."

Chris: "This is going to take forever."

Me: "If we don't take a break, she's going to throw up in the van and that will not be pretty. If she gets out and walks, she'll feel better."

After a thirty minute Walmart adventure, I seat belt McKay back in the van. The moment I click the seat belt in, she proceeds to throw up all over herself and the van.

Second lesson: Don't judge a book by its cover.

Me: "Look children, there's a nature area behind our hotel. Let's go explore."

Children: "Yea! Nature!"

Me: "Look at these wild flowers! Look at this path! Look at this poison ivy! Look at this homeless man sleeping among the trees! Let's go back inside the hotel and watch TV!"

Third lesson: Good parents tie up their children.

We were shopping in Smith and Edwards. If you have ever driven past Brigham City and seen a billboard stating, "We have everything...if we can find it," you've seen the sign for this establishment. Perhaps you've looked at this store, surrounded by old missiles, and wondered, "What type of person would shop at such a place?" That would be the Chris and Kodie Davis type of person.

In the past we have bought such important items as the largest wooden spoon known to mankind and the grabby thing we use to get stuff that falls behind the dryer. This time after trying on all types of army, navy, and air force hats (Deacon with hat on his head: "I look adorable."), we found an item I have been searching for--a child leash.

I've been wanting to leash Deacon for sometime. No shopping cart can contain this child. He also had no fear and no desire to hang around with mom. So fearing for his safety, I am leashing him. "This is going to be awesome!" I told Chris, "Now when we are in a store, I can just give the leash to Parker and tell him to go walk his brother." Reality: Leash is disguised as a teddy bear backpack. Deacon likes backpack but dislikes being contained. Deacon: "Can I hold my tail?" Hmmm. I'm not giving up on this one yet.

Lesson Four: Patience is a virtue.

Ten hours in a van together with five people who refuse to coordinate their bladders. Enough said.

Human Napkin

After breakfast a few mornings ago, Deacon contemplated his hands. They were covered in egg yolk, bacon grease, and honey. He stared at them wondering how to get the gunk off them. Then light seemed to dawn in his eyes. He leaned over and wiped them on my pajama pants.

"That's better," he said.

Yes, better....

If I hadn't figured out I was a human napkin by them, I definitely realized it that afternoon when the kids were running around the backyard. I passed out popsicles and sat down to watch my kids. My reverie was interrupted by Deacon, who was apparently done with his popsicle. He placed the dripping, melting treat in my lap and ran off to play.

Parker the Science Guy

This afternoon Parker came downstairs dressed in a white lab coat and a hard hat. "I'm going to make carbon dioxide," he announced.

He lugged a gallon of vinegar over to the kitchen counter. "Stand back, mom, this is going to be dangerous."

I could sense where this was going. "No explosions in the kitchen!" (Do we really need to make that a family rule?)

Foiled, Parker mixed some water and vinegar together in a cup. "Mom, what chemical did I create?"

"You created a cleaning chemical."

"Really?" he exclaimed, excited over his scientific discovery.

"Yeah, you use it to clean glass. Go wash the sliding glass doors."

"McKay," Parker yelled, "Come quick! I made a cleaning chemical, and you can actually clean with it!"

McKay comes excitedly running to the glass doors. Within seconds she has a rag in hand and is cleaning with Parker.

"When you're done with that you can clean the mirror in the bathroom."

"Yes!"

I love science.

Fair Trade

On Monday our family had a family home evening lesson about the Anti-Nephi-Lehis. As part of the lesson our children traded in their personal DVD players in their bedrooms for baseball gloves and balls. The point being they were going to trade an unhealthy habit of watching too much TV for a better habit of playing outdoors. Monday and Tuesday's bedtimes went off without a hitch. The kids seemed fine going to bed without their TV pacifiers. But tonight when I handed Parker a nonfiction book about the Revolutionary War, a flashlight and told him to read in bed, he seemed less than enthusiastic about the idea.

"Mom, instead of trading my DVD player for a baseball glove, I want to trade something else."

I looked at him skeptically, "What?"

"This."

He held out one solitary green army man.

Good try, Parker.

Walmart Rerun

I have blogged about horrible Walmart shopping experiences before. But you know, it's summer, time to recycle old material. Here's how I spent my afternoon.

