Patience is a Virtue

The Best Reason to Home School...

2012-01-18T13:49:00.003-07:00

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

2012-01-11T20:38:00.002-07:00

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

2012-01-07T20:55:00.003-07:00

"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

2012-01-01T17:39:00.002-07:00

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.

Lack of Exercise

2011-12-18T21:45:00.004-07:00

I exercise everyday. I feel the need to brag shamelessly about that. For thirty years of my life I exercised pretty much never. Not to say that I didn't try every now and again. I went to a yoga class once five years ago. When it started to get hard, I lied down on my mat and took a little rest until class was over. And I occasionally would read books about people exercising, which is kind of like exercise osmosis. But I never exercised consistently until last year.

About a year and a half ago, I noticed that my stomach was really sticking out, so I thought as any rational person would--I probably had a tumor growing inside of me. I went to my ob/gyn, convinced that she would find my tumor, cut that mass out of me, and I would leave her office a skinnier woman. Unfortunately an ultrasound revealed that all I had growing inside of my stomach was fat.

Which is why last January I made a New Year's Resolution that I would exercise everyday. And I have. (Totally bragging again.) In a seriously sick and twisted world, I have actually come to ENJOY exercising. I like getting all sweaty. I like ignoring my kids for 45 minutes every morning. I like singing along to awesome music from the 80's and 90's as I lift weights and glide on my secondhand exercise equipment. I like seeing myself progress. When I started lifting weights I could only bench press the bar, but now (control your jealousy) I'm bench pressing fifteen pounds. Oh yeah.

Which is why I am seriously bummed about a little incident last night, I would like to call "Kodie running into her cedar chest in the dark and injuring her knee." I was in bed, and I was thirsty. I got up to get a drink. Being considerate of my husband, I didn't turn on a light. That was pretty much my downfall, (literally), because thirty seconds later my knee collided painfully with the cedar chest at the bottom of our bed, and I was rolling on the ground crying in pain.

My husband, being considerate of me, began laughing. "That cedar chest has been there for three and a half years. How could you run into it?! There is at least a five foot path around it!"

He is, of course, right on both accounts. I would have probably hated him for life, but he made me breakfast in bed and cleaned up McKay barf four times today, so he is back at the top of my favorite people list.

Now, here is where the story gets weird. Since I am incapable of bending my knee without pain, I realized that exercise was going to be out of the question tomorrow. This really bummed me out. (That is the weird part.) I should be excited because I have a lot to do tomorrow. Like laundry. Today my family was so desperate for clean clothes that Deacon ended up wearing McKay's socks to church, and Chris told Parker that a pair of too little cotton shorts were boxer shorts. (They weren't.) So a little extra time in the morning should be seen as a windfall to a woman whose family is doing without the luxury of clean underwear.

But I didn't feel excited, I just felt bummed, until I happened to glance at my kitchen counter. I cheered up considerably when I noticed all the Christmas gifts my neighbors had brought me that afternoon--cookies, fudge, chocolate covered pretzels, homemade hot fudge sauce, and chocolate cream cake. Just to be polite I tried all of their gifts, and they were delicious! And then, because I felt like I should probably eat something healthy, I ate half a container of guacamole with chips.

Which brings me to the moral of this story--let your light shine before man, even if he's half-asleep in your bed. Trust me, your knees will thank you.

Something Royal

2011-11-27T17:12:00.002-07:00

This morning I am trying to make breakfast while McKay is rollerskating around my kitchen, occasionally crashing or running into me. It is driving me crazy.

"McKay, could you please not roller skate while I'm trying to make breakfast?"

"But, MOM, I'm practicing for Cinderella on Ice."

Before I have time to counter this statement, she turns to Deacon. "If you could be a little more royal, you could be the prince."

"Yes!" Deacon exclaims excitedly.

"First you have to wash the Cheetos off your face."

I assume the Cheetos and royalty problems were overcome, because soon I have McKay crashing into me on roller skates, and Deacon crashing into me in socks.

"Enough!" I shout. "You can practice after breakfast."

McKay turns to Deacon, "Next time we practice--try to be more royal."

Being Parker's Mom

2011-11-14T18:16:00.003-07:00

The sun has mostly set, just a sliver of light remains in the sky. It's the time of day where people have turned on their lights, but not shut their blinds. I am spying on my neighbors, as I walk down the street, looking for my son.

Before I see him, I can hear him. "That's not fair! We were going to punt!"

Yep, that's my boy.

Before he sees me, his friend spies my approach. "Parker, your mom's coming."

Parker glances at me, and then urgently yells, "Hurry, guys! One more play!"

I wonder how they can see the flags in the dark, but it becomes apparent that the flags are really just a formality. In a rush of energy and testosterone, all four boys pile on one another. Somewhere at the bottom of the pile I'm sure there's a football.

Parker walks home beside me, the ear flap on his winter hat half torn off, giving me a play-by-play of the game. "I really need to work on my running game. I'm practicing every night, but there's only so much time..." Daylight savings time has been a real hardship on Parker.

We arrive at the house. "Here," he says, placing his moist mouth guard in my hand, "you really need to wash this. It tastes disgusting."

Yep, that's my boy.

Chris the Awesome

2011-11-13T21:13:00.003-07:00

"Here," I said, tossing a dollar on the book Chris was reading, "I will pay you one American dollar if you will put the kids to bed."

He tosses the dollar back. "No deal. I'm going to sleep."

"Fine, then you have to help me put them to sleep. Do you want boys or girl?"

He takes the dollar back. "Boys."

"You don't get paid to help."

"Yes, I do."

Five minutes later we are getting into bed. "You were overpaid," I say.

"I don't know, I had to listen to Deacon tell me he hates me. At least I know where I stand with him."

"Don't worry. Tomorrow you will be 'the best dad ever.'"

"You may continue to tell me how I am sainted."

"You do put up with a lot," I say, "You're married to me, and I am super bossy. Plus, sometimes I can be a slight control freak. I like things done my way, you know?"

"No, I've never noticed. Continue on with my saintliness."

"You're the giver in this relationship. You give. I take."

"I'm the giver, huh?" Chris ponders this. "What do you give?"

"I give you happiness."

"So I give you everything just to have the opportunity to bask in your presence?"

I begin to giggle. "I didn't mean it that way."

"I think you did."

"No, I mean that without me you would be old and boring. I make you fun. And you would sit around the house moping and playing the martyr all the time. What would you be like if I wasn't constantly telling you to suck it up and get over yourself? You would be unhappy!"

"Alright, we're getting way off track here. We were talking about how wonderful I am."

"How about I blog about it? You're constantly begging me to blog about how wonderful you are."

"OK," he says, rolling over. He begins snoring almost instantly.

Let me tell you about that snoring. It was truly wonderful, amazing snoring, produced by a talented individual. It was, dare I say it, sainted snoring. Not every girl can be as lucky as me.

Healthy Eating

2011-10-26T18:00:00.003-06:00

"For the most part I'd have to say you're a pretty good mom," Parker told me the other night, "Except for one thing--the healthy eating! Stop! That's pretty much where the whole bad mom thing comes in."

This was after the chicken potpie dinner. I wouldn't even classify that as uber-healthy.

"Wait," Parker said, as I cut into the potpie, "I thought we were having pie for dinner."

"We are. Pie with chicken and vegetables."

Parker sighed, "I guess I'm eating cereal tonight."

"You have to eat at least one bite."

McKay is carefully examining her piece with a fork. "I see onions in here! You didn't say anything about onions. I hate onions!"

"You won't even taste them once they're cooked."

Unconvinced she begins picking apart her piece, pushing all the onions to one side. I pass her the bread.

"Is this wheat bread?"

"It's always wheat bread."

"Where's the Nutella?" she asks, looking across the table.

"In the pantry."

"I can only eat wheat bread if it has Nutella on it."

With much gagging, the one mandated bite is shoved down the kids' throats.

Today McKay is sick. Not very sick, just a headache and a slight fever. Just sick enough to get out of school. Just sick enough to get to spend the day lying on the couch watching hours worth of Barbie movies. Just sick enough to tell me, "I'm starting to feel better, but not better enough to do school."

