Dinner Excuse

Yesterday I was driving Deacon and McKay home from McKay's dance class, when Deacon announced, "I'm hungry."

"Good,"  I said, "dinner is waiting for us in the crockpot."

"What is it?"  he asked suspiciously.

"Beef stroganoff."

"I hate that!!!  I'm not going to eat it!  I'm going to throw it in the garbage!"

"Then you will find yourself in bed for the night without any dinner."

Deacon pauses.  He's rethinking he's game plan.

"How about I cook myself my own healthy dinner?"  he asks, sweetly.

"How about you try would I cooked?  You've never even tried it.  You don't know that you don't like it."

"Mom--"

"I don't want to hear another complaint."

"I'm not complaining."

"O.k."

"Remember before I was born when I lived with Jesus?"

"Yes?"  I am shocked by this sudden change of topic.

"Well, I tried beef stroganoff then.  I didn't like it."

The Gospel According to the Beatles

Yesterday, the speaker in sacrament meeting was talking about the Word of Wisdom.  Deacon leaned over to me and said, "I know what the words of wisdom are."

"What?"  I ask.

"Let it be."

Clean House

"Ewww, what is that stinky smell?"  McKay asks this morning as she eats her breakfast.

"It's the pile of unwashed dishes in the sink."

I did not wash a single dish yesterday.  Breakfast, lunch, dinner, assorted snacks, and juice cups were spilling out over the sink and onto the counter.  Some spoons were on the floor, lying on top of a giant mystery stain.  It was not my finest moment as a housekeeper.

Now a normal person might stop and clean their kitchen when their six year old daughter complains the smell is making her lose her appetite.  But once again, I proved my lack of normalcy, by simply lighting a scented candle and heading upstairs.

Thirty minutes later I came downstairs to find Deacon perched next to the candle.  A graham cracker, broken in half was lying next to him on the counter.  A giant marshmallow was attached to a toothpick, and Deacon was holding onto this toothpick, his marshmallow resting over the flame.

"What are you doing, Deacon?"  I ask.

He looks up.  "Making s'mores.  Can I have some chocolate?"

A Mother's Example

I'm driving my kids when McKay announces, "When I grow up I don't want to work."

I'm thinking pretty well of myself at this point.  I've decided that McKay probably loves having her own stay-at-home mommy so much, she wants to give her own children that same experience.  I'm giving myself a mental awesome mom award, when the next words out of her mouth put me in my place.

"I just want to steal my husband's money like mom steals dad's money."

Deacon has a good solution for McKay.  "You can marry me, McKay, and steal my money."

"No, Deacon.  You can't marry family.  I'm going to find a husband who I love and adore and think is adorable just like mom loves dad."

Ah, how sweet.

"And then I will destroy him."

Oh.

"Like mom does dad."

Reasons Why I Like Taking Deacon to Baseball Games

1.  He cheers on the home team.

Deacon (yelling):  "Dude, hit the ball hard!"

Instantly the batter hits the ball for a base hit.

Deacon:  "I told him."

2.  He puts obnoxious fans in their place.

Turning and facing the obnoxious teenage boys sitting behind us, Deacon declares, "Can you just be quiet?"

3.  He sees dead people.

Deacon:  "Look!  Babe Ruth's up to bat!"

Me:  "Really?"

Deacon:  "But how did he get to Meridian, Idaho?"

Them Bones...Again

"Deacon, you are not allowed to leave your room until it's clean," I announce this afternoon.

"Mom, Jesus made my bones," he answered.

I have an idea where this conversation is headed.

"And he made the bones in my legs.  And my legs can walk right out of this room."

The Blame Game

"Mom, Deacon's poking sticks into dad's car!"

"Deacon, why are you poking sticks into the car?"

"It's not my fault, mom," Deacon tells me.

"Do you see these arms?" he asks, holding his arms up. "Jesus gave me these arms.  And the bones inside of them make me do things I shouldn't do."

Bathroom Chef

"I made a new recipe!  Come see!"  A naked Deacon grabbed my hand and dragged me into the bathroom where he was supposed to be bathing.  Apparently he was cooking.

"Look!"  he exclaimed, pointing to the lid of a shaving cream cap that was filled with a bubbly substance.  

"What's in it?"  I ask.

"Shaving cream, water, and this," he declares, thrusting an almost empty bottle of bathroom cleaner under my nose.  "I think it's calcium."

"Did you drink this recipe?"

"No, it's a looking at kind of recipe."

Whew.  "I'm going to get some extra towels to wipe this up."

When I returned from the linen closet with towels, there was Deacon, using my hairbrush as a paintbrush, spreading the "recipe" all over the bathroom.  I was gone no more than thirty seconds.

