A Three-Month-Old Precious Thing

Presley turned three months old this weekend. She is:

• Sleeping consistently through the night


• Eating every 3-4 hours


• Smiling, and has giggled a couple of times


• Starting to suck her thumb--her left thumb--and she puts her right fist behind her head like she is "striking a pose"


• one of the most precious things I have ever laid my eyes on!

An Anticipated Thing--Parker's First Day

Today, finally, Parker began his trek through public education. If the beginning is any indication of what is to come, Lord help us all.
This week has already come with it's share of obstacles--Parker's funky virus that was here, then gone, then here again--but we were faced with yet another when it came time to get dressed for the day.
I had picked out a pair of nice but comfortable khaki shorts and a collared shirt. It was a casual outfit, I thought, but also a little dapper-ish. He wears it to church sometimes, or out to eat if we are going somewhere nice.
He shot it down. Totally. Told me he couldn't play in clothes like that.
After all, kindergarten is all about playing. Forget reading and writing and 'rithmatic.
Obviously he's paid too much attention to what Pat wears to school every day--t-shirt and gym shorts. Because after Parker put on his chosen outfit of a t-shirt and shorts, he asked, "See Mom, doesn't this look more appropriate?"
Seriously--appropriate? Where'd that come from?
So here he is, showing off his backpack, and his kindergarten-appropriate outfit.

And here he is with his two great buddies, Maddie and Anna. What a relief to see a familiar face on your first day of school, when everybody else knows what to do and has already made friends and already knows and loves their teacher....

At least that's what I was thinking when I saw them walking up the sidewalk.

And here is Parker with his teacher, Mrs. Baty. I love her already.

Bobbi asked me last week if I would cry when I dropped Parker off for his first day. I said probably. Or perhaps cheer and do back flips all the way out of the building.

Since I was carrying two Sponge Bob umbrellas in one arm and Presley in an a infant carrier in the other, and since Peyton would have been witness to the freak that she calls her mother, I abstained from any sort of celebration.

Didn't feel much like it, anyway. Was I relieved? Yes. We got Parker to school on time this morning, delivered him safely to yet another milestone in his life.

Cause that's what this journey is so much about, anyway. God put us here to help His kids--our kids--get from one point to the next.

Sometimes those stops are significant, sometimes they aren't.
Sometimes we get there on day one, sometimes we don't arrive until day four.

I'm just glad I get to ride along.

Second Verse, Same as the First

Day Two of Kindergarten will be spent, once again, on the couch in the living room. Looks like that's where we'll be riding this virus out, as the doctor told us yesterday that Parker's symptoms do not indicate a concussion, but a funky virus. We're just hoping it won't develop into the flu, which right now looks like might be the case. He finally kept down food for the first time in over 24 hours last night, so I think we're on the road to recovery.

I'm pretty positive that this illness has been worse for me than for him. I would like to say that he cried sorrowful tears at not being able to attend his first day of kindergarten, but that would be a flat out lie. To say that about his mother might be closer to the truth. A lady in the elevator at the doctor's office actually suggested that Parker could, perhaps, be faking this illness as to avoid school. Seriously? Seriously. This kid has, for the past 12 hours, puked on demand? voluntarily moaned through the night waking his father and I every hour? and was able to raise his body temperature three whole degrees on cue?!? Because if that's the case, we're not messing around with kindergarten, baby; it's straight to the big screen for us for some MON-NEY. No, if Parker really didn't want to go to kindergarten, we'd see a big fat fit on the kitchen floor before we'd see vomit on my rugs.

So stay tuned. Hopefully tomorrow we'll have good news to post!

The Dardest Thing--First (Sick) Day

Here are Parker's things--his backpack filled with a rest towel, signed papers, a letter to the teacher, an extra set of clothes, along with his lunch of a peanut butter sandwich, pretzels, apple slices, pudding, and gatorade--all ready to go to Kindergarten:

Here is Parker--with a 101 degree fever, and bowl to catch his vomit--NOT going to Kindergarten:

So instead of celebrating his FIRST DAY OF KINDERGARTEN, we are celebrating his FIRST SICK DAY of KINDERGARTEN. He started complaining of a headache last night around five, layed down and fell asleep, and woke up a few hours later vomitting. At first I thought he was just nervous for school, but then Parker and Pat reminded me that Parker had hit his head on his headboard when he went to bed last night. Concussion? We woke him several times through the night, and the vomitting stopped, but then woke up this morning with a fever. Ugh. Poor kid; it's just his luck. (He was sick on Christmas Day, even!) How awful it felt to call his elementary school this morning to report his absence, thus ruining his chance for perfect attendance for the ENTIRE year. Could life be any worse?

