To Remember

Jack says the following phrases all the time. Jeff and I spend most of our time together laughing about it.

"Everytimes" (Sounds like evee-times)

We have this conversation at least 10 times a day:

"I got poop in my pants," (not really poop, just thinks anything that comes out down there must be poop) "Oh, mom, I fahts evee-times, yes, I poops evee-times, yeah."

In the morning:

"Evee-times I wake up and eats bheckast (breakfast) and watch Dinosaur twain."

"I just gwowing bigga and bigga," "After I eat fhee mo times, I will get bigga and bigga."

"We can't touch Bub cause he is a wild cat and he will scratch me, but not Ernie he is our friend."

"Oh, you is cwazy!"
"Now we are all together. Mom, Dad, Lola, Jack-boy, Dad, Lolo, Mom, Jack-boy, Lolo, Dad...."

If you tell him that his name is Jack he will scream, "No, I not! I Jack-boy!"

Oh, and I don't want to forget how nervous Lachlan was at the aquarium because she thought all of the fish were going to get stuck in the giant black filters "just like Nemo did" (actually screamed that)! Every time we see a fish tank she has to check to see if any fish are stuck in the filtration system.

Amen and Amen

What I really wanted to post today was the pictures and video that I have been accumulating--BUT, I couldn't get what I wanted off the home computer this morning before having a temper tantrum so I just decided to get to work on time instead.

Lucky for you, the NYTimes has offered up an article that addresses something that is fast becoming a peeving point. Snacks. Can I have a snack??

Snack Time Never Ends

By JENNIFER STEINHAUER

OF the many horrors that lurk in the e-mail in-box of a working parent — dental reminders, Facebook invitations involving some weird farm, “thoughts” from the boss — nothing quite rivals the snack request .Not a month goes by without someone somewhere asking me to serve up some snack for an event that one of my children will attend and that, generally speaking, will not last more than 90 minutes.

During a single week in December, I was pinged with requests to bring a little food for one play rehearsal, three religious-school events, a school administrative meeting, two soccer games and two multicultural festivals. (O.K., so multicultural day is one of my favorite events of the school year. Step away from the Sichuan dumplings, kids, Hannah’s mom is moving in! Still.)

The obligations to bring a little something to eat extend to the adult world, too — I’ve baked for PTA meetings and child-rearing seminars that I didn’t even attend. But when it comes to American boys and girls, snacks seem both mandatory and constant. Apparently, we have collectively decided as a culture that it is impossible for children to take part in any activity without simultaneously shoving something into their pie holes. “Children used to come home, change into play clothes and go outside and play with other children,” said Joanne Ikeda, a nutritionist emeritus at the University of California, Berkeley. “There were not snack machines, and the gas stations only sold gas. Now there are just so many more opportunities to snack and so many activities after school to have snacks.”

Between 1977 and 2002, the percent of the American population eating three or more snacks a day increased to 42 percent from 11 percent, according to a large study of American nutritional habits conducted by the Agriculture Department with the Department of Health and Human Services. Further, researchers found, the percent of children surveyed who said they had eaten three meals on the previous day went down, while those who had had a snack went up more than 40 percent.

“None of this trend has reversed,” said Rhonda Sebastian, a nutritionist with the Agricultural Research Service, the unit of the Agriculture Department that participated in the survey. (The data for 2008 exists but the snacking component has not yet been analyzed.) “Food is everywhere now. It is part of everything.” I began to wonder how other parents see all this extracurricular eating, so I asked around a bit. Apparently, I am not the only one being driven crazy.

“It has all just gotten out of hand,” said Sean O’Neill, an illustrator and father of two in Chicago. Mr. O’Neill wonders why snacks must be served at every sporting event, even those taking place at 10 a.m. or an hour before lunch. “The kids are playing baseball, they are covered in Chicago Park District dirt and then they eat a handful of fruit bites,” he said. “It’s pretty disgusting.” Some of the moms I see around the school corridors and the soccer field told me they felt backed into a corner by the omnipresence of snacks.

Once a week, Vivian Zachary’s 6-year-old son, Joel, goes dashing for the vending machine at the gym after his gymnastics class ends at 5 p.m. “Last week it was a Fruit Roll-Up and a can of 7Up,” Ms. Zachary wrote in an e-mail message. “I’m not sure why I let this go on, and I often think that if I were a better parent, or at least more able to tolerate incessant complaining, I would let him buy the snacks but not actually consume them until after dinner. But I have already established the pattern (the ‘rule’ in Joel’s mind), so there’s no going back now.”