So trying to be a nice mom, I make waffles for dinner--a McKay favorite. I do not make my normal healthy whole wheat and oatmeal waffles with fruit on top. (You're feeling Parker's pain right now, huh?) No, I make the best waffles in the world, Jenni Thomas waffles. (Jenni was my roommate for several years in college, and we ate these waffles pretty much every other day for two years.) Then to make dinner extra sweet, I try a new recipe for a buttery caramel syrup. There is nothing healthy about this syrup--butter, milk, corn syrup, sugar, and vanilla.

I take a bite and announce, "This syrup is AMAZING!" Then being an extra nice mom, I offer McKay a bite.

McKay lets out a scream. An actual honest scream. You would have thought I'd offered her an onion or a slice of whole wheat bread. "No," she cries, tears pouring from her eyes, "No, syrup! I'll eat my waffle plain." Because McKay is just sick enough to weep over waffles, I turn to Deacon.

"Try mommy's syrup," I said, shoving a fork towards his mouth.

His teeth clench shut, and he dodges my fork. Afraid I will shove a bite of food in his mouth if he opens it to speak, he shakes his head in the negative.

"Come on, it tastes like candy," I coax.

I get the teeth clench head shake.

"Eat it! It's so sugary. It's dripping in sugar! Don't you want this sugary goodness?" I move my fork closer to his mouth, and he backs up to the edge of his chair.

I'm just about to say, "You're not getting down from this table until you've had at least one bite of my candy-flavored syrup," when I remember something. I remember I'm force feeding my child sugar.

I can't wait until the weekend. I'm making caramel apples for a Halloween party, and so help me, those kids better eat them, or else....

Deacon Chatter

2011-10-15T07:31:00.002-06:00

Deacon and I were driving to the grocery store yesterday.

"Do you want to listen to the radio or talk?" I asked.

"Talk."

"What are you thinking about?" I asked him.

"I want to climb on the roof of our house." He pauses. "Wait! I think that what be dangerous. Mom, would you sing "Book of Mormon Stories" with me?"

"O.k."

"You're singing it wrong! It goes 'When it rains, let it rain, righteously.' Sing it the right way, mom."

Deacon begins making silly noises and laughing at himself.

"Mom, you are my mother so you have to laugh at me."

"O.k." I attempt a fake laugh.

"Mom, you are my mom so you have to freak out with me."

"How do I do that?"

"When I yell, 'Freak out,' you freak out."

"How do you freak out?"

"I don't know, but I know how to eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner."

"Mom, I think there are trampolines in heaven."

"Oh?"

"Oh, heaven is a place on earth," he sings, doing a good imitation of Belinda Carlisle. Apparently that's the only line of the song he knows, because he continues to repeat it.

"What the heck?" Deacon asks, looking out the window, "Where are we?"

"At the grocery store."

"Grocery store--I love grocery stores! Let's go, mom!"

Watching Deacon Bowl

2011-10-11T15:33:00.002-06:00

Our homeschool P.E. group spent the afternoon bowling today. Ten frames later I think I have Deacon's strategy down.

Step One: Grasp ball with two hands. Tell mother, "I'm strong."

Step Two: Casually walk up to the lane. Drop bowl on the floor. Lightly tap ball to get it headed in the right direction.

Step Three: Wait.

Step Four: Continue waiting. Lay on your tummy on the floor, resting your chin in your hands. (Top Deacon ball speed--.71 mph.)

Step Five: Watch ball knock over one or two pins.

Step Six: Yell, "I got a strike!"

Step Seven: High-five mother and shout, "Booyah!"

Step Eight: Return to seat and ask, "Is it my turn yet?"

Pied Piper

2011-10-06T15:16:00.004-06:00

School is out today, which means my house is filling up with extra children. This afternoon I answered the door to add the fifth neighborhood child to my house. As he bounded up the stairs to join the other kids, Parker suddenly seemed to notice that his bedroom was a little more crowded than usual.

"Hey, why does everyone always want to play at my house?" he asked his friends.

"I don't know," one of them answered, "maybe because your house is always a mess."

If you want to be the Pied Piper of your neighborhood, you might want to give the messy house thing a try. It may backfire on you, though. A few years ago I was in the kitchen, when I overheard Parker ask his friend (an only child), "Why do you never want to play at my house?"

He replied, "There's always Cheerios on your floor. Your refrigerator is covered in papers, and your toaster oven is a piece of crap."

He's got a point.

Flamingos and Stuff Like That

2011-09-21T12:48:00.002-06:00

I should have recognized it as an omen when Deacon peed on my foot.

Yesterday I was at the park with the kids. We had come a few minutes early to our homeschool P.E. co-op. My kids were happily playing on the playground, when Deacon announced he had an urgent need to use the restroom. It was so urgent that when I pulled his undies down in the bathroom, he didn't wait to get into position. He simply let loose. He let loose all over my foot. Consequently I found myself balancing on one foot like a flamingo, while trying to wash my other foot off in the sink, all in a bathroom that didn't contain paper towels.

After an hour and a half of soccer, kickball, and playground time, my kids were hot and sweaty and ready to go home. I would have liked to obliged but I had a little problem.

My tire was flat.

And...

My husband was out of town.

My husband was out of cell phone range.

I didn't know where the spare tire was.

I didn't know where the jack was.

I had never changed a tire.

My cell phone battery was dying.

So, I called my mom, so she could tell me what to do. (This is what moms are for.) She suggested I call Les Schwab Tires. I did. They told me they would be right over to help me out. (Apparently right over meant 85 minutes later.)

"Ah, here's your problem," the helpful tire guy said. (Let's call him Jeremy, since that is actually his name.) "Do you see this piece of metal stuck in your tire?"

Yes, I did.

"I'll inflate your tire with air and then follow you back to the tire center to get it repaired."

"How long is this going to take?"

"Do you have urgent plans?"

"Yeah, it's half-price Happy Meal night."

After two hours of playing in the park for P.E., and then an extra hour and a half of playing waiting for the tire guy, Deacon had had it. He crashed in the car on the ten minute drive to the tire center. I carried him into Les Schwab and held him while I waited for my tire to be fixed. The kid was out cold. Which is how I found myself trying to hold a sleeping three and half year old in my arms while digging through my purse for my debit card. Then I remembered the flamingo. I pulled one of my feet up to my knee and balanced Deacon on my "leg shelf" while balancing myself on one foot while finding my hidden debit card.

As the cycle began, so it ended. I began the afternoon in flamingo position. I ended it in flamingo position. And somewhere in the middle I learned something. I learned that this better not be a repeating cycle.

Garbage Giggles

2011-09-12T21:13:00.004-06:00

Tonight while putting Parker to bed, he tells me, "Mom, I need to tell you a hilarious story about Deacon."

"O.k."

"This morning I heard the garbage truck coming. I remembered how much I loved the garbage truck when I was a little kid, so I got Deacon and had him look out the window with me. I said, 'Look, Deacon, that man's taking our garbage away.' And guess what he did, mom?"

"What?"

"He started to cry!" Parker giggles. "Then he crawled up into my bed and was laying there kind of sad. So I said, 'What are you doing, Deacon?' And he said, 'I'm going to lay on your bed until that man brings our garbage back.'"

At this point Parker is laughing hysterically. "I told him, 'Deacon, we will never get our garbage back. It's gone forever.' And then he cries even harder!"

By now Parker is laughing so uncontrollably that I can't help laughing along, despite the fact that his story is really not funny at all. When something really tickles Parker, he has an infectious giggle that makes everyone around him start laughing, too.

Parker notices I'm laughing and says, "You're laughing now, mom, but it won't be so funny when he grows up to be a hoarder."

On the Menu Tonight...

2011-09-06T21:26:00.003-06:00

Do you remember that Stove Top Stuffing commercial from the early nineties where the two boys are deciding whose house to eat at based on who's serving stuffing? I remembering watching that as a kid thinking, No one would actually do that. But guess what? I was wrong. I have proof that it happens--just not over stuffing.

"Hey, mom, can I eat at Caleb's?" Parker asks yesterday.

"Why don't you just eat here?"

"Caleb's having mashed potatoes at his house. What are we having?"

"Hot dogs, fruit salad, and baked beans."