"Deacon, what am I going to do with you?"

"Ha, ha.  You're funny, mom."

Unbroken

Yesterday was a momentous day at our house.  Deacon's cast came off.

It wasn't supposed to be off so soon.  But apparently casts also aren't supposed to be worn until they disintegrate, have food dropped down them, or be occasionally dunked in the toilet.

"Am I being a neurotic mother?"  I asked the doctor, as I showed him the sores all over Deacon's foot.

"Oh, no," he said, "that thing had to come off.  We don't keep casts on once they've been worn to pieces."

"This is good to know," I told him, "because I expect I'll see a lot of you over the next few years."

His parting words were, "Please keep Deacon off trampolines and anything else that could potentially cause him to injure his leg for the next two weeks."

I thought that was a particularly tough challenge the doctor issued.  But so help me, I would do my best to keep him from injuring himself.  And I did.  For almost 24 hours.

On Thursday a large box containing a new golf bag for my hubby showed up on our doorstep.  Consequently, I   spent Thursday evening getting a cramp in my hand cutting out cardboard "windows" in Deacon's "train."  Large cardboard boxes that my children love to play in are the types of objects that give my husband ulcers.  He had tossed that box upstairs, so he wouldn't "have to look at it."

This afternoon, I heard a loud rumbling noise that I may, perhaps, compare to the sound of a train.  I came running to see Deacon's train, with Deacon in it, roaring down the stairs at top speed.  Guessing that sliding down the stairs in a cardboard box was probably on the banned list of activities for the week, I pulled my crying train-wreck victim out of the box.  I began feeling his leg for breaks.

"Not my leg, my hand," Deacon sobbed, holding out his hand.

Great, I think, now a broken hand.  Can I please go 24 hours without a cast on some part of this kid's body?

"I hurt my pinkie," he said, holding up a hand with an extended pinkie finger.

And for some reason this made me want to giggle.  Really giggle.  But I held it together, because it's generally not considered good parenting to laugh at your children when they're in pain.

Unless you're my sister, Riki.  She's a great mom.  She just can't help that giggle.

Broken

Every time my children asked me for a trampoline, I responded, "No, you can break your leg on the neighbor's trampoline."

I found my response a little funny, because, (let's be honest here) it doesn't take much to amuse me.  But let me tell you something, it's actually not that funny when it happens.

Cultured

I keep trying to jam culture down my children's throat. And much like what happens when you jam food down unwilling throats, my children keep regurgitating it back on me.

Yesterday I forced my three children to attend Juan Siddi Flamenco Dance Theatre. I know what your thinking. Yes, I did think that it would be a good idea.

Me: "Parker, could you put on something nicer than a holey t-shirt with equally holey jeans?"

Parker: "What?!?"

Thirty minutes later, we have reached a compromise. McKay is wearing a dress with no less than 17 layers of ruffles. Parker is wearing a collared shirt. Deacon is wearing a Buzz Lightyear t-shirt.

We find our seats. Parker begins to mutter threats.

"This better beat the Nutcracker. That was the worst experience of my life."

I took the kids to see the Nutcracker at Christmas. McKay was enthralled. Deacon was bored. And Parker felt like he was being subjected to cruel and unusual punishment.

Parker: "I brought my book to read, but it's too dark. Do you have a flashlight?"

Me: "No. Watch the performance."

Parker: "Can I go out to the van to read?"

Me: "No."

Parker: "Can I go to the bathroom?"

Me: "No."

Parker: "Can I go to the bathroom?"

Me: "No."

Parker: "I'll be fast."

Me: "No."

Parker: "I'm going to pee my pants."

Me: "No."

Parker: "This is no fair."

After the Nutcracker, we walk past the bathroom.

Me: "Parker, there's the bathroom. We'll wait for you."

Parker: "I don't really have to go."

So with Parker muttering in his seat, the lights dim, and the dancers take the stage. After their first number, Deacon asks, "Is it time to go home now?"

Me: "No."

Deacon: "Awww."

The next number finishes, and Deacon asks, "Can I go home now?"

This pattern continues until the announcer states, "We have a treat for you with our next number."

Deacon (excitedly): "Did you hear that, mom? He's going to give us a treat!"

You can imagine the tears that ensued when I explained there would be no food, just dancing. Finally, the performance is over. Deacon gets super excited at the news.

He bounces out of his seat and announces, "That movie was awesome!"

Thems Fightin' Words

With the slam of the front door, I hear Parker huffing up the stairs.

"What's wrong?" I ask my agitated son.

"Kaleb and I aren't friends anymore."

"Because?"

"Because he said some mean things, so I said some mean things, so he said some mean things, so I said some mean things."