The spread of snacking has been abetted by parental guilt, the much-lamented death of the family dinner, over-scheduled children. Kara Nielsen, a “trendologist” at the Center for Culinary Development, a brand development company in San Francisco, cites the proliferation of activities, from soccer to chess club to tutoring sessions, that now fill children’s afternoons. “You’ve got this desire for parents to control their kid’s diet,” Ms. Nielsen added, “and add this with this increase in activities, so it has become up to the parents to provide the snacks. And the marketers have picked up on this.”

Indeed, this nation consumed $68.1 billion in packaged snack foods in 2008, up from $60 billion in 2004, according to Packaged Facts, a consumer research group. One of the newest concepts — and among the best sellers, Ms. Nielsen said — are 100-calorie packs of cookies and other junk foods. They are targeted at parents, who are always looking for something to toss into the backpack for after-school time. Fast-food restaurants are in on the act, and over the last two years have begun to introduce their own mini-meals, like the McDonald’s Snack Wrap. According to the Agriculture Department, American children get 40 percent of their calories from food of poor nutritional quality.

What is especially baffling where I live, in Los Angeles, is how often the kind of parental paranoia that obsesses about school ratings, vaccines and myriad imagined plagues is matched by utter disregard for the nutritional downsides of mowing down Fruit by the Foot every afternoon at 4. Rarely do I see a parent show up on the soccer field with a homemade snack, or even a bag of carrots. Oreos are the post-game snack of choice, even in sports leagues dominated by upper-income parents. “There is definitely a big disconnect,” said Dr. Howard Taras, a pediatrics professor at the University of California, San Diego, who specializes in community and school health policies. “I think there is this natural tendency among parents to not want their child to go hungry. It is more difficult for them to think about the long-term outlook for the child.”

Ellyn Satter, a dietitian and family therapist, thinks there is little point in worrying too much about what children are eating — unless it is “pure sugar,” like juice, she said — or how much, because children self-regulate portions. The key, she said, is to end grazing. “The parents’ job is to do the what, when and where of feeding,” she said, “and it is up to the children to do the how much and whether of eating. In order to have successful family meals, you have to structure the snacks.”

Carolynne Dyner sees the purpose of snacks for her children, Quinn, who is 7, and Sadie, 5, through a fairly simple prism. “To stave off tantrums, of course,” she said. From their days caring for infants, she said, parents are conditioned to be prepared for a sudden attack of hunger. And so she keeps her car and purse amply packed with pretzels, baggies of Cinnamon Life cereal, Goldfish crackers and Clif bars. For her children, little bites between meals have in some ways supplanted the meals themselves. “They usually need a snack midmorning and midafternoon,” explained Ms. Dyner, who lives in Beverly Hills, Calif. “There may be a third snack, and this is usually due to the fact that our kids didn’t care much for what we provided for dinner, so now it is 7:30 and they are hungry. At this point we may give them a yogurt.”

Parents who give in too many times may find that snacks are the culinary equivalent of letting your 2-year-old sleep in your bed. “People get themselves into these habits, which they later regret tremendously,” said Ms. Ikeda, the nutritionist. “We do, as parents, make mistakes and then we either have to live with them or suffer the consequences in fixing them. It gets exhausting saying ‘no’ all the time.” On the other hand, saying ‘yes’ can be tiring, too. I am happy to serve on any refreshment committee there is. I like to bake, and am far more efficient at that than at any other classroom obligation. Just ask the parent liaison for my younger child’s classroom, whose response to my failure to properly manage a canned goods drive was only slightly less frosty than that of a rogue nation asked to cease nuclear development.

But a person can’t just bake whole-wheat banana bread and call it a day. Here was the memo I received concerning my recent snack obligation for a play practice. “Please note, we have the following allergies in mini players: Peanuts, cashews, nuts, wheat, dairy, strawberries, milk, egg whites.” Food allergies are a real problem. But did no one ponder the idea that perhaps the solution is for children to bring their own snacks?

Or to eat no snacks at all?

Am I as guilty as the next parent? Yes. But nearly every time I give in I wonder what kind of lifetime precedent I am setting into place. And the part that really bothers me is that when I pick Lachlan up from school I always ask "what she learned at preschool" and she will always answer, "um, I don't know, but I got a gummi bear for working hard."