McKay needed a birthday party gift, and she kept reminding me of this need all morning long. It was a real emergency--she told me I was "killing her life" by not taking her to the store. So around noon we finally made it to Walmart.

No trip to Walmart is complete without running into Ducky. Ducky is a cart boy at Walmart. I went to high school with him. He proposed to me in front of my entire government class. For those Emmettite readers who read my blog and are wondering what Ducky is doing twelve years later, he is still living at home with his parents and hanging out with Booger and Buck. Who could forget Buck? Sure he might have gotten expelled for stabbing a kid with sheet metal in shop class, but he did promise to warn me the day he blew up the school so I could stay home. He's got his faults, but you know, a nice guy overall.

Anyway, past Ducky Walmart interactions have included him teaching me a secret handshake, pulling me over to a computer to show me a cool website about Bigfoot sightings in Idaho, scaring me to death when he banged on my my window as I was backing out to admonish me to vote for McCain, trying to pay back a dime he borrowed in high school, and constantly checking up on my marital status. This time he just wanted to find out if I was going to the Cherry Festival. Pretty boring stuff. So I entered Walmart with Ducky tagging along begging me to have the cashier page him when I checked out, so he could help me load my groceries in the van. Yeah, that's going to happen.

Highlights of a horrible two hour trip:

*McKay having a meltdown that she was going to throw up unless she ate food that very second.

*McKay sitting on Walmart floor eating goldfish crackers and refusing to budge.

*McKay knocking over a shelf of pickles and miraculously not breaking any.

*McKay and Deacon creating indoor "snow" with box of Kleenex.

*Deacon taking his shoes off and tossing them on ground.

*Deacon tossing assorted groceries to the ground.

*Deacon attempting to toss self to the ground.

*Deacon getting foot caught in cart.

*Deacon running barefoot throughout store.

*Deacon's mother saying small swear word under her breath.

*Deacon's mother singing "Patience is a virtue."

*Deacon's mother vowing never to leave home again.

Deacon Makes Himself a Snack

Deacon's Recipe for 10:30 a.m. Snack

1. Find bag of chocolate chips that McKay left on kitchen table. Dump on table.

2. Locate bottle of maple syrup left on table after breakfast. Pour syrup on top of chocolate chips.

3. Enjoy.

Monday, Monday

I expect my Mondays to go a certain way. I get up, get dressed in my grubbiest clothes, and spend the entire day doing the family's laundry and cleaning the house top to bottom. I do not schedule appointments. I do not leave the house. I am a house cleaning hermit.

This works well for me, because then I ignore housework and laundry for the rest of the week. By ignore I mean I will pick up clutter and do the dishes, but that is it. No scrubbing for me. My family has learned to live with this system.

Parker: "Mom, I have no clean pants to wear to school."

Me: "It's Monday. You'll have clean pants when you get home."

Parker: "What will I wear today?"

Me: "Your Sunday pants."

Parker: "I'll be too embarrassed."

Me: "Then wear shorts."

Parker: "I'm cold."

Me: "You'll be fine."

McKay: "Deacon dumped an entire box of crackers on the living room floor."

Me: "Pick up the big pieces. I'll vacuum on Monday."

Chris: "Is this mud in the bathroom sink?"

Me: "Yep. McKay played in the mud, and then washed her feet in the sink."

Chris: "Were you planning on cleaning the mud out of the sink?"

Me: "Yes, I am. On Monday."

I love my system. But today my system failed me. It's nine o'clock at night. The house is a disaster. The dirty laundry is piled in front of the washing machine. All because of eighth commandment breakers.

Things were going along swimmingly this morning. I had my first load of laundry in the washing machine by 6:45 a.m. I had dressed myself in the capris that make my butt look big--perfect laundry day attire. The kids were dressed, fed. Parker's lunch was packed, and he was off to school. By 9:30 I had thrown my third load of laundry in the washing machine, and was off for a quick trip to the grocery store to cash in on my Albertson's doublers. Everything I wanted was in stock and thirty minutes later I was checking out. At this point I was kind of mentally back-patting myself. I mean, really, I was doing awesome. Three loads of laundry, groceries, and dressed children by a little after ten--that never happens. But then I went to pay, and my debit card refused to work.

