Wordless Wednesday

Carson Days

I think Carson would do well as a Hobbit. He's obviously the right size. And he has this uncanny ability to eat several extra meals during the day.

Here he is enjoying second breakfast after his first full bowl of oatmeal smothered in brown sugar and cinnamon. We call him our 'garburator' which, if you haven't had a chance to catch up on your study of Canadian lingo, is a garbage disposal. The only thing we've found that he genuinely doesn't like is a potato. Turns them down when they're mashed, roasted, or baked. French fry form seems to slide down super quick, though.

Makes sense to me why he eats so much. The kid never stops moving. Running, jumping, rocking, bouncing, always, always, always.
I laughed when I uploaded this photo from our Disney World trip last October (which I'm so sad I never got around to blogging about because it was seriously one of the greatest vacations ever. If you're planning a Disney World trip, go in the beginning of October and definitely hit the Halloween Party... no lines, free candy, costumes... need I say more?). I was sifting through the pictures fast, deleting all that didn't catch my eye, and this one almost ended up in the garbage before I noticed how perfectly it captured Carson. Another day he was rocking so much while we were watching the previews before Tarzan that I brought the little trampoline up and put it in front of the TV for him. He jumped the entire 88 minutes.

He does slow down sometimes, though. We watched this little cutie for a few days and he sat still long enough to feed her half the bottle before he decided he'd rather be running outside.
He's got a sweet heart of gold, this one.

And take a look at him polishing up his domestic skills.
He burned himself just seconds after this photo was snapped (his mother, distracted behind the lens of her camera, had nothing to do with that). All he said as he shook his hand down by his side was, "Whoa. That really is hot." He declined a bag of ice or a cold rag and decided that he was done ironing for the day. A few minutes after he had gone to play with something else he came back into the room where I was finishing the ironing and said, "Actually, maybe I do want an ice cube." Poor bud. He was brave, though. If it were me, I would have cried.

Sous Chef

Let me tell you how awesome my Saturday nights have become... Well... first of all, it's breakfast night, so it's already going to be awesome. But second of all, I have relinquished control over the kitchen to my 8-year-old who happily prepares dinner for the entire family and leaves me free to sit around eating bonbons with my feet propped up! (PS - I don't actually know what a bonbon is...) She measures and sifts and pours and flips entirely by herself. It's pretty cute to see her climb up on the counter to find all the ingredients.

Three weeks ago, I set her loose on making some chocolate 'waffle' cookies. A new recipe. She was thrilled with the freedom. The Kitchen Aid whizzed and soon she had a chocolaty, sticky dough(ish) substance that was to be ladled into the waffle maker. I was suspicious as the dough globbed onto the hot iron, but I smiled and cooked it anyway. When they wouldn't come OUT of the waffle maker, however, I asked a gentle question. "Are you sure you put enough flour in this?"
"Flour?" she asked. "The recipe didn't call for any flour." An inspection of the recipe showed that it did, indeed call for flour. 4 cups of it. We laughed.

But so far our pancakes have all been edible. Last week they were a little chewy...not sure what happened there... but I think it would take an awful lot to mess up a pancake to the point of 'gross'. (Unless you start with Krusteaz - - - I haven't quite figured out how to ungross those. (I know, I know...you probably love them.))

Way to be awesome, Kenz!

Almost Wordless Wednesday

(Picture taken in Thailand. Not by me... I stole it from my mom's phone.)

How could I say no?

I don't like messes. In fact, my kids know this so well that they often phrase their requests as, "Mom, can I fill-in-the-blank if I promise to clean it up afterwards?'. Smarties. Just before dinner a few nights ago, I realized I had been in an especially cranky mood for the better part of the afternoon and, in an effort to restart, said, "I'm feeling kind of cranky today, kids. Can you tell?" All three of them fixed their eyes on me and stared in an uncomfortable silence. Finally, McKenzie worked up enough courage to give a slight... oh so slight... nod. "I'm sorry," I continued. "I'll try to do better from now until bed, okay?" Carson smiled shyly and let out a breath of relief and McKenzie jumped up and wrapped her little arms around my neck in her most sincere form of forgiveness. She quietly started putting her backpack, shoes, coat, homework papers, miscellaneous rocks that had come home from school, and books back in their proper places. Carson caught her drift and started picking up his own totebag, coat and shoes. Once they were finished I took a deep breath and felt much, much better. I then realized that McKenzie had diagnosed my problem before I had analyzed it myself... the house had looked like it had vomited after-school debris all over, and that is quite enough to put me in a cranky mood.


