Pigs and Spinach

This will be short. I promise. Just thought I might include a peek into our zoo experience and a clever piece of advice.

Zoo. Warrick is not so much interested in the animals as he is in the golf carts of the landscapers, other people's strollers and the disabled motorized scooters you can rent from the zoo. A chimp even tried to kiss him through the glass and he still was more enthralled with wheeled vehicles. I thought he was going to steal away in a golf cart while it's driver was bent over in weeds just in front of it. That probably wouldn't constitute "stealing" away, as I'm sure he would have bumped her onto her noggin and then drove over her. She would have been quite aware of the encounter.

We did, however, get to see some large pigs doing it. Yes, they were having sex in the middle of the day for all of our sweet children to see. I could barely stop laughing and staring. I'm not a freaky sex addict, just thought it was interesting and am glad I, nor my husband have hooves. That's all. Warrick was staring too, by the way, and I just kept saying "he's learning to dance, Sonny!"

Okay . . . Clever bit of advice about spinach: My son doesn't really enjoy bananas or blueberries plain. Odd, because they tend to be the feed-your-kid-this-since-he-won't-eat-squash foods. Anyway, you can make an incredible smoothie with milk, old-fashioned oats, a frozen banana, a half cup(ish) of frozen blueberries and a grab of spinach. Very yummy. I have had this every morning (nearly) for the last year and am not sick of it. Two power foods, grains, protein (I use soy milk because cow's milk rips me up).

**** Do not freeze bananas with the peel still on unless you are looking for more reasons to be angry. It will take you half the morning to peel it. $20 bucks you'll give up and throw it away first.

Also, if you want some healthy "ice cream", a frozen banana with some peanut butter and chocolate syrup and a bit of milk will make your kids oh so happy. And healthy.

AND, our food processor trumps a blender every day of the week. We ruined 3 blenders in 3 years and have resorted to gma Myrtle's food processor that Brett rescued from her abandoned home. Works like a champ when you wrap a towel around the top. You don't have to . . . but you'll get sprayed if you don't.

theolson4

This makes me crazy. I change our name to reflect the number of people in our family and then it takes away all my friends. I don't have any links to their blogs anymore and of course, like phone numbers and addresses, I don't have any one of them memorized, except my sister's website. Maddening.

The brunt of motherhood with small children has made me a bit crazy today. I understand now why my mother never used to close the door of the bathroom when she was in it, why she didn't buy new clothes or shoes for herself hardly ever, why she didn't linger in the shower and why she made do with lipstick that required a q-tip to extract the remains. I'm certainly not saying my mother is crazy, although she would say that 3 children in 2.5 years made her crazy for a while. You read that corrrectly. 14.5 months between me and my sister and 16 months between her and my brother. That's a lot. 3 babies. She prayed through tears that I would understand peeing on the potty because she thought 3 kids in diapers would push her over the edge. God had mercy and heard her prayer and I'm potty trained to this very day. But seriously, she did so many of these things and countless more, so she could buy new shoes for us, or fun new hair things or give us richer experiences. Sacrifice here, sacrifice there. All for her kids. AND, she didn't really have time to give herself a second thought.

Anyway, I resorted to kicking wheeled vehicles today and throwing things that ought not be thrown down the basement stairs just because an obstacle course for a house had made me angry as hell. Ironically, it was after church. I'm always crazier after church these days. And when it's hot.

On that note, I understand better why many mothers cut their hair. In fact, it surprises me that I haven't cut my hair short yet. My hairdresser, Jo, still tells me every time that I'm in her top three thickest haired clients. I feel like I'm wearing winter hat and scarf in this crazy weather. Stress levels escalate exponentially when my hair is down because it gets caught on stuff or grabbed or blinds me and then I step on another Thomas and friends rail car or knock over my son.