Peyton did go off to her first day of pre-school, which we obviously had not paid enough attention to, because as we were walking out the door, she said, "Now it can be MY special day of school."

I am so responsible for her second-child syndrome.

It's Tuesday

This story actually originated last Friday, when Peyton woke up with a hacking cough. Just a cough. But as a precautionary action, we didn't allow Peyton contact with Presley. Just in case. She wasn't happy, but Pat took her and Parker to the water park to smooth things over.

By Friday night, Peyton had a 101 degree fever and hissing, wheezing breath when she went to sleep. I gave her some Tylenol and she coughed and hacked all through the night.

Day Two (Saturday), I took her to the doctor which I normally wouldn't do but a newborn in the house drives a person idiot crazy. Peyton has a nice case of croup, which the doctor treated with a prescription for a steroid (ragh!). She had to take three doses of the prescription, one per day, and so we decided that she wouldn't be allowed to hold/kiss/hug/touch/breathe on Presley until her prescription was finished. It has nearly brought the death to poor Peyton, because she is on Presley like stink on you-know-what. She can't leave her alone. She wants to help feed, bathe, change, dress, and rock that poor little baby all the time.

So here we are, it's Tuesday morning, and the first words out of Peyton's mouth were, "It's Tuesday! I can hold Presley today!" However, I have my reservations, because although Peyton's fever is gone and her orneriness is back, she still has a lingering cough, one of which she doesn't always remember to cover up to keep those nasty germs muffled inside her own germy self. So this Tuesday is bound to be another fight.

The Greatest Thing

1. Bringing home a new baby.

2. Hearing Presley unintentionally giggle in her sleep.

3. Listening to Peyton's theories about the source of a baby's nourishment.
And then grimmacing when she shares those theories with our pediatrician.

4. Her grunts, groans, and otherwise sweet noises.

5. Watching Parker grow into a sweet and caring big brother.

It may not John McNally's idea of the greatest thing, but I can't think of anything better right now. This is why God allows us to pro-create, and I totally understand why He wants to call us all His (of course He doesn't have to worry about potty-training and college, either). The fog from the first week and a half is starting to thin, or perhaps I'm just getting used to functioning on 5-6 hours of interrupted sleep each night. Either way, we are simply IN LOVE with this little girl.

A Bitter-Sweet Thing

A year ago today, we buried our Dad. Here's the message we delivered at his funeral--his eternal "messages" to us:

One thing about it, we will hear Dad's voice in our ears--and in our hearts--forever. There are a few quotes of Dad's that have become quite famous in our house. We'd like to share them--the clean ones anyway--with you this morning. Now let me warn you--it's not as if we always enjoyed hearing these words--this advice--from Dad. Each of us girls has a unique story that connects us to these often-heard statements. But it was through these words that Dad taught us who and what he wanted us to be about.

#1. "When was the last time you checked the oil in your car?"

Most of the time, we rolled our eyes at this comment, but here's the lesson I think he was trying to teach us: Take care of your stuff. Learn to take responsibility for how you live and what you do. Be independent.

#2. "Get back up on that horse and show him who's boss!"

Raising horses was just about as important to Dad as raising girls. When one of us would get thrown by a horse, Dad made us pull ourselves off the hard ground and get back on, no matter how scared or "hurt" we thought we were. Dad wouldn't let us let the horse win. Unfortunately for Dad, this one backfired, because he ended up raising five bossy girls. (Just ask Pat and Greg.) But more importantly, it taught us to be assertive, be leaders, and to take charge.

#3. "You gotta take the bad with the good."