"It's not acceptable to say mean things to someone."

"But he---"

"Even if he says something mean first. Do you understand?"

I get a mumbled non-response.

"So what mean things did you say to Kaleb?" I ask, wondering if this is going to involve me marching Parker down the street to apologize.

"I said that the BSU football players suck."

Hmm. "What else?"

Parker pauses, anticipating what my response might be. I guess he decides I can handle it, so his mouth opens and unleashes the ultimate insult.

"I said he played ball like a girl."

Lost in Translation

"Mom," Deacon asked me, "how do you wash whips?"

"Like a cowboy whip?"

"No--whips."

"A whip like this?" I ask, pretending to be Indiana Jones.

"No. How do you wash whips?"

I'm stuck. I cannot figure out what kind of a whip Deacon is asking me about, but I figure you must wash all whips pretty much the same.

"I guess you would get a bucket with soapy water--"

"No! Not whips, WHIPS! How do you wash WHIPS?!?"

Recognition dawns on me. "Oh, lips. You want to know how to wash lips?"

"Yes. Whips."

"With a washcloth."

"Oh. How do you wash awms?"

Crazy Mother

"Parker," McKay told her brother, "Livy is so lucky! At her house her mom makes sandwiches on white bread and asks you if you want the crusts cut off."

"Lucky!"

Apparently McKay knows good mom behavior when she sees it. Yesterday I was lying in bed reading a book, when McKay came and cuddled up next to me.

"What is your book about?" she asked.

"It's about being a mom," I told her.

"Does that mean your going to stop being crazy and start being a mom?"

Fractured Happiness

My sister, Emily, called me the other day. "I hear you got a stress fracture in your leg. I'm impressed. That's so hardcore."

I responded, "Would you be less impressed if you knew I injured my leg playing Just Dance 3?"

The Reader's Digest version of "Kodie Fractures Her Leg" goes something like this. A few weeks ago after an intense Just Dance competition with my sister, Riki, my leg began killing me. I thought I had shin splints, so I toned down the exercise for awhile. My leg seemed to be feeling better, all was well in Zion, and the sun was shining on Monday morning when I decided to go for a run. My leg instantly began to hurt, but I pushed through my pain, finished my run, and returned home. At which point, I laid on the floor of my closet whining loudly about how much my leg hurt. Fast-forward one doctor's visit later, and I have an official stress fracture diagnosis.

Being as it is an ever so tiny stress fracture, I don't have a cast or crutches. I have to choke down a lot of chalky tasting calcium chews and wear an aircast when I exercise, but that's about it. It has actually come in handy a few times already.

"Well, I'd like to carry McKay up to her bed, but you know my leg is broken...."

However, in Parker's mind, only good has come from it. First, I had to get myself a better pair of running shoes. (I guess wearing shoes you've had since 2004 to run in is a bad idea.)

"Mom, your new shoes are awesome! They're just like the one's the BYU women's volleyball team wears!"

Seriously? Does anyone besides my son know that? That's what I call a sickness.

"Kids," I announced at dinner, "since dad will be out of town on Valentine's Day, I'm taking you all out to McDonald's for half-price Happy Meals."

"Yay!" Parker cheered. "I love it when mom breaks her leg!"

I fail to see how those two events relate, but I'm glad I could bring so much happiness into Parker's life.

We are the Champions

"So, um, sorry, mom, but the floor in my bedroom is pretty much soaking," Parker tells me tonight.

"Because?"

"We won the championship!"

"What championship?"

"The basketball championship."

"Are we talking about the Nerf basketball hoop over your closet door and the neighborhood kids filling up your bedroom?"

"Yes."

"Congratulations. Why is your floor wet?"

"I got so excited, I had to pour my water bottle over Kaleb's head--you know, Bronco Mendenhall style."

Obviously.

Cabin Fever

Today Deacon looked out the window and asked, "Hey, who cancelled summer?" Apparently he is done with winter.

The doorbell rang, and Parker's friend, Kaleb, bounded in with the announcement, "It's hot out there! It's like 80 degrees!"

"It's 46 degrees outside," I told him.

"Nah, it's got to be close to 80. Come on Parker, you don't need a jacket."

"It's February," I explained. "Jackets aren't optional."

"MOM, it's HOT outside. I'll sweat in a jacket."

The doorbell rang again, and McKay's friend, Maddi, comes bursting in without shoes on.

I guess I'm the only one delusional enough to believe February still qualifies as winter.

The Best Reason to Home School...

Everyone in the Treasure Valley had school today. But when you home school, your mom can call a snow day. So I did.