And yet another thing . . . I'm not trying to be vain when I say this, but I've always been in pretty good physical shape. Always loved sports and being competitive and always feel much better when I'm fit as a fiddle - I guess that goes without saying. Whatever . . . . I started running a few weeks ago and was in sheer celebration that I could move again. Run again. After Warrick was born, I was unable to run until he was 10 months old because of a pelvic injury. My generous God spared me from the same injury with the birth of my daughter and I am thrilled to be moving fairly well. Until 2 weeks ago when my knees started giving me crazy trouble. Brought my running to a halt. So, I thought I might try some new avenues to curb my discouragement and to keep progressing back into shape. Take some classes, I thought. "body design." Check.... Sheesh, can't lift the same weight I used to be able to. "Turbo Kick" hmmmm, sounds like a video game. You wouldn't believe how uncoordinated I felt and looked. This is true . . . at one point, I was actually facing the back of the room while all the other matching outfit, tight black pants petite girls were hopping in time and facing the front. It felt like an overly dramatized stupid comedy scene in a dumb movie. Weird also, because I actually used to have the reputation for kind of being able to dance. At weddings, people used to rely on me to get things going. I guess that doesn't necessarily mean you have rhythm, it might just mean you're willing to put yourself out there. AND, I've never thought of myself as a big person, but I definitely was bigger than most of the cheerleading squad at the video game. Check. Will not take Turbo Kick again. Good bye days of being star pupil in physical activities.

Hello motherhood.
Hello unmeasurable accomplishments
Hello rewriting identity
Hello messy house
Hello sacrifice
Hello crazy.

Apologies to any who were not looking for a vent session.

One quick question . . . is it unacceptable to tape a pacifier to your child's face so she will stay asleep? I understand why you wouldn't tie it on, but what about tape?

My sister and me

Warrick 22 months, Vera 2 months

What happens between decent pictures

He thinks this is funny!

"you just throw yourself over the edge and then start running, Whit . . . . like this!"

Emmie, Izzy, Whitley Woo, Harri, Lincoln, Raegan, Warrick and Vera

Feeding the exotic carp with food uncle Kev bought me

First time on a boat!

Faster Grandpa!

Where exactly would you like to go?

I like Uncle Kev, it's just that this suit is too tight

Regardless, aren't I the cutest?

a peaceful and premature smile before the tackle

"cool dudes" with bedhead

A visit from Aunt Lisa, and cousins Tyler and Casey

Warrick's to do.

I have found myself laughing quite often this week, and sometimes nearly crying.


Warrick's to-do list, week of August 9th, 2010


1. Escape. This morning when Brett left for work (incidentally when a few other neighbors were also leaving for work and had the privilege to witness) Warrick wriggled out the front door. Barefoot. Pajamas. "Focus face". Devilishly quick rounded the corner at the end of our walk and bee-lined for the park. Of course. If I ever lose him and suspect he's let himself outside, I think I will find him en route. I made my way as fast as I could, but with a swaddled small child in arms, fast is definitely relative. I barely caught him at the corner (5 houses away). As soon as I grabbed his arm, he collapsed onto the sidewalk. "lay down". Well . . . . if you think that is a good idea. I look away and he quickly gets up to attempt his escape again. I grab his arm. He falls down this time into someone's yard. I notice the Canadian geese are making their way towards us. A slow motion stampede, if you will. Hear a door slam and turn around to wave good morning to the neighbor whose yard Warrick is now lying in. She chuckles and waves. It's not the first time she's seen this happen, I presume. "HUG!" and with outstretched arms he moves into the flock to see if anygoose . . . . anygoose, will finally return his generous offer for a hug. (He does this all the time) So far, no takers. Attempt escape again. While holding small child, I box him out this way, now that way, closing all routes. He falls down again onto the sidewalk, "lie down!". Yep, whatever . . . I just washed those pajamas . . . . the ones that have a dr.'s white coat, stethescope, band-aids, etc... screen printed on them. I hear a truck slow down behind me. Turn to see driver craning his neck at us. Probably wondering if we are okay. Small child down in the sidewalk at early hour of day. I smile. We're fine. Just trying to catch a fugitive, herd a toddler home without using my arms. . . . you know . . .


2. Overflow bathroom sink. Unfortunately, this is also not the first time. Thank you Aunt Dalene for the very sturdy stool that gets so many uses every day.