"Aaah, I love hot dogs! But I also love mashed potatoes." He turns to Caleb, "What else are you eating?"

"Cube steak and corn on the cob."

Parker seems torn, "I just don't know what to pick."

Caleb pipes up, "Cube steak is actually kind of disgusting."

This seems to cement the deal. "You're right. Let's eat here tonight. Come on, Caleb, let's go ask your mom if you can eat with us."

Yes! My dinner never beats Caleb's mom's dinner.

Job Description

2011-09-01T18:44:00.001-06:00

McKay: "Mom, how do we get money?"

Me: "Dad goes to work and makes it for us."

McKay: "Does he actually make money at work or does someone pay him for doing his job?"

Me: "Someone pays him."

Deacon: "I have a job!"

Me: "What's your job?"

Deacon: "Playing and seeing with my eyeballs."

Truth is Stranger than Fiction

2011-08-27T20:54:00.005-06:00

It was the perfect storm really. Everything was aligning--vomit, hubby out of town, and lack of a mop. All these factors played into Thursday's night activities.

"Children," I announced at dinner, "tonight we are going to play Pippi Longstocking."

You see for a week our family has been cycling through which family member gets to lay on the couch with a Sprite and a garbage can by their side, watching countless hours of television, and moaning about tummy aches. As a mother of young children, this is always an exciting week, which allows me to play a game known as "Dodge the Vomit." However, the downside is, if you lose at this game repeatedly, you also lose your sanity. I find it is better not to play and allow my husband to take my place. But here was the kicker--hubby was out of town on business.

So after a week of losing Dodge the Vomit, and after a week of being quarantined to my home, I was looking for ways to spice up my life and also clean my kitchen floor. My cheapy grocery store mop died after only three years, and I keep forgetting to purchase a new one. This means I either have to mop on my hands or knees or avoid mopping my floor altogether. This choice, being a no-brainer, meant my floor was encrusted in squashed food messes.

"How are we going to play Pippi Longstocking?" McKay asked sweetly.

"We are going to mop the floor like Pippi!"

"Yeah!" McKay declared. "Hurry everyone and eat faster!"

"Do you have enough scrub brushes to tie to everyone's feet?" Parker asked.

"I'll see what I can find."

Makenna, our neighbor, was eating dinner with us. "Wow, I haven't been over for awhile. I forgot what your house was like."

After dinner I gathered sponges and scrub brushes, poured some soapy water on the floor, and let the kids have at it.

All was going well, so I soon left the kids to their soapy fun, and went to take care of Deacon, who was taking his turn on the couch that day. After that I remembered an email I needed to take care of, and then I remembered I needed to renew my library books online, which reminded me that I would actually like to sit on the couch and read for awhile. Which I did. While ignoring the children. Even while I heard the sink turn on and more water being dumped on the floor. I just kept reading and ignoring. Even after Makenna asked, "How are we supposed to get all this water and soap up anyway?" I just said, "Use some towels," and went right on ignoring. I'm pretty good at ignoring. It may be the most special talent I possess, but I hate to brag when others just aren't as good at it as I am.

About two hours later, long after the kids had tired of playing Pippi Longstocking, I tucked my kiddos in bed, and checked on the kitchen.

Wow, the floor looks really clean, I thought. Then I went to bed.

The next morning when I went downstairs my laminate flooring was warped and starting to peel up a little--very clean, but very unattractive.

This is what I have learned from the experience. 1. Do not attempt to clean flooring after losing at Dodge the Vomit. 2. Write "mop" on grocery list. 3. Pippi Longstocking is actually a fictional character. This is why she could clean her floor by tying scrub brushes to her feet and skating acrossed it. This is also why she kept a horse on the patio, outsmarted policemen, and had a cannibal king for a father. I am not fictional. I am real. And now my kitchen floor really bugs me.

Mealtime Manners

2011-08-25T12:18:00.002-06:00

Deacon: "Mom, get me my water NOW!"

Me: "Excuse me. Did you mean to say, 'Mother, that I love, please get me a drink of water'?"

Deacon: "Mother, that I love, please get me a drink of water."

I place a glass of water at Deacon's place.

Deacon: "Because my clothes are getting out of style here."

Shopping with Parker

2011-08-17T16:51:00.002-06:00

Me: "I'm not sure if this watch is my style."

Parker: "Mom, you have no style. Can we get out of here?"

Honesty is the Best Policy

2011-07-27T14:00:00.002-06:00

"Brush your teeth and get in the van for swimming lessons. We need to leave in five minutes," I yelled at my kids this morning, as I stood sentinel at the doorway.

First down was Parker.

"Did you brush your teeth?"

"Yes."

"You may proceed to the van," I said stepping away from the door.

Next came McKay.

"You forgot to wear shoes," I reminded her.

"Oh, yeah," she said, heading back for flip-flops. I would think that wearing shoes would come automatically to most people, but not McKay. Once I went to unload her from the van only to discover she was barefoot. Her ballet bag saved us that day, as she danced her way through the store in ballet slippers.

Finally, Deacon made it down the stairs.

"Did you brush your teeth?"

"Yes, sir, mom-o," he announced, as I let him by. "I also left the water running in the bathroom sink and made a house out of toilet paper."

What? I raced upstairs. Yep, Deacon was correct on both accounts.

Alright, the out-the-door mommy questions are going to be tougher from now on. "Did you brush your teeth? Will I need to file an insurance claim when I return home based on any of your actions today? Should I stop at Costco and buy another case of toilet paper?"

Oh, yeah, nothing's going to get by me now.

Spiritual Moments

2011-07-18T20:07:00.002-06:00

Ahh, family home evening, the one night a week where our family gathers together to learn about Lamanite toileting habits.

Tonight Deacon had the scripture. "Let me go get the dictionary," he announces, running off. "Dictionaries have great scriptures in them!"

He returns with a pocket-sized German-English dictionary and begins reading. "The Lamanites pooped fire out of their bums."

He turns the page. "Then they stuck their fingers in the fire, and their fingers were dead!!!"

He continues to read about various body parts getting burned by fire, until he announces, "Then their whole bodies fell in the fire, and they died. But they came back to life. There they are behind the couch! And they're shooting me!"

At which point screaming erupts as all the children run from the Lamanites.

Calm is restored, and McKay teaches us the story of the Tree of Life. I'm asking the children to explain the symbolism behind the fruit, the iron rod, etc., and they're doing remarkably well. I'm impressed. Then I ask, "What does the great and spacious building represent?"

Parker responds, in all seriousness, "Barack Obama."

The lesson went downhill from there. "What could be some of the filthiness of the world, that the river could be representing?"

Parker had an idea. "Like those bikini girls in Las Vegas with an American flag on their bikinis."

I'm wondering how Parker knows about Las Vegas bikini girls, as I answer, "Yes...that could be filthiness."

McKay interrupts, "Wait, I thought the dirty river was chocolate milk."

Trying to bring a little spirituality back into the lesson, I conclude with a question. "So, what do you learn from the story of the Tree of Life?"

Parker exclaims, "Never wear a bikini! Especially if you're a man!"

Yep. That's family home evening around here.

A Reasonable Battle

2011-07-12T10:27:00.004-06:00

I’m exercising when Deacon comes bursting into my room, swinging a shoelace.

“I’m Indiana Jones and this is my rope,” he declares, his shoelace twirling circles in the air. “Watch out! There’s a giant rock rolling towards us!”

Deacon dives out of the way, doing a few rolls across the floor for good measure. “That was a close one.”

Parker enters the scene, shooting a Nerf dart gun at Deacon. “I am a bad guy!” he declares, rapidly firing foam darts.

"Not today!” Deacon yells, charging straight at Parker with his shoelace swinging.

After a few minutes of intense dart gun and shoelace fight, it becomes apparent to Deacon that his shoelace is no match for a rapid action Nerf gun. He does what every superhero should try in the heat of battle. He walks straight up to Parker and says in a calm voice, “I am the good guy. You cannot shoot me. You are the bad guy.”

When all else fails, try attacking your enemy with reason.

May the Force be with You

2011-07-10T21:30:00.004-06:00

Five minutes into Sacrament meeting today, the first counselor announces the opening song.