I try to be the fun mom every once in a while. Sometimes I'll think it might be fun to pull out the Play Doh... and then I remember that we don't have any Play Doh because the last time we got it out it ended up all over everything and I cleaned it all up right into the garbage can. The paints are all dried out, and the tape and glue are all gone... the handle is snapped off of my good scissors because it was used to cut a thick cardboard box into a doll-bed, and our markers are all lid-less. So I guess I'm not the fun mom after all...


We do make messes sometimes... I like to have my kids help cook in the kitchen as long as we have a clean slate to begin with. And we actually had a marshmallow fight the other night. Sometimes I'll unfold all of the blankets to make a fort. And sometimes I let them eat popcorn in front of the TV.


But usually, I don't.





Usually, I like things to be clean.



And neat.


And in order.

Scrambled Thoughts II

1. I'm a terrible wife.

I cut this little heart out of scrapbooking paper, rolled a piece of tape for the back and slapped it on the mirror the night before Valentines Day. I smiled to myself, half awake, when I heard Brian discover it the next morning. He laughed and rummaged around in the drawers for something to check his answer with before he ran out the door for work... I'm pretty sure he used my eyeliner. I drifted back to sleep and woke a half an hour later to start getting the kids ready for school. We prayed, dressed and did our chores before we sauntered into the kitchen for breakfast.


The lights were low, and the island was topped with this candy bouquet that he made... I'm saying he bought a styrofoam ball, folks. And wooden skewers. And little pink hearts. In addition to all of my favorite candy bars. It still makes me smile to think of him working with the tissue paper... and let's not let the paper underneath the vase go unnoticed, either. From my wonderful, Details Aren't Important husband, this spoke volumes of love. (You may have noticed the few empty skewers... I couldn't help it... they were my favorites.)

The kids had character balloons and small boxes of chocolate on their stools, too, and you can imagine the delight.

Little heart stuck on the mirror? Lame.

2. Do you see it?


Do you see it? I missed the focus a bit, but DO. YOU. SEE. IT?! My first reaction was one of shock and a bit of appall. This is a rude, rude welcome into turning 30 next month, I thought. The saddest thing was that this was not actually the first one I spotted. I found one a few weeks ago and decided the best thing to do was to pluck it out and ignore that it even happened. McKenzie saw me pull it however, so she was in on the secret. When she saw me staring at this beauty in the mirror she said, "Oh! Is that a gray one?"
"Yesssssss......" I admitted
"You had one of those before."
Thanks, Kenz.
I took about 15 pictures trying to get my head and my face in the picture at the same time, but my frame was just too tight, my arm was just too short, and I was just too lazy to go get the tri-pod or to change my lens, so it never happened.


An interesting thing happened while I was sifting through the pictures, however. I stumbled upon this one above and realized that, while I thought this face was portraying what I was feeling inside (and it did at that moment) I actually don't feel this way. I made a bit of peace with that little gray hair sprawling out like it owned the place. I kind of love it, actually. I wish I would have made peace with it before I plucked it out...

Next one I see, I just might let stay.

3. We have a problem.

(Source - I'm too lazy to go take my own picture today. ... I can't help but notice how beautiful those wisps of silver hair are in his tail...)

We have a squirrel problem. It's called: they're in our attic.

I'm a little indifferent to the whole situation. I'm a bit fond of the little rodents scampering across the power lines and chasing each other around in the trees. I'm willing to share my space with them. I've learned to be accepting of the ants that come around ever summer... why not let in the squirrels, too? Yes, I know they can cause damage, but they don't seem to be. We've gone up periodically to check on the state of things (and by 'we' I, of course, mean Brian... I enjoy watching the squirrels from a far, but the thought of being accidentally trapped in the same attic with one is a bit terrifying to me). We've never been able to figure out how they're getting in... but everything seems to be in order. They're getting more comfortable up there, however, and we're hearing them more often than we used to.

It's getting unacceptable for Brian and he's made it his personal mission to eliminate the problem. So he took a full Saturday and organized his own little stake out. He and Carson snapped on their head lights and spent the whole afternoon sitting up there waiting for an unsuspecting squirrel to divulge his secret entrance. Success.