Romans 5:3-5 says, "And not only that, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because suffering produces persevernce; perseveranc, character; and character, hope." Dad talked about taking the lows with the highs when we were experiencing a "bad"--a lost game, a white ribbon at the fair, an unruly child, or any other time it seemed our situation came up short of our grand expectations. It seemed that Dad knew that experiencing these struggles would teach us patience and perseverance.

#4. "If you are going to do something, do it right."

Whether sweeping the floor or accepting a new job, Dad didn't want us to do anything halfway. The lesson: Put your heart into it--whatever "it" is. Don't always look for the easy road or the shortcut. Take your time and do the job right.

#5. "Hey, ya did all right."

We heard this most of the time when we didn't do okay. For example, Denise always disqualified in the poles or barrels at the fair. Afterwards, when she would sit on her horse and pout about it, Dad would pat her on her knee and say, "Hey kiddo, you did all right." Ironically, he would never congratulate us when we really did do something extraordinary. but to Dad, you "did all right" as long as you worked your hardest and tried your best.

#6. "The wink"

Sometimes lessons didn't always come in the form of words. So often Dad's message of forgiveness, acceptance, and love came in the form of a simple wink. If there was ever one of us in trouble (and we did get into our share of trouble), at the end of the storm, we would sometimes get a simple wink from Dad. It was his way of telling us that things were okay, and that life goes on regardless of the mistakes we've made or the trouble we're in.

We won't see the wink again, or hear these words again from Dad's mouth here on earth, but--like it or not--those lessons are with us forever and worth remembering for a long time. A lot of these lessons were not always easy or fun to learn--let alone for Mom and Dad to teach. Our house was far from the textbook, model classroom to say the least. Dad made mistakes. We made mistakes. But one thing that I am sure of: God doesn't make mistakes. And for Dad,

right now, things are just as they should be.

We miss you, Oldie. Winks.

A Blessed Thing

Introducing Presley Barbara Jane Dunn.

She was born Saturday night--July 11, 2009, at 9:37 p.m.; she came in weighing 7 lbs 3 oz and measuring 19 inches in length.

Her brother, Parker, told me today on the way home from the hospital that he thinks he's going to like baby Presley. This is just two short days after he snapped a popsicle stick in half and threw it across the room because "he wanted a boy!"

Her sister, Peyton, cannot keep her sticky little hands off her. I don't think there is one thing that Peyton doesn't like about Presley.

Her Daddy and I feel blessed beyond measure.

The Excuse Thing

1. My camera was lost/stolen/misplaced/eaten by the dogs sometime in late March, and since I include pictures in every post, I was unable to blog-function.
2. Pat and the kids got me a new camera for Mother's Day, but I haven't had the ambition to load the pictures from the camera to the computer. Messing with all those cords and buttons makes my eyes cross.
3. Our computer was down with a virus for most of the month of May, and a good portion of June.
4. A trip to Nebraska for Dad's Memorial Trail Ride and a trip to Minnesota to see Pat's family...purely exhausting.
5. Getting the kids into their shared bedroom so I could make Peyton's old room into the baby's room about drove me off the deep end. How do you take 2x the stuff and put it in 1/2 the space? And still have some sort of semblance to organization?

It's a top five for the record books...but that's where we've been. More details later. On my agenda today is getting pictures from the camera to the computer so that maybe one day I can write a meaningful post.

On the baby front...he/she is nearly here! I have to go to the hospital tomorrow morning for a distress test on the baby. The heart rate was really low yesterday at my appointment, so they ran a distress test yesterday. The HR increased, which is a good sign, but want to make sure things stay fine. If the baby doesn't respond well tomorrow, they will induce labor then. If he/she is still doing okay, they will wait until Monday to induce. I have to just monitor kicks while I'm at home to make sure the baby stays active. So far, so good.