If the snow looks sparse in these pictures, it's because they were taken early this morning. My kids were outside with the first snowflakes and have only been inside long enough to create several loads of dripping wet laundry and drink our year's supply of hot chocolate.

My favorite part of the day was taking the kids sledding. As Parker started careening wildly down the hill, he called out, "S.O.S.!!! Save our sled!"

Household Conversations

I've overheard the following conversations this week.

Chris (rearranging the dishwasher): "Kids, when you load the dishwasher, please put the tall glasses on this side of the dishwasher, and the short glasses on the other side."

Me: "You're being anal retentive again."

Chris: "No, it makes sense. This side is slightly larger, allowing for bigger cups. It drives me crazy when the kids load the dishwasher wrong."

Me: "I was the one who loaded the dishwasher. If you're going to freak out about it, you can load all the dishes from now on."

Chris: "Children, I rescind my previous comment."

Me: "I rescind my annoyance towards you."


Deacon is singing the BYU fight song. As he gets to the end, instead of singing, "Go, Cougars," he sings, "Go, Boogers!!"

Parker: "Make him stop, Mom!"

Me: "Parker, he's just teasing you. You tease him all the time."

Parker: "But this is different. This is offensive."


Mom: "McKay, for your school assignment you are supposed to draw a picture of a magical place. Can you describe a magical place to me?"

McKay: "There would be small hills covered everywhere with flowers. And on the hills would be unicorns and pink and purple ponies. Bunnies would hop in the grass, and butterflies that aren't afraid of people would fly in the air."

Oh, the girliness.


I bought Deacon socks for Christmas. The socks were a little too big, but I figured he would grow into them. Apparently, I should have returned them.

Deacon: "Mom, why are you putting grown-up socks on me? Don't you know I'm still a kid?"

Saturday Stripper

"I've been a lousy mom today," I confessed to Chris.

"Is it because we had doughnuts for breakfast, leftovers for lunch, and now you want to eat out dinner?"

"No. I wasn't referring to my neglect in feeding my family; I was referring to my neglect of my children in general. I think Deacon has been playing on the PBS Kids website since he woke up this morning--with the exception of the time he watched a movie while downing a bag of Cheetos. McKay was supposed to be grounded until she cleaned her room, but I forgot about that and let her watch a movie. Her bedroom is still a disaster. And I'm not exactly sure where Parker is. He told me about two hours ago he was going to go play with friends, so I have a pretty good idea..."

The door slams downstairs. "Mom...," Parker calls.

"Whew. He's still alive."

Parker bounds upstairs with his friend Kaleb right behind him. "What's for dinner?"

"Shake-n-Take."

I have a good reason for not cooking all day. It's Saturday. But my other reason is that I am in the midst of refinishing my kitchen table. The table's unusable and my kitchen counters are cluttered with stain and sandpaper and other non-edible ingredients.

My family, plus Kaleb, is sitting around a table at Shake-n-Take downing a ridiculous quantity of fries, when Parker tells Kaleb, "I think we're going to have to redshirt Reslon."

Reslon is one of the four boys that make up the neighborhood football "team." Give it three months and that group of boys will make up the neighborhood baseball team, but right now they're still on a football kick.

"You can't redshirt, Reslon," I say.

"Mom, he fumbles the ball all the time." Kaleb is nodding his head in agreement, and Parker is shaking his head at me. Apparently I just don't get it.

We return home to our in-process table. When we first started to strip the table, I suggested we put hand sanitizer on the table. I'd once spilled a blob of it on the table, and it had taken the finish off perfectly. So I spread hand sanitizer all over the table, and it took part of the finish off, but not all of it.

"This isn't working," Chris said, looking at the table. "I think we need something more powerful."

"Are you asking me if you can get a table stripper?"

One table stripper later, the letters "BYU" that Parker carved into the table are gone. So is the glitter glue, the unwashable washable paint, and the spots where our children pounded their forks into the finish. The table is beautiful.

And now I have no excuse for not feeding my family. Except I think tomorrow might be fast Sunday...

Sunbeams

Deacon has been telling me for a month that he's not going to Sunbeams. He loves nursery and wants to stay there. So it was no surprise that today's adventure into Sunbeams involved a lot of tears, meltdowns, and mother-clinging.

But after fifteen minutes of emotional drama, I was able to leave a smiling Deacon behind in Sunbeams. Tomorrow we will be eating Happy Meals at McDonald's for lunch, and the two events may or may not be related.

At dinner tonight, McKay was chattering non-stop about her new teacher and primary class.

Not to be outdone, Deacon piped up, "Yeah, well, my teacher said, 'Be quiet, Deacon.'"

Watch out, Sunbeams, we've unleashed a cyclone.