"We will now sing on page 60, 'The Battle Hymn of the Republic.'"

Parker excitedly asks, "Are we singing a Star Wars song?"

Music was making Parker think today. The congregation was standing to sing the rest hymn. In the quiet lull of singing between verses one and two, he asked, "Why don't these pews come equipped with built-in whoopee cushions?"

You have much to learn, young Parker.

Falling With Style

2011-06-27T09:15:00.003-06:00

My children dress themselves, so this is normal attire.

As is this.

And this.

So it is no surprise that today Deacon dressed himself in Buzz Lightyear pajamas. Especially since he's Buzz Lightyear about 50% of the time around here.

"I'm Buzz Lightyear," he told me. "I come in peace."

"Mom, I think if I'm brave enough I'll be able to fly."

"You mean in an airplane?"

"No, with my arms."

This worries me, as he is already a crazy little monkey who climbs and jumps off everything, and broke my blinds by swinging on the cord like Tarzan. (Though he informed me he was not being Tarzan, but rather George of the Jungle.)

"Deacon, people can't fly. I'm sorry to break it to you, but that's just how it is."

So this morning, he climbed onto my bed, and touched the red button on his Buzz Lightyear jammies. Immediately, his arms shot out to the side like wings.

"To infinity and beyond!" he declared, as he leaped off my bed.

He landed on the ground safely, and looking up with a grin, said, "I told you so."

Make A Choice

2011-06-22T21:41:00.004-06:00

"Mom, look at the beautiful clouds! They're pink!"

McKay loves everything beautiful. Just last week I caught her drawing with sidewalk chalk in the rain. "The rain makes the chalk beautiful!"

Tonight, however, she was entranced by the clouds. Her enthusiasm dampened when I spotted lightning. I, personally, love lightning storms. My kids are terrified by them.

"Quickly, Deacon," McKay admonished, "run inside."

Deacon, being Deacon, stood his ground.

"Deacon," McKay said, "lightning can kill you. You have a choice. Do you want to be a dead Deacon or a not dead Deacon?"

Deacon made a beeline for the door.

Good choice, kiddo.

Childhood Confession

2011-06-15T14:36:00.005-06:00

My sister, Riki, is pregnant. Really pregnant. So pregnant that her baby is coming out whether or not he wants to on Monday. But, as any woman who has ever been nine months pregnant knows, five days is a very long time to wait for a baby. So I'm going to do by best to help assist her by irking her into labor. Induction by annoyance--this is definitely going to work.

It is time to confess about a little episode from the past when I was ten, and Riki was nine. Riki and I were fighting over an object. I say "object" because I have no idea what the thing was--a toy, a gift, a small woodland creature--it could have been anything. My recollection of "Object X" is gone, but at that time we both needed Object X so desperately that we would have ceased to exist without it. So, I did what any loving older sister would do. I grabbed Object X out of Riki's hands, ran like a maniac down the hall, and locked myself in our bedroom with it.

Riki responded the way any adoring younger sister would. She tried to break the door down with her brute strength. Her brute strength being limited by her nine year old frame, she rethought her strategy. The door began to endure an assault by credit cards and bobby pins, while Riki vocally reminded me that I was the meanest sister ever.

I was in a pickle. I could hide Object X, but I knew that eventually I would have to leave the room. At that point, Riki would enter the room, search it top to bottom, and find the coveted treasure. The room was too small, and Riki too familiar with it, being that it was half hers, for any hiding place to go unnoticed. I had to think outside the box. Or in this case outside the room.

I did what any normal ten year old would do. I opened the bedroom window, popped the screen out, climbed out of the window, hid Object X outside, climbed back in the window, propped the screen back in the window, closed the window, and opened the bedroom door.

"Try to find it now," I said, smugly to my sister.

She turned that room upside down looking for Object X. As her frustration increased, so did my self-satisfied happiness. I never confessed, and eventually she gave up looking for the wonderful, Object X.

Sorry, Riki. I bet you're so angry you want to burst. Like maybe, even, your water wants to burst in annoyance. And if it does, trust me, you are going to be thanking me for deceiving you as a child.

Something To Touch Your Heart

2011-06-08T06:46:00.005-06:00

I'm sitting in Relief Society, listening to the lesson, which is fairly good, when the teacher challenges us to "put some music on in your homes. It doesn't have to be a church song. Just something that touches your heart."

Suddenly the lyrics to Bon Jovi's "Shot Through the Heart" come flooding through my mind and will not leave. One second I'm feeling the spirit, and the next second I'm silently singing Bon Jovi.

This is the first song that pops in my head? Sometimes I wonder how my mind works. I suppose if you're shot through your heart, it's a pretty good indication that something has touched it.

I can see the conversation now. "Family, after we listen to the Mormon Tabernacle Choir on Sunday, perhaps we could throw on a little Bon Jovi? It touches my heart, and Bon Jovi advocates for 'living on a prayer.'"

Perhaps Parker's right. Maybe I listen to too much music from the 80's.

Why It Took 73 Minutes to Get 30 Minutes of Exercise

2011-06-06T10:17:00.002-06:00

I am happily gliding along on my exercise machine this morning, when...

Deacon: "I just did a great job pooping!"

Parker: "My science test is done. Come grade it, mom."

Deacon: "If you hug me, mom, I will turn into a chipmunk."

McKay: "Mom, would you put my hair in a ponytail?"

Deacon: "I need a drink of water."

Parker: "Why do you always listen to 80's and 90's music, mom?"

Deacon: "Yeah, this song is really freaking me out."

McKay: "Mom, can I exercise with you?"

Me: "Yep."

McKay: "Get off your exercise machine and give me a turn."

Deacon: "Here, mom, you hold Buzz Lightyear, and I'll hold Woody. Now go defeat Zurg."

McKay: "Where are my Silly Bandz? I put them on pillow last night, so I could remember to say my prayers this morning. You moved them, and I forgot to say my prayers, and it's all your fault!"

Deacon: "SISSY'S NOT SHARING!"

Parker: "I can't do any schoolwork with these mosquito bites on my leg. They're driving me crazy!"

Ahh, flat stomach, I will think of you in my dreams tonight. In the meantime, I need to shower. With the door locked.

When I Grow-Up I Want to Be...

2011-05-31T19:25:00.002-06:00

"Mom, did you want to talk to me?" Deacon asked.

I did not want to talk to Deacon. This is Parker's latest trick to get Deacon to stop bugging him. When Deacon won't leave him alone, he tells him that I want to talk to him. Sometimes when that doesn't work, Parker tells Deacon that I want to give him candy.

"Did Parker tell you I did?"

"Yep."

"Parker was teasing you. You can go play."

"I want to talk to you, mom," he insists climbing onto my lap.

"O.k. What do you want to be when you grow-up?"

"I want to be a daddy and go to work and use THE GROWN-UP SCISSORS!"

"That sounds awesome."

"And I'll sit at my desk and eat a ginormous doughnut!"

"Anything else?"

"I can watch daddy movies!" He pauses. "Bye, mom, I need to go watch Mickey Mouse Clubhouse."

Love and Marriage: A Conversation Overheard

2011-05-27T20:38:00.003-06:00

"Mom, I'll never get married," McKay declares, sadly.

"Why do you think that? Of course, you will."

"Well, no boy has asked me yet."

"That's because you're five. Five year old boys don't ask girls to marry them."

"Oh," McKay sighs, looking genuinely relieved.

Deacon is listening in on McKay's marriage conversation. "I think I want to marry Gracie," he states, matter-of-factly. Gracie is McKay's good friend.

"Yeah, but do you think Gracie really wants to marry you?" McKay asks.

"Yeah."

"O.K., here's what I'll do, Deacon," McKay says, "On Sunday, I'll ask Gracie at church if she wants to marry you. Wait---first we'll laugh about it, and then I'll ask her."

McKay is quiet, thinking for a second.

"But, Deacon, will you be loyal to Gracie?"

"Yeah."

"Will you treasure her?"

"Yeah."

"O.K., you can marry her."

"Actually, Sis, I changed my mind. I want to marry you."

"Oh, Deacon," McKay laughs, "It doesn't work that way."