The Behavior Management Thing

For the past several weeks I feel that all we have been doing is telling Parker "no," putting him in time out, and spanking his behind. Constantly. It begins on the way home from school, continues while I'm fixing dinner, then to bath time, and, basically, until the kid finally falls asleep at night. He's either fighting with Peyton, sassing one of us, banging his silverware on the table, climbing on the counters, making a mess in the bathroom sink, terrorizing the dogs, peeing in public, stripping the couches of their cushions and using them as a trampoline, swinging the bat inside the house, jumping around in the bathtub, fighting with Peyton, shooting his pop gun at the tv screen, tipping back on his chair at the dinner table, blowing bubbles in his milk with his straw, chasing Peyton around the kitchen counter, hanging on the doorknobs, or getting out of his bed for the millionth time at bed time. The kid is reverting back to behaviors that I thought we took care of two years ago.

But now he has a sassy mouth to go along with it, and has built up a tolerance for our discipline managment system.

And this discipline thing is exhausting to me.

One of my brilliantly wise friends, Jessica, told me about a marble jar discipline system that her babysitter uses. The kids fill up their jars of marbles and they get to choose a special treat, like going to a movie or getting a toy from the store or possibly getting mommy out of the house and sending her to the spa. :) I'd heard of this strategy a couple of other times, but didn't think it would really work. We've tried sticker charts with both of the kids but they have never worked.

Or I've never worked with them...I'll admit, I get as bored as the kids with just seeing a line of stickers compiled at the end of the day. I need something more.

But I had to try something because, like I said before, this discipline thing was kicking my butt. I was not enjoying going to bed every single night to face the Lord and say, "Forgive me for sucking as a parent! But I don't know what else to do with this child!"

I made up a general list of ten things that the kids could do to earn a marble. Parker helped me type up the list, and helped me define some of the what might be considered ambiguous terminology, like "respect" and "right" and "wrong." For example, they can get a marble for first time obedience, which is pretty cut and dried. I ask you to do something, you do it right away, you get a marble. Feeding the dogs, putting your dishes in the sink...easy. But "be respectful" can mean a lot of different things, especially to a three and five year old. I was thinking "please" and "thank you," "yes, ma'am" and "no, sir." Parker was thinking "no farting without saying excuse me" and "no tattle-telling."

So we all got on the same page, got our rules up, decorated our marble containers (which are actually recycle yogurt containers instead of jars), and got down to business. They were earning marbles left and right. We had our troubles here and there, but for the most part, the kids were almost fun to be around again. We started our campaign on a Thursday night, and by Sunday, both kids had their containers full of marbles. Peyton chose to go see "Monsters vs. Aliens" with Pat, and Parker chose to get a new bakugan (sp?) from the store.

When Parker and I got home from the store, I emptied their containers of all the marble they had earned.

Parker was less than thrilled about having to start over.

Later that night after Parker had helped Pat walk and feed the dogs, Pat told Parker he deserved a marble for doing the dog chores.

Instant whining.

"What's wrong, Parker? Don't you want to get marbles and earn another toy, or a trip to the movies?" Pat asked.


"No!" Parker said. "I'm tired of all this marble work!"

Some days, you just can't win.

The Prayer Thing

Growing up, I knew three basic prayers:
1. our family dinnertime prayer, which our whole family recited together before most, if not every meal together
2. the Lord's Prayer
3. the desperate "Oh, God, help me!" or some version thereof.

Then I met Pat, who added some spice and variety to my prayer life. I would just fold my hands, bow my head, and listen to his conversation with God. I was so happy that Parker and Peyton were learning this practice from their dad, too. I love that they are comfortable enough to tell God what is on their pre-school minds.

This was until we spent the majority of last summer at home in Nebraska, and we fell back into the tried and true dinnertime ritualistic prayer.

You'd think we grew up Catholic or something.

And, since Ty, their cousin, already knew this prayer, Parker and Peyton were even more determined to learn it and use it once we returned to Texas. We can't even say "Ay-men" anymore because Ty says "Aww-men."

The kid has made quite an impact on my two.

Anyway, it wasn't until a couple of months ago that the kids started to say their own prayers at our dinnertime. A couple weeks ago, while we were waiting for everyone (Parker) to calm down, sit down, and get their fingers out of their food, Parker was blah, blah, blah-ing while Peyton had her hand folded and was ready to roll.

And with the most serious look on her face, Peyton said, "Pawkaw, Jesus really doesn't want to hear that."

The Thing Thing

"This is the thing..."