He spent the next week patching the hole and re-patching the hole with stronger material and re-re-patching the hole with even stronger material. Each time we'd eventually hear sawing sounds (no idea) and crashing sounds as they'd break their way through. Seems these squirrels are not easily deterred. Three days of this, and Brian was slowly losing his mind. Out of sheer desperation, he took to screaming and running at the squirrels like an outraged gorilla every time he saw them crawling across the power lines to our roof... He'd beat the underside of the roof with a broom in an effort to 'frighten' the squirrels into never coming back... He kept the ladder close to the attic entrance and flew up there whenever he heard scuffling above... He finally took a few old blankets up there and shoved them in the hole, tightly, and we haven't heard them since. I think they're probably using the blankets as soft nesting material, but Brian thinks the problem is temporarily cured and seems to be secretly hoping they'll feel the hostility in the air and choose somewhere else to go. We shall see.

One day during the height of it all, I came home and saw this little ball of insulation sitting on our back doorstep:

When Brian came home from work, he did not take it well.

"Linds!" He said storming in the house. "Linds! Did you see what they left on our steps?! It's a death threat!"

He may not survive this.

My Dear McKenzie,

I say it every year, and every year I mean it: I think this phase that you're going through is my favorite. Early on it was simple to understand why I loved each phase: the fire and excitement of reaching new milestones was continually being stoked and, because you're my oldest, each new milestone you reached was also a new milestone for me. A simple smile... your first giggle... crawling... walking... talking... joking... reading... thinking... how fun it's all been! Things have changed quite a bit over the past couple of years, though. 'Milestones' have become less of a topic and 'phases' seem to be taking their place. A happy phase here... a challenging phase there... a sweet phase... a helpful phase... an independent phase. My challenge has been to figure out when a new phase is beginning and to then work around it.


As we work these phases out together, I've felt the powers of my guidance over you slowly softening... your ears are starting to distinguish opinions from facts, and you recognize that a 'no' answer from me might be changeable if you present the right argument. (Carson is actually a master at this and I think you're learning from him.) I love this. I love to hear you develop your own compromises. I forget that I love it sometimes... I can get frustrated when you keep coming back with the seemingly same request... but I'm trying to remember to be patient.


I love that you're starting to recognize your talents now and are starting to settle into many of them. You love to read... at the breakfast table, as you're doing your chores, after you've been tucked into bed, as you're walking home from the bus... I'm surprised you haven't tried reading in the shower. (Please don't try reading in the shower.) When you're helpful, you're so helpful, and when you're loving, you're so loving. You are frequently trying to foster the love between your brothers and yourself. You rally your brothers around you and try to make cleaning the playroom fun for them. You remember your chores every morning without a prompt and hardly ever cut corners (even when your nose is buried in your book.) You are fun to talk to and discuss things with. You're fun to joke with, you're fun to be with. Yes, this part of your life is a favorite of mine. I enjoy, so much, watching you discover who you are.


Mood swings have made an appearance, however, and it's been interesting to watch you battle them... slamming doors, stomping feet, tearful outbursts, teasing behaviors and hurtful words have recently increased the color in our home and have given us something interesting to work with, but it's absolutely priceless when I watch you try to work it out in yourself. I've been told by the pediatritian that the hormones start at around age 8. We're seeing them...


One morning you woke up crabby. You went along the morning with a scowl on your face and couldn't help but menacingly tease anyone that happened to cross your path. There were lots of tears from all three of you, and we could trace the tears, almost exclusively, back to you. You were eventually sent to your room with the task to read for a while until you felt like you were happy enough to join the rest of the family. You came out a half an hour later and it was unclear from your facial expression whether or not your mood had changed, but we welcomed you back into the family life with happy smiles and open arms. Soon, you were helping me unload the dishwasher, and then skipped downstairs to help the boys clean the playroom. I heard laughter and happiness while you were down there and once it was clean you skipped back up the stairs and said, "What else can I do to help, Mom?" Before I could check myself, my shocked response came flying out of my mouth.
"Really?"
You smiled. "Yeah. I guess I've turned back into my helpful side."
"How did you do it?"
"I don't know. But I'm gonna try to do it again next time I'm on my angry side."
See? I love this. I get it... I so get it.

Your birthday this year will probably dance around in my memory forever. You were so beautiful. You stood proud and tall in your beautiful white dress... but I think the greatest beauty came shining through your eyes. Such happy eyes.

You were thrilled with your gifts this year,

and that made me happy. The scriptures have been used nightly, and we've had such fun with the recipe box filled with recipes you can make yourself:


I see lots of cooking in our future.

I love you, Kenz! Thanks for making my life so completely wonderful.

Love,
Mom