Potty Training Success

2011-05-18T14:36:00.005-06:00

If you've been reading my blog for any extended period of time, you know we've been potty-training at the Davis house for awhile. It may seem that I've been blogging about potty-training for over a year now. That, of course, would be inaccurate. We've only been potty-training for eleven months.

We finally seem to be accident-free at our house, and I contribute this success to bad parenting.

It all started on Saturday. I had been puppy-sitting for our neighbors for three days. The puppy had adorable floppy ears, big brown eyes, waddled around on its over-sized paws, and most importantly, was the spawn of the devil. I had spent most of my time for three days alternating between cleaning puppy messes out of my carpet and retrieving my flip-flops from the drooling devil's mouth.

My sanity was hanging by a thread.

I had just cleaned up my one millionth puppy "present" from the carpet, when I heard Parker announce, "Deacon's pooped everywhere."

I will spare you the details, but Parker's statement was accurate.

I wanted to scream, swear, or spank, but I pulled it together. Besides I had a worse punishment up my sleeve.

Shampoo.

Deacon hates having his hair washed. I hate washing his hair, because it usually involves me holding him in the tub with one hand, while attempting to wash his hair with the other, all with a lot of tears, screaming, and flailing of limbs. So I don't do it that often. And by often I mean I would be embarrassed to admit how frequently his hair actually gets washed. (Wet hair is as good as clean hair, right?)

Since my patience was gone, I threw Deacon into the tub and proceeded to shampoo his hair.

"Not the scary part!" he screamed, as I lathered up his hair.

"Yes, the scary part!" I answered. "From now on, every time you poop in your underwear, I am going to wash your hair!"

"NO! I'm sorry, mom! Don't wash my hair!"

After the threat of cleanliness, we have not had a single accident. Shampooing did the trick.

Today after Deacon used the bathroom, he turned to me and said, "You won't wash my hair, because I pooped in the potty, right?"

"Right, kiddo. I'm so proud of you."

Proud Mama Moment

2011-05-14T06:27:00.003-06:00

Parker is an eight year old boy. So mostly he does eight year old boy stuff like obsess over Legos and play Little League. I like him to be a boy, but I want him to learn how to be a man, so I try to teach him to work.

This doesn't always work out.

Yesterday I came back from the grocery store. I had a million bags to bring in and put away. Parker is trying to earn money, so I told him, "I'll pay you a quarter if you bring in the groceries."

He ponders this for a second, and then asks, "How much will you pay me if I turn on the TV for Deacon?"

"Are you serious? Nothing. You have to work to make money."

"Well, then I think I'll pass on the quarter and just watch some TV."

That's pretty typical around here.

A few hours after the groceries had all been put away by yours truly, I was sitting with Parker and Chris at a Red Cross Volunteer Recognition event. Parker is the youngest Red Cross Volunteer in the state of Idaho. He spends every Thursday at the Red Cross office with Chris, where he vacuums the floor, retrieves documents from the printer, and eats all the Butterfingers out of the CEO's candy jar.

Parker was honored at the event with a special certificate of appreciation. As Parker stood at the front of the room receiving his award, I felt so proud. I could feel my eyes tearing up. I was surprised at myself. I'm not a crier. (Chris claims I had my tear ducts cauterized when I was three.) What could account for my overwhelming emotion?

I'm just so proud that Parker knows how to use a vacuum.

Ten Years

2011-05-07T21:14:00.004-06:00

Chris and I recently celebrated our ten year anniversary. (And by celebrated I mean we fed the missionaries dinner and took all three kids with us to U-Swirl for ice cream.) I have been thinking about what has made our marriage a success these past ten years, and it all comes down to one thing--division of labor.

In our marriage, we each have our own jobs to do. For instance, I give birth to our children, and Chris turns off the lights and locks the doors each night. This works well, as long as we remember DO NOT DO THE OTHER PERSON'S JOB!

I discovered this when I allowed Chris to accompany me to the birth of our first child. It was my job to push this child out, and having him sit around watching Japanese animation was not helping. Neither was his decision to go into insulin shock. I mean, really, I'm kind of trying to push a baby with a 95th percentile head out, and I don't need all the medical attention going to my husband.

By the birth of my second child, I realized it was time to pull the division of labor card.

"Where's your husband?" the nurse asked, when she came in to check on me.

"Oh, I sent him away. He was driving me crazy. I'll call him when it gets close."

By the third baby I drove myself to the hospital.

"Bye, honey," I said, grabbing my keys, "I'll call you when I get to a ten."

"I'm here to be induced. Is this where I check in?" I asked, when I arrived at the hospital.

"Are you alone?" the nurse exclaimed, like no woman has ever driven herself to the hospital to have a baby.

"Yep."

That was the best birthing experience of the trio. I had a job to do, and I just focused on getting that kid out without interruptions. Division of labor. Literally.

Now Chris has the job of turning off the lights and locking up each night. Sometimes when he is out of town for the night, I actually never turn off the lights. I'll be upstairs in bed reading, when I decide it's time to turn off my light and go to sleep. Then I remember I never turned off the downstairs' lights.

Curses, I'll think, Those lights are going to have to stay on all night. It's not my job to turn them off.

One night Chris was really sick and lying in bed. I decided to be nice and lock the doors and turn out the lights for him. I came upstairs to tell him of my good deed.

"But that's my job," he said, slightly hurt.

It's not just chores we divide up. It's our brains. I have always been a math idiot. Chris is a math genius. So when I married him, I decided to allow all parts of my brain that were being poorly used to store math facts to be re-purposed into storing other important information like how long it's been since Deacon last pooped. Chris's brain could store all the math knowledge for the both of us, and mine would store all the knowledge of our family's toileting habits.

Last Sunday during my Gospel Doctrine lesson, I am teaching the parable of the unmerciful servant.

"Does anybody know how many dollars 10,000 talents equals?" I ask.

Someone raises his hand, "I've got written in my scriptures 1 talent=$325."

I'm standing in front of the class, and I am trying desperately to figure out how much 325 times 10,000 equals, and for the love of Pete, I cannot do it. All I know is that there are three rolls of toilet paper under the kids' bathroom sink, eight in the downstairs, twenty-four in mine, and Deacon last pooped the night before at seven o'clock.

"Hmmm," I say, "I'm kind of a math idiot, so I can't figure out how much that equals, but I'll tell you what James E. Talmage said in Jesus the Christ."

I may not be good at math, but I've figured this out. Division is only one factor in a happy marriage. The other important factor is mint brownies. If you go to a ward party, and your husband notices someone brought mint brownies, and then he notices his wife is still struggling at the back of the line to carry Deacon's plate and her own plate, and he grabs a mint brownie for her because he's afraid there might not be any left when she gets to the end of the line, then my friend, you have found something special. I love those things. Mint brownies and my hubby.

Dryer Romance

2011-04-26T08:34:00.003-06:00

Last night I went to pull my clothes out of the dryer only to find them still soaking wet. I pushed the button again and nothing happened.

"Dryer's dead," I announced to my husband.

He began flipping breakers, checking fuses. When nothing happened out came the screwdriver, and pieces of the dryer came flying off the back. Recognizing that my husband hadn't gone to dryer repair school and quite possibly had no idea what he was doing, I decided to help.

I pulled out the laptop and began googling.

"Alright, this site tells you how to test the start button. But you'll need something called an ohmmeter to measure electrical current, so I guess you won't be able to do it."

Three seconds later Chris comes back from the garage holding an instrument that looks like it came out of Ghostbusters.

"You mean this?"

"You have one of those things?!? Who are you?"

After testing the start button and realizing it was working fine, he continued to pull more things apart from the back of the dryer. I began googling the cost of a new dryer.

"The cheapest one is $35o at Lowes, but I haven't heard of this brand.."

"Aha!!"

"What?"

My husband is holding a piece of plastic and wire against his Ghostbuster tool. "The thermal fuse is blown! I just need to replace this fuse."

Fast-forward to breakfast this morning. We are going over the schedule for the week with our kids. Wednesday is our ten year anniversary. On that day I am teaching my co-op preschool, taking my kids to homeschool story hour at the library, and feeding the missionaries. It's also my grandma's birthday.