I'm not sure where it came from, but I know who and when we noticed it. My sisters make fun of me because whenever we are in a serious conversation, I seem to always clue everybody into to my conclusion by saying, "This is the thing..." or "Here's the thing."

And we have had plenty of serious conversations over the past couple years. About treatments. About retirements. About surgeries, hospitals, and our parents' tendancy to try to keep us all in the dark about aforementioned issues.

And then last summer, when we were all home for most of the summer, about hospice. About morphine. About Dad's last birthday party, his last days, hours...His funeral, the details of his casket, the military service, pallbearers.

Heavy stuff.

But I was a bit taken back when I noticed a couple of weeks ago that Parker and Peyton have gotten into the "thing" thing, too.

Peyton had been sick and home from school for three days in a row. By Friday she was feeling out of the pre-school loop, as Parker was her only connection to the world of crayons and pint-sized fashion.

"Parker," Peyton began, "this is a sad thing."

Oh, my.

"Taylor said that she was going see me at school and then she didn't and that is sad sad sad."

A couple minutes later, Parker began to describe to Peyton the movie that the kids got to watch that day.

"Peyton," he said, "this is a funny thing. The dog in the movie farted!"

And with that, they have officially entered into the world of high drama.

The Meltdown Thing

Golly, folks, two days in a row without naps and I'm whipped...uh, I mean, my kids are whipped.

Yesterday both Parker and Peyton skipped naps because obviously the excitement of going to a birthday party on a farm that afternoon was just too much anticipatory fervor for them to sleep through. Like they've never seen horses and pigs and goats and rabbits and ducks and a donkey before...psh.

Okay, so maybe 10-15 times. But in their short lifespan, that's 3-5 times a year...

Let me just say, Thank you, Tracy and Matt and little two-year-old birthday boy Chase. This party rocked. And I am being 100% honest. I regretfully admit I am not a fan of the birthday party. I don't even like my own kids' birthday parties.

The first birthday party that Pat and I attended as a pre-children couple, there was a keg on tap in the backyard. Apparently that one birthday party with the adult reprieve in the form of alcoholic beverages was not a long enough transition period, because it's just been in the past few months that these kid birthday parties are anything less than a flat out kick in my rear.

This party at the farm had so many animals--and they were small animals...baby goats, small chickens, miniature donkey and horses, and a 29 year old horse for the kids to ride on. This was the epitome of fun and safety wrapped into one event! After cake and ice cream there was a pinata and more candy than you could shake a plastic bat at.

Serious fun.

Today we met Sabina, Meg, Sabina's folks from San Angelo, and her mom's sister and husband from Germany, and Sabina's neices, Erin and Erica, at the Stockyards in Fort Worth. Again, fun! The stockyards are filled to the brim of the aroma of cow and horse manure, and I love it. Plus, Sabina and her kin are super. After lunch, we went to the Fort Worth Botanical Gardens, which I had never, not one time taken our kids to. It's fun and it's free. Not to mention beautiful this time of year. We played in the fountains, raced across the grass, and had a water fight.

Wait a minute. I mean Erin and Erica, Parker and Peyton, and Meg did all that stuff. I just followed them around and smelled the roses. Erin and Erica are in the 5th and 7th grade, and Meg can still claim a sub-30 age all year round. (Sabina's dad said that she's either truly that young of an age or she'll be cryin' in the morning.) Having those guys there made my job pretty darn easy.

But we're still pooped, to say the least, and with good reason I might add. Tonight during supper Parker couldn't even figure out his bodily functions. He kept getting out of his chair, walking across the living room, and then coming back to the table. It's like his brain couldn't even stay focused long enough to decide if he was going to eat or pee. After three trips half-way to the toilet, he finally announced that he was "having a major meltdown."

I'm with ya, buddy.

A real fat thing

Let me make a short story long...

The Texas State High School Wrestling Tournament (should I put this in all caps? because for the month of February, our lives revolve around this event) was this past weekend. That meant that Patrick took his boys that qualified to Austin on Thursday to wrestle, and the kids and I joined him Friday after school. I really like to watch wrestling. Well, kind of. That's somewhat of a lie. I like to watch good wrestling, but once someone gets twisted so that their shoulder (or neck or knee or ankle) looks like it could snap out of their torso, I tap out. Parker and Peyton are getting better and better at behaving/learning to be entertained at tournaments, but the event is exhausting to say the least. And all I'm doing is carting kids around and giving myself whiplash every other match.