And it makes my blood boil because I wonder why I nearly kill myself to get her to school when she can't recall anything other than what she got as a treat or a snack--aauugghh!!!! (I am screaming like a muppet here, you know, with my mouth open, head cranked back, swaying back and forth.)

Last week after Primary/church neither she nor Jack could tell me anything about what songs they sang, lessons they learned or friends they made, but they both rattled off a list of treats they got for snack time, being good, and (wait for it) working hard. Seriously, taking a Zanex...now. Working hard? What were they laying some sod for the new pavilion? Learning the moves to Beyonce's Single-Ladies dance?

The thing for me is that I already KNOW that this generation of kids thinks that they are owed something by society--just for breathing air. Case in point: Students who ask "what they will get" for reading the recommended reading books. "What you will get" is knowledge, gain a greater perspective of society and the issues that affect a global population--um, yeah, but what will you "give me" if I read them.

Where does it start?

Snacks.

Rewards.

When I was a kid I once drove my sister, a dog and an old 4-wheeler to the middle of a bog (otherwise known in our family as, "the Wallers"). We were sent there on MY BIRTHDAY to fix the fence. We waded in mud up to our ankles, pushed the 4-wheeler out of quick sand twice and survived on a box of crackers approximately a decade old--

Reward?

Yeah, sometimes the best rewards are the memories we have that we did a damn good job--that and I have a six-inch scar on my arm from slipping in the mud while carrying a roll of barbed wire.

Poison Control

IF your kid happens to eat your thyroid medication...

just go ahead and go to choir cause it's really not a big deal.

Spiritual Lightening

I read this book this weekend. There are parts of my soul that have been waiting a long time for these words. I sobbed aloud--for entire chapters--simply because it felt like I could have written the words.

For me, the most spiritually difficult times are when things should be running smoothly. My family is healthy; my husband loves me; I have amazing friends; good job; enough money...and yet, there is this constant feeling that I have to work so hard to find the happiness. We ache for contentment when we know what we really need to do is face up to the fact that it is time for us to live by a different standard. To raise our spiritual standards--and that is hard and maybe a little scary (because perfectionist control-freaks like me don't like to fail.)

I'm not talking about giving up caffeine. I'm talking about loving everyone. To exhibit kindness, respect, grace and tolerance--regardless of what is given in return. Even more, to expect nothing in return. And to do it every day.

Are you ready to give away your disappointments? Can you forgive yourself? Can you plead for forgiveness more frequently than satisfaction?

I'm copying in a post that I read from Segullah--it also asks some good questions for my consideration. I liked it because I often find myself in similar situations to the writer. If nothing else, your kids will teach you humility (if you let them.)

Last January I sorted and purged and rearranged my children’s bedroom. We have three kids in a relatively small room and after getting rid of old toys and trying to assign homes for the new toys that had resulted from Christmas I had taken everything apart and decided maybe there was a better way to put it all back together. I mostly guesstimated, but did some half-hearted measuring too. My friend convinced me to take the final furniture rearranging leap by helping to push the bunk-bed from one wall to another. It barely fit . . .and by barely I mean we had maybe 1/4″ of space to play around with so that drawers could still open and children would still be able to climb on and off. But it made the room feel bigger and opened up floor space. However, it did create some tricky spots where toys and books get swallowed up, for months at a time.

The other night something important to my 6 year-old daughter fell behind the bed. It was already past bed time and I had been semi-single parenting for the week due to a busy complicated schedule, so when I say that the bedtime routine hadn’t gone smoothly, you know I’m sparing unpleasant parenting details. My daughter began to cry, “Mom! Please will you come and get it?” Without going into the room, determined to be done with bedtime I called loudly (I hesitate to say yelled, but maybe that is more accurate?), “No! You don’t need whatever it is right now because you’re going to sleep. We can find it tomorrow!” Muffled complaints and whines made their way out into the kitchen where I crankily stood doing dishes. I ignored them, sure that I had made myself clear enough and that she’d survive. A few minutes later I heard a clunk. As I walked down the hall I could hear my four-year-old son, “Mahgwet, I can’t see it. Shine yo’ light down hewe.” (He’s got a really cute “r” speech impediment that I’m not sure how to communicate on the screen, but it definitely adds to the stowy.) I stopped short of the door and peeked in. Cole had shimmied down between the bunk bed and the wall to search out his sister’s fallen item among the dust bunnies and other forgotten toys. He pulled things out one at a time and threw them onto the bed, “That’s not it! Gwoss, it’s all haiwy.” I giggled quietly as I watched the books, toys, and hairballs come out.