"After the missionaries leave, we might need to go to the store and buy a new dryer if dad can't fix ours tonight," I say.

"That sounds like a romantic thing to do for an anniversary," Chris says.

Deacon is looking out the window at his swing set. "And we could buy another slide!" he says enthusiastically. "Slides are romantic!"

Problem Solver

2011-04-17T21:07:00.002-06:00

"I'm going to bring my tools to church today in case there's a problem," Deacon said this morning.

His "tools" consisted of a plastic hammer, a roll of electrical tape, a German-English dictionary, and a pencil all contained in a toy kitchen pot.

"O.k.," I said, brushing McKay's tangled hair. I hit a particularly knotted patch and McKay let out a loud, "OUCH!"

"Do you have a problem?" Deacon asked, concerned. Then reaching into his "tool box," he grabbed the electrical tape and held it out to McKay.

"Here--this will fix it."

Amelia Bedelia Moment

2011-04-15T08:52:00.001-06:00

"What are you doing?" I exclaimed, as I watched McKay happily emptying the contents of a box of baking soda on my kitchen table.

She looked at me confused. "Mom, you said to put the baking soda on the table."

Parker's Ponderings

2011-04-10T07:50:00.002-06:00

Parker: "If you say 'booger' in England will the Queen arrest you?"

Me: "No."

Parker: "Sweet!"

Snapshot

2011-03-25T11:10:00.002-06:00

A peek into my kiddos' minds at this point in their lives.

Parker

Parker enthusiastically cheered on BYU during their game last night. (Side Note: After Jimmer's amazing three-point shot, I woke up Deacon screaming, "Did you see that shot?" Thirty seconds later, I get a phone call from my brother exclaiming, "Did you see that shot?") However, after their disappointing loss, Parker wasn't so enthusiastic.

I found him in his bed sobbing. "BYU won't be number one this year."

"That's o.k. There's always next year."

"But they won't have Jimmer."

"You can watch Jimmer play in the NBA."

"It's not the same, mom."

McKay

Wednesday afternoon found me in a doctor's waiting room, waiting to get a prescription for Parker's eczema. I handed McKay a Curious George book to entertain her. She rejected it and grabbed a copy of People Magazine. Then she laid on her tummy and examined a spread on red carpet fashion.

"Which dress do you think is my favorite, mom?"

"This one," I said, pointing to a glittery dress.

"You're right! How did you know?"

"It was the sparkliest."

"I love it! But I hate her purse."

Deacon

I just answered Parker's call of, "Mom, Deacon painted on the wall." I discovered a purple and green watercolor blob on the wall of the boys' room.

"Deacon, did you paint on your wall?"

"It's a picture of Buzz Lightyear."

"Do you think it was a good or a bad choice to paint on your wall?"

"Good choice. It made me happy."

Food for Thought

2011-03-09T20:03:00.002-07:00

Today was my day to teach my preschool co-op. We were learning about charts and graphs, so I decided to make a bar graph on the table. I passed out a card to each of the kids and had them write their name on it. I guided Deacon's hand to write D-E-A-C-O-N.

"Now write 'I want a snack' on it," he directed.

Once all the kids, including "Deacon I Want a Snack" had written their names on their cards, I pulled out an apple and an orange.

"We're going to make our own graph. I'm going to put an apple and an orange on the table, and you put your name under which one you like best."

Deacon's eyes lit up. Math he understood! Then he grabbed my apple off the table and ate my bar graph.

I guess he wanted a snack.

Grammatically Correct

2011-03-04T15:36:00.002-07:00

I was driving Parker to scouts last night, when I noticed a kid playing basketball in the street. It was dark.

"Watch it kid," I muttered, "You're going to get killed."

"What are you talking about?" Parker asked.

"Oh, there was a kid back there playing basketball in the street."

"Was? You mean you killed him?!?"

"No!"

"Then why did you say 'was'?"

"Because we've already passed him."

"I don't think you're using good grammar, mom."

A Lesson in Cleanliness

2011-03-02T15:47:00.003-07:00

"Mom, can we clean, too?"

I was cleaning encrusted pee off the floor around my toilet with a toothbrush. Apparently this looked like Disneyland to my children with Davis genetics, so I found a couple of old toothbrushes, put the cleaner on the top shelf, and let them go at it. Then I left to help Parker with his science.

This was my downfall--unsupervised cleaning. After about twenty minutes I went to check on their progress. That's when the smell hit me. The smell of Lysol. A lot of Lysol. And then I stepped in it. Lysol. A lot of Lysol. And then I saw it glistening on the toilet, the sink, the counter, my children, the mirror--everywhere except for the bottle which rested empty on the counter. My children were happily using their toothbrushes to scrub my freshly cleaned bathroom mirror. Only as an added bonus they had abandoned their old toothbrushes in favor of my new one.

I was not pleased.

After stripping off their Lysol-saturated clothing and throwing them into the tub, I grabbed some towels and soaked up my bathroom, then re-cleaned my mirror. We may never have another germ in that bathroom again.

"Alright, McKay did you think it was a good or bad choice to get down the cleaner and saturate the bathroom in it?"

"Bad choice."

"Then you need a consequence. You have to spend the afternoon cleaning the house."

More cleaning. That will teach her.

Speckled Frogs

2011-02-28T19:57:00.002-07:00

Family Home Evening starts out fairly ordinary with our family singing, "Five Little Speckled Frogs." This is a family favorite, and Deacon is jumping off the couch into the "water" licking up imaginary bugs off the floor. After prayer, it's Deacon's turn for scripture.

"Say 'Blessed are the pure in heart,'" I begin.

"No, I don't like that scripture," he says. "I want to do my own scripture."

He grabs a blue marker and scribbles circles all over a paper. "I drew a scripture."

"What does it say?"

"It says the Lamanites were sitting on a log, and they jumped in the pool with the speckled frogs."

"The Lamanites, huh?"

"Yeah, and then there were three people left and Nephi said, 'Don't jump in Lemuel.' But he jumped in the pool. Then Nephi said, 'Don't jump in the pool, Sam.' But he jumped in. Then Nephi was left. And he jumped in the water."

Parker, laughing, "You should blog about this mom."

Done.

Haircut

2011-02-23T19:42:00.002-07:00

Parker needed a haircut. I hate cutting Parker's hair. Parker hates having me cut his hair. The last time I cut his hair Chris said, "He looks like a monk."

So I had to use some bribery to convince Parker to sit still. He's trying to earn the Lego Star Wars Visual Dictionary with a good behavior chart. "I'll let you color in four squares on your chart if you let me cut your hair."

"Deal."

Thirty seconds into the haircut, "This is definitely worth five squares."

Two minutes into the haircut, "Why don't you make dad go through this?"

"Because dad would be too whiny about it."

"Even whinier than me?"

We suffered through the haircut together. My haircutting skills are limited, but my ability to get hair down the shirt, in the eyes, etc. is stellar. "Alright your done."

"I think I deserve eight squares."

"Give me a good reason why you should get eight squares."

"There's hair down my underwear."

"Eight squares it is."

Happy Valentine's Day

2011-02-14T20:56:00.004-07:00

I know I should be annoyed at him for being mean to his sister, but the conflicting messages make me laugh.

Theme Song

2011-02-13T09:00:00.003-07:00

I'm eating my scrambled eggs and bacon, when I notice something. Each of my children are singing their own theme song. Parker is humming the Star Wars theme song. Deacon is singing the theme song to Toy Story, and McKay is singing a song off a Leapfrog DVD. The competing melodies don't seem to bother them. I'm musing over what would be the Davis Family Eats Breakfast theme song, when Deacon finishes his song and crawls across the table. He presses his forehead and nose against mine, and when our eyeballs align inches away he asks, "Was that a great song, mom?"

"Yes, please get off the table."

"Parker, would you sing me a song?" Deacon asks. Parker obliges, and McKay bounces out of her place and begins an interpretive dance throughout the kitchen to the beat of Parker's song.

Parker finishes his song. "Mom," he exclaims, "Did you know that grandma didn't have a TV in her house when she was a little girl? I mean, how did she live?"

Ignoring Parker's obvious TV addiction, I ask McKay, "Where's daddy? I thought you woke him up."