Saturday night after the finals, Parker, Peyton and I drove on down to San Antonio to see Denise and Hank. It was a short visit. We arrived around 9:30 Saturday night and left by noon on Sunday. Then we spent three hours parked on I-35 just south of New Braunsfels because the highway was shut down due to an accident.

Unfortunate for all of us. Parker mooned a man in a VW bug behind us because he couldn't hold it anymore and we were desperate.

My plan was to stop in San Marcus at the Taj Mahal of shopping center. That's right. Prime Outlets and Tanger Outlets next door, back to back. I am ready to embrace my expanding belly and really wanted to get some cute maternity clothes at the Motherhood outlet.

By the time we got to San Marcus, I was about to throw my shopping idea out the window, since my last nerve had escaped there, too, after 3 hours of traffic. But we had been in the car for an eternity, and the kids and I needed to stretch our legs.

That, and the bargains.

So we first went to Old Navy and got the kids some really cute stuff. The Childrens Place was right there, so we went in to that place, too. And I really want some new sunglasses, and Patrick did say, "After your recent experience on Texas's lovely highway system, buy yourself something nice, baby." And I wanted to get Parker some summer sandals, and then the kids wanted a carmel apple, and I was just too weak by this time to say no.

So we'd been shopping for about an hour and a half, and we finally head across the street to Motherhood. After getting a dirty look or ten from a sales lady there because, well, maybe my kids weren't acting like angels, I found a couple dresses and we were back on the road.

And here's the real story, in case I lost you with all of the unnecessary information above:
Monday morning I put on one of the dresses that I had gotten on Sunday.
Parker walks into the bathroom and says, "Mom, why are you wearing that?"
"Because," I say, "it fits and it's new."
"Well," he says, "it makes you kind of ... fat."

Can someone remind me why we teach five year olds to be honest?

And Another Thing...

By the way, I'm prego.

Due July 18, give or take a couple days, and if it seems that I'm revealing this information as an afterthought, well, you can think again.

We went in for our sonogram this morning and found out that the baby has 4 chambers in his/her heart that are developing right on schedule, has a normally-developing brain in his/her head, and his/her spine is completely closed, as it should be. All systems are go...

And for that, I am grateful to God. For multiple reasons. I feel like the huge burden of anxiety and worry has been lifted from my ever-widening body. So this is much more than an afterthought (as we all know this whole child-bearing/child-rearing process never is)...I feel grateful. Humble. Blessed.

We decided (or I did, I can't remember if I consulted Pat on this decision or not...) that we wouldn't find out what the sex of the baby was until it pops out (understatement of the century for those who care). I feel like God has been tapping me on the shoulder a lot this past year, and this time, He is whispering, "You know, Rhonda, you don't need to know everything that I've got in store for you." Which someday I'll discuss with Him, along with other things, when I can have this chat face to face.

So today at the sonogram, instead of being totally consumed with is it a boy? is it a girl? would you please stop looking so closely at the heart and just let me know if we're doing blue or pink around here? and was very anxious about the heart, the brain, the spine. You know, the things that really matter.

What on earth was I thinking? I mean, it's not like I didn't care about Parker and Peyton's pre-natal growth and development. I must have, right? Or was I as shallow as I think I was, because I don't remember worrying at all about that.

Maybe ignorance is bliss...

Anyway, here comes another Dunn...another mouth to feed, another body to clothe...another smile and another pair of feet running through the house. Another round of sleepless nights and potty training...another baby to rock and cuddle (I don't sing) and maybe another opportunity to get potty training "right" this time. Another car seat. Another voice. Another plate at the dinner table. Another. Another one. Another Dunn.

"Thank you, Lord...how can I ask for more?"

These Crazy Things!

No school today! Yeah!

It's icy and cold cold cold outside. Like 29 degrees...at NOON! This does not happen often to those of us who live south of the Red River.