I patiently explained to the cashier that I had plenty of money in my bank account, obviously her machine was broken. After several, and when I say several, I mean like twenty attempts to use my debit card, I gave up and pulled out my emergency-only credit card to pay for my groceries. I hurried home, pulled up my bank account online, and was shocked to see I only had ten dollars in it. I started scanning the transaction. Ahh, there was the problem. The $750 I spent in China this morning. What?!? Yep, I am a victim of identity theft.

By the way if you are looking for something fun to do this weekend, I would not suggest trying to resolve identity theft issues. It's not enjoyable, but it is time-consuming. And it can be done in ugly laundry day clothes with crazy laundry day hair. I definitely looked the part of a woman with only $10 to her name.

The good news: all the money should be restored to my account, and the thief was not able to access my savings account. The bad news: Monday laundry/housecleaning day was not spent doing laundry and housecleaning.

If I ever get a hold of the people responsible for draining my account, I am going to drag them back from China, lock them in my house, and make them do all my laundry. We'll see if they still want my identity after a Monday at the Davis house.

When I Grow Up I Want To....

Last night our family was watching "Dirty Jobs" together. Parker was particularly disgusted by the job of sewer repairman. "I am not going to do that for my job when I grow up. Why would anyone want to do that?"

Chris, sensing a teaching moment, explained, "Those people have to take those kind of jobs because they didn't go to college. This is why it's very important for you to get a good education."

Parker, looked at his clueless father, and said, "Dad, if I don't go to college, I'm just going to work at Walmart."

Grow Your Own Children

To grow your own children simply combine dirt, sun, and water.

Deacon: "Mom, I'm getting dirtier and dirtier."

Then sprinkling water on himself: "Could you please make me grow?"

Why I am Refusing to Potty-Train my Child

(Please note that the stained piece of toilet paper in picture is soaking up the puddle of pee located in front of kiddie potty.)

Star Wars

Parker: "Did you know that Tuesday was Star Wars day?"

Me: "What are you talking about?"

Parker: "May the Fourth be with you."

Please note that the above Jedi robe was sewn by yours truly. I discovered how to sew like a simpleton.

How a Normal Person Sews: 1. Take measurements. 2. Cut out pattern. 3. Pin pattern to material. 4. Cut out fabric. 5. Sew seams. 6. Try on garment to test for fit. 7. Iron. 8. Hem.

How a Simpleton Sews: 1. Look at pictures of Jedi robes. 2. Lay fabric out on kitchen table. Randomly cut out pieces of fabric that look "arm-like" and "hoody-esque." 3. Sew seams. 4. Realize that you've sewn seams inside out. 5. Rather than unpick seam, simply cut it off and try again. 6. Try robe on self. 7. Give husband annoyed look for commenting on the fact that the robe fits you, yet is supposed to be for a seven year old. 8. Try robe on Parker. 9. Make Parker stand still while you walk around him cutting six inches of fabric off bottom. 10. Decide you are too lazy to walk downstairs to iron up hem. 11. Sew up hem. 12. Get Parker out of bed to try on robe and take his picture. 13. Tell Parker he cannot sleep in robe. 14. Force robe off Parker next morning and tell him he cannot wear it to school.

Homework

For Parker's math homework this week, he's been given a math problem, and then had to write out a story problem to go with it. So for the following problem 77-76 = ?, Parker came up with this story problem.

"Makenna had 77 eyes. Parker removed 76 of her eyes. Makenna is a cyclops."

His teacher has unleashed a monster....

Sewing

This year I took my birthday money and bought myself a sewing machine. I know sewing is the Mormon thing to do, but I did not get it to aid in my salvation. (Hello--I already canned jam this summer.) I got the sewing machine because of my addiction to Project Runway.

Every week as I watch the contestants create their masterpieces, I can't help but think about how fun it looks and how I could do such a better job than Mila. So I got myself a machine, ready to sew up my own fashion creations.

Now I took cooking and sewing 4-H when I was in the third and fourth grade, so I knew a little something about sewing. This is what I remember--sewing is hell. But an older, wiser Kodie was sure it would be better twenty years later.

I bought myself a pattern at Hobby Lobby. I only picked from certain types of patterns. Those were the ones in the bright yellow and black packaging labeled "Sewing for Dummies." As I began reading over the instructions, I mumbled, "This might be too hard for me." Chris who was listening asked, "What do you need? Sewing for Simpletons?"