"Well, I tried lifting his eyelids up, but he didn't really move."

Parker butts in, "You have to give him a hug and kiss to wake him up."

"Oh," McKay says, "that's why it didn't work."

At that moment a groggy Chris comes stumbling into the kitchen, just as Parker's proclaiming, "Did you know the book I'm reading was written in the 90s?"

Chris says, "The 90s, huh?"

And then he begins singing, "I just want to live my life like it's the 90's...Like it's a TV show..."

Well, hubby, we've at least got the theme song covered.

For Your Entertainment

2011-02-08T19:04:00.003-07:00

At dinner tonight, I told that family what I overheard this morning. "I heard Deacon talking to himself. He was having an imaginary conversation."

Deacon (to himself): "Did you say butt go go?"

Deacon (answering himself): "Yes, I said butt go go."

Everyone laughs.

Parker: "That's the Davis in him."

Now everyone decides they have to outdo Deacon, by being funnier than him. (This is really the Davis in all of them coming out.)

Parker begins. "Knock, knock."

"Who's there?"

"Banana."

"You are not allowed to continue with this joke."

McKay: "Knock, knock."

"Who's there?"

"Centipede."

"Centipede who?"

"Santa peed on the Christmas tree."

(My father-in-law introduced that joke to my kids two years ago, and it's still going strong.)

Deacon: "Knock, knock."

"Who's there?"

"Banana."

"Banana who?"

"Santa peed on the Christmas tree."

This joke is followed by Deacon fake laughing like a maniac.

Davis humor at its finest.

I Worry About the Future...

2011-01-30T21:16:00.002-07:00

I worry when I hear the following comments coming out of my children's mouths.

Parker: "At Scouts we were talking about what we wanted to be when we grew up. Everyone wanted to be video game testers. I was thinking, 'Guys, don't you realize there's no money in that?'"

McKay playing Barbie and the Three Musketeers with her friends: "I want to be the green one, because she's the one who loves boys."

Oh my.

Growing Up

2011-01-23T15:38:00.004-07:00

This morning, I was doing McKay's hair for church. After several minutes of chest-level staring, she began to notice a problem with my attire. She patted me on the bosom and said, "You still need to grow into this dress, don't you mom?"

Sad Day

2011-01-18T07:55:00.003-07:00

Last Saturday, New Year's Resolution fresh on my mind, Chewie and I decided to go for a run. This lasted approximately thirty seconds before Chewie was too tired to go on. Whew, I thought, I tried to run, but my dog wouldn't let me. This reminded me of another excuse--my dog ate my homework. Perhaps my dog ate my exercise.

Yesterday, we had great plans to finish painting McKay's bedroom. All of her stuff had been dragged into the library. Between Barbie houses and princess dress-ups, you could barely walk through the upstairs. We looked like people who should be featured on Hoarders. As soon as we were done with breakfast, we planned to attack that room with paint, reassemble her room, and let normalcy ensue.

Normalcy appeared to be the enemy of the day, because when I went to feed Chewie after breakfast, I found him laying on his side, struggling to breathe. I knew he was dying. Chris carried him to the van. Drops of blood trailed behind him, and I knew Chewie wouldn't be leaving the vet alive.

The vet pronounced cancer of the GI tract. We made the decision to put Chewie to sleep, but we didn't have to follow through. Chewie died while we were filling out paperwork, and the vet was readying his tools. Everyone was sad, except for Deacon, who didn't seem to get it.

But I was wrong about Deacon. He snuggled up next to me last night and asked, "Mom, would you drive me to heaven, so we can pick up Chewie? He needs to be at our house."

I wish I could, Deacon. I wish I could.

Bedtime

2011-01-14T10:14:00.003-07:00

It's 9:30. Chris and I are in bed reading books that are making us laugh. I will read something, giggle, and read it to Chris. He will not laugh. Then he will read to me, and I will not laugh. We begin to question the other's sense of humor.

In walks a very grumpy Parker with Deacon in tow, mumbling something, but all I caught was, "...my brother..." He grumps out of the room. Deacon happily climbs into our bed, blue bunny blankie in hand.

Chris rolls over, very grumpy, mumbling something, but all I caught was, "...my son..." He turns off the light.

Chris believes Deacon has a personal mission to insure his spot as the youngest child in the family. According to Chris, Deacon accomplishes this mission by climbing in between me and Chris and spending the night kicking Chris in sensitive regions. Chris is not thrilled to see Deacon crawling into our bed.

I have a gift to ignore my external surroundings and focus on the book I'm reading, and I begin exercising that gift. A few minutes into my reading I become aware of the fact that Deacon is eating trail mix in my bed. I am, however, unaware of how he acquired the trail mix. I keep reading, and Deacon chatters on to me. I ignore everything he's saying, but a phrase does stick out. "I love you, mom, but monsters are not real."

Finally Deacon starts begging me to turn off the light. "O.k.," I say, "Let me go to the bathroom, and then I'll turn it off."

"I'll help you."

"No, this is a task I've mastered. I don't need any help."

Deacon jumps out of bed and follows me anyway. A trail of peanuts and raisins follow him. I begin to understand the origins of the word "trail mix."

I'm washing my hands when a few drops of water splash on the blue bunny blanket. Deacon becomes indignant. "You got my blue bunny blankie wet! I don't appreciate that!"

A glass of water later, and we are finally tucked into bed. At this point Chris has begun to snore.

"What's that sound, mom?" Deacon asks.

"That's daddy snoring."

"I can't sleep in here," he says, covering his ears. Three seconds later he jumps out of bed and heads out the door.

"Good-night, mom," he says, closing the door after him.

"Good-night, kiddo."

Family Home Evening

2011-01-10T20:44:00.003-07:00

I love this picture.

Putting Deacon to Bed

2011-01-04T21:17:00.003-07:00

Step One: Tell Deacon a story about his birth. Explain that he used to be a baby, but now he is a big boy. Big boys sleep in their beds all night long.

Deacon: "I'm your baby. I'm baby Buzz Lightyear."

Step Two: Tell Deacon to close his eyes and try to sleep.

Deacon: "No. I need my pop gun."

Step Three: Remind Deacon that we do not sleep with guns.

Deacon (tearing up): "But I just need my gun."

Step Four: Sing a lullaby to Deacon.

Deacon: "Shhh, mom."

Step Five: Listen to Deacon talk to himself.

Deacon: "Where's Daddy? Maybe he's under my bed." (Rolls over and peers at crack between bed and wall.) "He's not there."

Step Six: Listen to Deacon pretend snore. Try not to giggle.

Step Seven: Sneak out of room when pretend snores turn into real snores.

Festivus: For the Rest of Us

2010-12-26T21:08:00.007-07:00

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

2010-12-14T14:20:00.003-07:00

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

2010-12-07T06:48:00.005-07:00

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

2010-12-02T19:18:00.005-07:00

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

2010-11-17T20:05:00.002-07:00

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

2010-11-12T18:49:00.002-07:00

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

2010-11-09T11:10:00.003-07:00

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

2010-10-27T14:43:00.004-06:00

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

2010-10-20T14:20:00.004-06:00

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

2010-10-13T21:16:00.004-06:00

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

2010-10-04T20:50:00.004-06:00

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

2010-09-27T21:23:00.005-06:00

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

2010-09-22T16:42:00.002-06:00

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

2010-09-19T20:39:00.002-06:00

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...

2010-09-09T20:05:00.004-06:00

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

2010-09-03T14:09:00.003-06:00

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

2010-08-24T21:16:00.009-06:00

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

2010-08-11T19:33:00.002-06:00

Back to School

2010-08-08T20:29:00.007-06:00

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

2010-08-01T22:29:00.008-06:00

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

2010-07-27T21:40:00.003-06:00

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

2010-07-18T20:48:00.004-06:00

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

2010-07-09T20:13:00.004-06:00

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

2010-07-06T22:03:00.003-06:00

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

2010-06-28T07:19:00.002-06:00

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

2010-06-13T21:53:00.002-06:00

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

2010-06-09T22:20:00.002-06:00

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

2010-06-02T14:27:00.004-06:00

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

2010-05-24T10:39:00.003-06:00

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

2010-05-17T20:47:00.004-06:00

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....

