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.