So today I pulled out my idiot pattern and $2/yard Walmart fabric and attempted to make McKay a pair of shorts. Halfway through the process I noticed something had gone terribly wrong.

If you can't tell from the picture, half the shorts are sewn right side out and half our sewn inside out.

Oh, Sewing for Simpletons, where are you?

Patience is a Virtue

There is a story behind the title of my blog. Eleven years ago I had just finished my freshman year of college and was home for the summer to make money. I worked with disabled children in a special summer program. It was a lot of fun. I could handle the tantrums, outrages, violence, bodily fluid without batting an eye. I never lost my temper. There was a reason for my boundless patience--all those children went home at four o'clock. Then I went home where I had a nice home-cooked meal that my mom had prepared for me, from groceries she had bought. Then I did whatever I wanted until I crawled into the bed my mom had made for me, and slept the entire night without getting up for anyone. Ahhh, what a glorious life.

However, to get to that glorious life I had to drive home after work. I commuted from Meridian into Emmett everyday. The Emmett highway is one lane in each direction. After spending a long day being drooled on, I would find my day lengthened by stupid drivers. Drivers unaware of how to correctly operate a gas pedal and farmers driving their tractors or trailers loaded with hay would often have 10-20 cars backed up behind them. I would find myself yelling, not casually suggesting, but yelling at laryngitis strength, "Pass him!!! Pass him already!!! What are you waiting for!?!" In one such heated moment, a song popped into my head. Yes, I became a songwriter with this original tune: "Patience is a virtue. I can be more patient." (There is also the extended re-mix edition. But very few have been lucky enough to hear that version.) I began singing this song, and it calmed me down. So I sang it pretty much everyday as I was driving home from work. My mantra of peace. Then the next year, my sister Riki, got hired on with me. As we carpooled back home, and I began singing my song, she started laughing hysterically. "That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard." Yep, she was singing it, too before the summer was over. (And apparently she also sang it over the pulpit in a talk once--but that's another story.)

Now Chris sings the song. And Parker. And McKay. And Deacon. And the words even reside in my home. Thank you Riki for the artwork you sent me on my birthday this year. (See picture.)

So today after a very long stressful day, my kids were fighting in the van. I instinctively yelled at them to knock it off before every toy they owned became mine, TV became a thing of the past, and I wrote Santa a letter telling him not to come this year. They quieted under the wrath of Mighty Mom, and I began singing "Patience is a Virtue." From the far back seat of the van, Parker's voice broke the child quiet. Muttering to himself, I heard him say, "It's about time."

Gender Roles

Tonight I went searching for the missing library books. The first place I looked was my kids' baskets.

In a truly Davis moment, I bought each of my children their own color-coded basket. These baskets live in my hall closet. The Theory: When I found my kids' toys downstairs I would dump it in their basket. At nightly chore time they would dump their baskets in their rooms and put away their toys. It would be a win-win situation as my downstairs would stay neat, and I would not be putting kids' toys away all day. In Practice: I attempt to put coat away in coat closet which (surprise) actually does contain some coats. As I cross living room floor, I trip over metal baseball bat that is NEVER supposed to be in the house and definitely NEVER supposed to be in Deacon reach, landing in a pile of Legos leaving the letters L-E-G-O imprinted in my knee. Finally I reach coat closet to find toys spilling out everywhere. I then yell, "Dang it! Kids, come empty your baskets in your rooms before I empty them in the D.I. box." Living room is not neat. Coat closet is not neat. Coat closet actually cannot close due to excess toys spilling out of it. But I digress from the purpose of my story....

The purpose being when the library books went missing, I knew the first place to look was in the baskets. Sure enough Deacon's basket contained Go Train Go! Parker's had a Batman book and The Lego Star Wars Visual Dictionary. McKay's had a book about fairies and planting flowers in your garden. As I looked through their baskets I realized not only their books, but their toys defined what they like, who they are right now.

Contents of Deacon's basket: One plastic hammer, one Thomas the Train Engine ball, one plastic firefighter hat.

Contents of Parker's basket: One baseball, one slingshot, one Nerf gun, two baseball hats, and a golf ball.

Contents of McKay's basket: One pink, ultra-fluffy ballet tutu, one Strawberry Shortcake doll, one Hello Kitty puppet.

I'm all about gender equality. But it does my heart good to see boys that are all boy and girly little girls.