2010-05-16T06:31:00.002-06:00

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

2010-05-13T15:08:00.004-06:00

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

2010-05-10T06:59:00.003-06:00

(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

2010-05-06T15:04:00.006-06:00

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

2010-04-30T21:19:00.002-06:00

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

2010-04-24T21:33:00.004-06:00

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

2010-04-22T21:23:00.005-06:00

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

2010-04-20T21:05:00.006-06:00

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.

Honor Thy Mother

2010-04-19T10:14:00.002-06:00

This morning Deacon was yelling and screaming and trying to hit me as I attempted to change his diaper.

"Deaky," I said, "Jesus wants you to be nice to your mommy."

He looked at me, unconvinced, and then told me, "Deaky not talk to Jesus."

The Good, The Bad, and The Messy

2010-04-08T13:00:00.005-06:00

Good idea: Painting pictures for preschool.

Bad idea: Letting Deacon paint a picture, too.

Dirty Little Secret

2010-04-05T12:53:00.002-06:00

So yesterday I was using the bathroom when I looked down only to see an army of ants swarming a sticky substance. The unknown substance looked suspiciously like a piece of Pop Tart ground into the rug, but I was unsure.

A normal person would have cleaned up the ant mess. Apparently I am not normal, because I decided to leave this mess. I figured that due to the frequency of my husband's bathroom trips, I wouldn't have to wait long before he discovered the Ant Tart and dealt with it himself.

Sure enough ten minutes later the door to the bathroom closes, and I hear Chris say, "Eeeww. There's this ant-goo mess on the rug."

Now there are many things that I struggle with--basic math computation, assembling children's toys, addiction to reality TV (When will they finally eliminate Mila on Project Runway? Enough already!), but honesty is generally a strong point for me. So it kind of surprised me when I said, "Oh, really?"

I pretty much tell Chris exactly how it is. I should have said, "Yeah. I know. Your department." This is only the second time I have stretched the truth with him. The first time was back in Utah when he brought home this hideous purple-gray paint square that he wanted to paint the bathroom in. When I noticed the dog eating this paint sample, I let the dog go for it. Then when Chris asked where the paint chip was I answered, "I don't know." But I did know. It had been digested and was hiding somewhere in the backyard waiting to be scooped up. But I confessed to that, and I am confessing now. Chris, I knew about the Ant Tart. Thanks for cleaning it up. I love you.

Yold

2010-04-02T15:28:00.007-06:00

Two people in our family had birthdays this week. One of them is still young, turning only two.

And another one of them is yold. That would be yours truly, who turned....(gasp) 30. Parker told me on my birthday, "You're not young anymore, and you're not old yet. You're yold."

It made me realize that a lot can happen in a decade. When I turned 20, I was an unmarried college student who stayed up until 2 a.m. by choice, whose sole mode of transportation was tennis shoes, and who lived with a family of crazy girls (see picture) in apartments built out of cinder blocks and lead paint. Life was good.

(Sorry Jenni--don't know why you turned out so dark.)

Then in my twentieth year I met the man in this picture.

As you can see he got a hold of me. So I decided to marry him. Also he wouldn't go away.

Fast-forward ten years, 3 kids, 2 houses, and 1 insane Airedale Terrier later, and I am one yold woman. I have been up about one bazillion times at 2 a.m., never by choice, nursing babies, calming nightmares, and cleaning up vomit. I drive the standard-issue, Mormon-mom, Cheerio-encrusted minivan. I live in a 2450 square foot house, and one closet of it is mine, all-mine, where no child would dare enter, much less leave a Polly Pocket or Bakugan lying on the ground. Life is good.

Which is why I am not having a crisis about turning 30. Which is why when I went in for a check-up I mentioned to the doctor I had gained 10 pounds in a month. "Hmm...," she said. I needed much more than a "hmm" to alleviate my fear that my weight gain was caused by my aging metabolism. "Hormones can contribute to weight gain." Hallelujah! I'll take that. Medical excuse for getting fat. I will not meltdown over weight gain.

I am not having a crisis about the perma-circles under my eyes or the crow's feet at the edges. I may have bought age-defying makeup with a "magic eraser" that is supposed to erase fine lines. "What do you think?" I asked Chris after erasing my face this morning, "Do you think I still look like a youthful 29 year old?"

"Oh, yeah, you definitely look two days younger."

"Hey mom," Parker said, "now you're too old to be a contestant on American Idol."

FYI: I am not having a crisis about this.

How Deacon Eats Ice Cream

2010-03-23T18:26:00.002-06:00

TV

2010-03-20T21:30:00.004-06:00

Chris was driving home from a business trip Friday when I called him with big news.

"Husband," I said, "this may be the best day of your life."

"Why?"

"The TV died."

Chris received the news of a big ticket household item needing to be replaced much as I had anticipated--with complete elation. I may even say he was giddy as a schoolgirl.

Fast-forward a few hours later, and we found ourselves in RC Willey staring at TVs. I, being cheap, was all about buying the cheap knock-off brand made in China. Chris, however, had "standards." Finally, the decision was down to buying a Sony with 720 whatevers or a Sony with 1080 whatevers. I have no idea what those numbers stand for or mean, except that TV buying is not like golf, and the bigger number meant better TV. At one point I actually was in the weird situation of listening to Chris and the salesman having a conversation in which they were both speaking English, and yet I had no idea what they were saying. "Coaxial cable, blah, blah, blah, HDMI, video output..." But finally, Chris got back to Kodie English. "This TV is better. It costs $100 more. I want it."

"Fine."

A look of joy and disbelief spreads across Chris's face. "You mean after nine years of marriage I finally get to spend my own money?"

Happy St. Patrick's Day

2010-03-17T12:58:00.003-06:00

This morning I was getting ready when I heard Parker say, "Deacon do you want to help me make the trail? Here you go. O.k., actually you are eating the trail, and that is not helpful."

I wondered what type of edible trail, Parker was talking about, and I discovered this.

If you can't tell, this is a leprechaun trap, with a cracker trail leading into it. These crackers are supposed to entice the leprechaun into walking up the block stairs into the shoe box where another cracker waits. Then I'm not sure what's supposed to happen next, but I think the leprechaun is supposed to pull the lid shut and sit around waiting for Parker to get home from school, so he can give him a pot of gold.

I can trace the leprechaun trapping back to kindergarten. A girl in Parker's class, Sarah Allison, told Parker that she had caught a leprechaun on St. Patrick's day, and he gave her a pot of gold. Though I tried to explain to Parker that perhaps Sarah was just imagining that event, he wouldn't believe me. So every year on St. Patrick's day he's running around the house looking under couches and such for a leprechaun. But this year he told me he "really, really wants to catch a leprechaun." Consequently, he brought his leprechaun catching technique up a notch. Consequently, his mother had to stop at the grocery store today for a bag of chocolate gold coins.

Three Important Life Lessons

2010-03-12T12:33:00.002-07:00

McKay came up to me and said, "Mom, I know three things."

"O.k."

"One, daddy loves me. Two, mommy loves me. And, three..."

"Yes?"

"If two people sit on a potty together, one of them is going to fall in."

Overheard

2010-03-09T19:21:00.004-07:00

Makenna (neighbor girl): "Why is your house so fun?"

Me: "Uhhh....?"

Makenna: "I think it's because you're Mormon. You get to have family home evening. And you go to church every Sunday."

Parker: "Church isn't that fun, Makenna. You sit there for three hours. It's just like school, only you learn about Jesus."

Makenna: "Learning about God is important."

Parker: "Yeah, but let me tell you about Stake Conference. That's the worst two hours of my life."

Makenna: "When I grow up, I'm going to marry a Mormon."

Parker: "You can marry me."

Makenna: "Why would I marry you? You're my best friend. I'm just going to find a cute Mormon boy to marry."

Parker: "Am I cute?"

Makenna: "Kind of."

Disturbingly Sweet

2010-03-09T15:18:00.002-07:00

McKay to Parker: "A girl at McDonald's called me a baby."

Parker: "I will kill her."

McKay in a sugary, sweet voice: "Thank you, Parker."

I'm not sure how I should feel about this.