3. Steal. Snatch my sister's pacifier and then run off and hide and get as many sucks as possible before mama or dad retrieves it. Do it every day. Focus face. Focus face.


4. Mark self with tattoo. All over my legs. With a pen. On the way to the store. While mom and dad chat in the front seat of car.


5. Conserve energy. Take advantage of sister's full bathtub that was left on kitchen floor. Do not waste energy taking off clothes or shoes. Disregard size discrepancy. Splash water onto floor so mama doesn't have to mop later.

6. Eat locust. While on a walk, he picks one up . . . not the shell, mind you . . . puts it in his mouth and says, "Special treat!" Gross. We give him a special treat when he poops in the toilet, but never have we given him anything to eat resembling a locust.

7. Go streaking. Mid diaper change, mid crying outrage from Vera, mid dad-gets-home-but-is-on-phone, Warrick presses his full little naked self up against the glass of the storm door to welcome his dad and then makes another escape attempt while all our hands are full. Several circles in the front yard and then falling down in the grass to illustrate his defiance.

8. Go on strike. "I am not leaving the YMCA, not even after touching and discussing everything seen, I will sit here on the blazing pavement in front of all 8 doors so all who enter can see that I, and not my sweaty mother carrying too many things, not my crying sister who squints into the hot sun, am in charge of our schedule and location." Three "gentlemen" in suits coming in for a lunch-time workout laugh, "He's on strike." No kidding. Thanks for the sympathy. Good thing I thought it was mildly funny that day and so didn't bite them for not helping in any form or fashion.

9. Flood bathroom without overflowing sink. Pull shower curtain out while dad takes shower so water goes onto floor. Play in it. Don't tell mom.

10. Hit sister. Apologize and hug her fiercely and then do it again. Every day.*

11. Remove floor vent in room and throw toy down two stories to basement. **

12. Tackle all second cousins unless they fall into "infant" category and are not immediate family. That would be six other little people under 2 1/2.*


*Some individuals were, in fact, hurt in this endeavor but have since recovered.
**The duct under Warrick's floor vent is thankfully too narrow for him to fit in. The windmill has not be recovered and won't be.

wake-up

So . . . A few things have caught my attention lately. Made me pause for reflection. It will probably be obvious why.

First, Warrick really does provide a running commentary on all things he sees and that float through his sweet little head. I've mentioned before his "bye-bye" routine as he leaves one location for another.

We were leaving church yesterday and he saw his friends Max and Lincoln and older sister Lilly - or, according to Warrick, "Max and other Max". He wanted to walk them in and hold hands, because, of course, that's what you do in parking lots. Here was his mantra as we left them at the sidewalk, "bye-bye Max . . . bye-bye friends . . . bye-bye park (the church has one) . . . bye-bye church . . . (long pause) wake-up baby . . . wake-up church . . . wake-up church . . . wake-up church . . . wake-up church!"

So interesting, these profound things that children say. I took it to heart.

Secondly, I've noticed lately a bit of a tendency to hold tightly to my own agenda - even if it is simply the agenda of taking the shortest route between A and B.

Instance one: Get from door of YMCA to inside of car.

What sometimes goes through my head as we leave. "Don't pound on the door of gym where basketball is played, don't step on the ropes at the rock wall, don't spin the bronze statue of the dog, don't push the disabled door opening button multiple times, Don't stop to touch bike, don't walk on the ledge, don't throw rocks, don't stare at waterpark or swing from step rail, don't touch every car we pass or gawk at motorcycle, and for heaven's sake - don't hit the kid we pass as we're trying to get out the door with all our gear, and please don't muscle me to let you sit in the driver's seat." All the while I listen to the enthusiastic running commentary. "Basketball! Hole! Dog! I push button! Bike! I got you! Rock! Car! Michael! (Motorcycle . . . . duh), I drive!!!" Toddler's circuit training, if you will.