“Hewe it is!” He reached up with the restored treasure. “Thanks Cole!” He shimmied back up the side of the bed, over the rail, pushed all the other junk he’d just recovered onto the floor and grinned as he said, “It’s a good thing Jesus cweated me like this so I could fit back hewe and find this stuff.”

“Yeah, that is a good thing,” I thought.

Often, when we’re trying to make improvements, the changes we make create other problems. Wouldn’t it be awesome if when we find ourselves in those tight spots we could approach it like a child and be grateful for what it’s teaching us about ourselves and helping us to understand?

Endorsement

I completely forgot to mention this program on BYU-TV. I saw a promo (watch it on the link below) for it while doing some research for work and I just happened to remember to set the DVR. I watched the first segment last night and it is wonderfully captivating! It takes a look at several people and their individual searches for their family heritage. They each have a different reason for their investigation. It isn't based upon "Mormon Genealogy" so to speak, it is just about the personal quest to learn about our past. I am very hopeful that they will soon have it available to watch online.

Here's the link:

The Generation's Project, http://www.byub.org/thegenerationsproject/

Weekend Update

Okay, so maybe it's a bit more than just the weekend...like anyone but me will know that...

I decided last Thursday that I would head back to the Bear River Health Department and get the kids' second vaccination for H1N1. The first time we were there I almost shot the staff so I needed some time to calm down and reevaluate. This time was a better experience with 'their people', but a much worse experience with 'my people.'

I explained to the children in the waiting room that we were there to get our shots, but that it wasn't a big deal and that even mom was going to get a shot and I wasn't scared. I left it at that because I HATE those mothers that try to over talk a situation. Upon entrance to the room, I stated that Jack was going to be first. He began to protest but I just sat him on my lap and hiked his pant leg up. He was fine until I took a hold of his hands and the nurse started to swab his leg with a cotton ball, then he got a little nervous and started to say, "I don't want a shot, let me go!" He was kind of crying, but it wasn't anything outrageous. Lachlan, however, started to freak--and I really mean freak out--she started screaming and bawling, "Let go of my brother! You are going to hurt him! Put him down!" And seriously, her eyes were all rolled back in her head and she had a maniacal look about her. Well, Jack took one look at that beast and figured that he was going to get his arm cut off or worse and went ballistic. I wanted to use my spare arm to knock the ever-loving #*@! out of Lachlan, but I figured since DCFS is right across the hall that it would be easy for them to make a case of abuse. Anyway, the nurse had to hold that kid's leg down like a cowboy with a branding iron to get the needle in and then he was just screaming like a crazy person! When it was all over I covered his mouth with my hand (so that he could even hear my voice over his own) and told him that he wouldn't get a sucker until he stopped bawling. At that was the end. The kid can really shut it down when candy is involved...

Lest you forget that Lachlan is still screaming, she has now worked herself into a full blown panic attack--I grabbed her and told the nurse to get a bigger needle--Just kidding--sort of...

I basically had to man-handle her to even get to her leg and then she started hitting the nurse and screaming, "no, no, no!!!" At the last minute, she even tried to propel herself off of my lap using some core muscles that she has been building up while dancing to her "Wee Sing" CDs. In the end, the nurse and I won the battle and Lachlan was able to calm down enough to select a sucker of her own accord.

I do think that she suffered some post-traumatic stress related issues because when I asked her what flavor of sucker she had on the way home she replied," Hot Dog. It's hot dog flavored. I chose it because it had a hot dog on the whappa (wrapper). And I like hot dogs."

Lord have mercy. You'd have to be out of your right mind to actually think to yourself, "Wow, after all of that, what I really need is something that tastes like a hot dog."

It gives a whole new meaning to the term "comfort food."

On Friday:

Jeff had to dislodge a jaw breaker that Lachlan had gotten wedged in the back of her jaw. It was behind both her top and bottom molars and she couldn't open her jaw any further or close it at all. She was bawling with her mouth wide open and orange drool was getting everywhere! Jeff flicked it out and the jaw breaker went flinging across the room--PING! It literally went shooting across the room. We told her that she was banned from jaw breakers. Duh, where the h ---did she even get it from in the first place?

On Saturday:

Jeff took me to see Avatar in 3D. Actually, it was more like, he hauled me to see Avatar. I don't care for science fiction, but this turned out okay. He told me that it was like a science fiction Dances with Wolves--and it was like that film. It has some really macho Marine stereotypes--which makes me feel like maybe I hate the Marines and their trigger-happy commanders, but it's probably a political statement by the director rather than a reflection of what really happens (that's what Jeff told me :) I'm still a patriot, people). I also got really nervous because I bawled so hard at the end of Dances with Wolves that I had a headache for two days...AND they killed his wolf. And I told Jeff that if the Marines killed the blue-guy's 'horse/bird thing' that I was going to have to leave the theater--SPOILER ALERT: but they don't. And so I was able to stay for the whole show. Say what you will, I'm a high-maintenance movie goer. I'm related to a serious bunch of movie watchers, but I am the black sheep because I NEED a movie to have a happy ending and a movie that involves any sort of "beloved pet/animal death" will NEVER get four stars from this critic. Ever.

For instance, "Man From Snowy River" 5 stars. The sequel, "Return to Snowy River, " 2.5 stars. Why? Two reasons, really. One: They kill the horse (an automatic 2 star deduction) Two: Couldn't get Kurt Douglas to come back as Harrison--bummer, but only 1/2 star reduction. Maybe it's a bad example. Whatever. You get the point.

On Sunday afternoon, Lachlan informed us that her Primary teachers, Sister Martineau and "her dad" Brother Martineau were shoplifters. Upon further investigation, it was revealed that they only performed a simulated role play of stealing to help the kids understand the importance of 'choosing the right.' After some discussion, we were able to set the record straight concerning the misdemeanor charges. However, Lachlan continues to be fairly insistent that, "you know, the really big boy that comes with Miss Martywow, well, that is her dad. And he just sits and watches with us." Try not to take it personally, Scott, she tells me all the time that I am too old to do things.

Wednesday

I cleaned the office today. All. Day.
Never got dressed. Never combed through hair. Never brushed teeth. Kids ate lunch at the bar and watched a movie.

And now it is night.
It never ceases to amaze me how so much productivity can feel so utterly unproductive.

I really wanted to ride my bike today. I wanted to take the kids to the library.
I was going to make real food for dinner. In my mind, spaghetti is not real food. It is lazy and pretty gross.

Tomorrow I am going to clean out my closet and finish the laundry.

This is why January is my least favorite month.
You took two months off and made the biggest messes of the whole year and now you have to vacuum in the corners and haul out bags and bags of old mail that will never be read.

You remember that there is a litter box in your basement. crap.
You see that your children are wearing pants that are too short--again, didn't we just have this conversation.
You feel obligated to eat food storage and make some room on the shelves. And you've spent all your money so you really ARE actually something more than obligated.

And the night time feels so much more like night time--you really feel like you HAVE to go to bed at eight o'clock.

I think today was a pretty typical Wednesday for January.

Note to Self

Dear Self,
WHY did you wait so long to watch episodes of Glee? You knew that a solid recommendation from D. Francis should have been enough--you know better. Shame.

Dear Glee,
Oh, how I love to watch you. For some reason, I didn't think that we would get along and now I see that we are meant for each other.

Dear Other People,
If you watch Glee and don't find yourself aching to sing along with the deaf choir when they perform "Imagine"--well, you have a heart of stone.

Love,
me.
p.s. don't judge me.

Gee, thanks. I think.

Conversation held at 7:40PM, MST.
Overheard while the kids were "cleaning" Jack's room.

Lachlan: Hey, these are my books.
Jack: Yes, Lolo, I keep 'dem in here for you and everyfing.
Lachlan: Thanks you Jack, 'dat is so nice.
Jack: Excep' I pee all over 'dem. Right here on my floor.
Lachlan: Jack, you are crazy. You didn't pee on 'dem.
Jack: Yeah. I did.

For the record, he did pee on them. He came running to me while I was desperately trying to get ready for church--screaming, "I've pooped my pants!" He had a diaper and a wipe and everything. I figured it was a Christmas miracle that he even noticed a bodily function. BUT he was just confused because his diaper was just so full that it leaked down his leg AND onto Lachlan's books. I wiped him and the book down with the same wet wipe before resuming the chaos that is a Sunday morning.

I hadn't given it a second thought until Jeff overheard this diatribe and laughed out loud. (It's got to be pretty freaking funny for that...)