(By the way, this would be far more amusing if you knew my son and realized that this is what happens every single time - in that order and at high volume. I honestly do enjoy his curiosity most of the time. However, when I'm also carrying two bags and a carseat complete with small child, on some days, it's a little laborious. Regardless, I simply do not have the energy to set up a gazillion boundaries or rules simply to cater to my preferences. And I absolutely do not have the energy to bludgeon every one else in my care with "don't do this, don't do that". While teaching, I found that more rules with me as the enforcer only exposed my inability to be consistent and left me exhausted. Quite honestly, I sometimes couldn't remember the rules I made. So, I usually just keep my mouth shut.)

We do have rules, by the way. Like . . . don't throw trains into the baby's bed while she's sleeping, or not sleeping, or how about never throw anything into her bed. Period. And don't throw forks or spoons or food. Especially not at your great grandparents in restaurants. Praise God his aim isn't incredibly precise yet, and Praise God your great grandpa William wears thick glasses.

And instance Two: While driving home from the YMCA on the same day, I approached the round-a-bout near the park only to yield to an unusually slow moving vehicle. Initially I thought something might be wrong, especially as I watched it lumber around, nearly edging curbs on both sides, and then exit the round-a-bout right back onto the road from which it came. Unfortunately, this road was also mine and so I do what every intelligent driver does when you are following someone who is driving too slow. I got as close as I could without being a complete idiot and slid myself over the center line so when the driver looked into their side mirror, they would see, "OKAY! I'm going, I'm going . . . . ."

And then I notice the sign. STUDENT DRIVER. I inch back. Give him some grace. I think to myself, "He's just learning, no big deal. You're not even in a hurry" But wow . . . . for the sake of everyone else on the road, I hope this kid fails. I was astonished to see how difficult it was for this poor child to stay between two generously wide lines on the ground. Had he never driven anything before? Are you dodging any Canadian geese, sweetheart? NOPE. I shouldn't say dodging . . . there must be a different word for it when you are moving so slow. Check spedometer. 10.

Truly. 10. We were not in a parking lot, a school zone or on precarious terrain. 10. I can and have run that fast. I don't think it even required my pushing the accelerator to maintain the same speed.

But why was it so annoying to me? And, for the record, it annoys me when people drive the speed limit on this particular road. 25. Also, not a very fast number. Anyway - Yes, I can be a real jerk sometimes. Breathe deeply. Why am I in such a hurry? Both of my children are peacefully sleeping in the backseat. I have nowhere to be anytime soon.

So I'm reminded. SLOW DOWN. Pay attention. Linger. ENJOY the uniqueness of these moments, these curiosities, this silly slow driver. (but really - maybe stick to bikes for a while, kiddo)

Dear Vera

I know that often times the second child gets a pretty raw deal. You have to cry a little longer to get me to come after you. You learn to take hits and pushes, defend yourself against flying objects so much younger. Your naps are more often interrupted and you get dropped off here and there so much earlier.

But, I wanted you to hear it from me now, before you get older and these early sentiments get blurry in my mind.

I love who you are already. I ENJOY you. I am eager to know you more and more as you grow, but I enjoy you just as you are now. I love that when you wake up at night, you don't see any real reason to cry loudly about it. You just let me know you're up. Last night, even, you just wanted to hear your own voice for a bit. I treasure your sweet little noises and love chatting with you. I love your pretty blue eyes and your feminine nose. I love how God has put you together and I am excited to watch your personality unfold. I love holding you and feeling your fuzzy little head under my chin.

I know there will be many days that I will most certainly NOT be your favorite person in the world. I anticipate you will find me annoying and difficult and think my boundaries and logic for you are anciently ridiculous. (Even though, I pray your spirit will see the truth . . . even when I don't. God help me be humble enough to hear it from you.) But I want you to always be absolutely convinced that I love you.

We were chatting just yesterday and I called you "little sister" as I often do. For whatever reason, it pierced me as the reality. You are mine, but not really. I am another woman, searching to understand and believe God - to have confidence in the way He has made me. I know you will be the same. I'm certain you will look for God in different ways and will wrestle with different insecurities, but really, I'm just walking a few steps ahead of you. You are His.

I hope and pray, as you fall in step, that I am travelling in the purest, most beautiful, painfully truthful path and that following me . . . looking to me as an example of what a woman is . . . will be a good idea for you.