And my lovely children, in an afternoon fit of creativity and imagination, decided to "go swimming."

The Wallpaper Thing

I've spent the last 3 hours of my sacred three-day weekend scraping this off of our bathroom walls:

It's glue from the wallpaper border that used to hang on the bathroom wall, and it has hampered my plans to have the bathroom walls re-painted by the end of the day. This day.

Let me urge any of you homeowners out there who are tempted to glue pieces of paper to your wall to let it pass. There are so many other viable options out there: paint, plaster, wood paneling...

Wallpaper just plain stinks when it comes time to redecorate. This wicked covering was on our master bedroom walls and our kitchen walls, both of which I stripped (with quadruple the pain and anguish) the first year we lived in this house...four years ago. The memory of the scrubbing and scraping must have temporarily fled my memory when I decided to tackle the border in the "other" bathroom.

So my plan was to take down the border and tape off the baseboards yesterday and apply two coats of paint today. Oh, Wallpaper, how you had other ideas! I'm now 24 hours behind schedule because your sticky and nasty layers of paper and glue we're oh so attached to our bathroom walls.

Seriously people, wallpaper must be the WORST excuse for wall decor. It's too permanant. Have a new color scheme hit you in the middle of the night? With a nice, clean painted wall, you just get yourself a gallon of Behr semi-gloss, a little blue tape, and your set. Viola! A new look in less than twenty-four hours. But with wallpaper, it's a wet and sloppy mess before you even get to crack open the lid of the paint.

Honestly, I just don't have the time for that.

So I'm warning you right now, homeowners, you put that mess up on your walls, I'm not buying your house.

On a more positive note, I did repaint the kitchen island that looked like someone had painted it with "Lost your Lunch" color paint. I'm still not totally satisfied with the new color, so I'm not inviting guests until I get it right.

But y'all are always welcome to drop by unannounced and uninvited.

A Language Thing

Okay Friends, this post is brought to you courtesy of my dear sister, Kim. She lives in Iowa and has a darling family that drives her nuts, too. One of our favorite things to do is embarrass our kids (hopefully, someday) by telling each other the crazy things that our kids do. Kim has a 6th grade step-son, Evan, a five year old boy, Ty, and a three year old little girl, Bryn. They do and say some funny stuff.

Here's an email that I got from Kim last week. And I even asked her permission to post this, so no one even try to sue me for plagarism.

Ah, the joys of language acquisition...

I have a funny story about bedtime prayers….. Allen Mathes and his wife had their baby the day after Christmas. We went over to their house on Saturday to visit them and the little guy. His name is Beckett Wilkes Mathes and Ty kept wanting to call him ‘Bucket’ instead of ‘Beckett”. He was getting frustrated every time we would correct him that he finally said, “I’m just going to call him “Baby”. Okay, whatever.

Last night when I asked Ty and Bryn each who their special prayers were for, Bryn said, “My special prayers are for baby Beckett.” (Who she calls Bucket too). So after our prayers were over Ty asks, “Mom, is his name ‘Fucket’? To which I let a laugh escape and said, ‘No. It’s Beckett. B..B..Beckett.”

“Well, that’s just a stupid name.”

I said, “Ty, that’s not very nice to say. Would you like it if someone said you had a stupid name?”

“But I don’t have a stupid name. I have a nice name. It’s just Ty.”

Hard to argue when they make a valid point.

Thanks for the great material, Kimmy. Winks ;)

The Morning Thing

Let me tell you about Wednesday morning.

But first let me preface this whole post by saying that Monday and Wednesday mornings suck, and through dealing with them, I have come to totally appreciate the fact that Mom and Dad didn't lock me in a closet and leave me there. Or lock themselves in a closet...

I've never really been fond of mornings where you have to be at certain places by a certain time (which is about 95% of the mornings of my life). I call myself a morning person because I wake up and fuction in the mornings. But let me tell you, I have a very loose definition of the word "function." We get ourselve together and get out the door, but there's not a whole lot of organization to the whole routine. Because, I've discovered, my two preschoolers also have a very loose definition of the word "routine."

In high school, we had 6 women in our house--okay, one woman and five girls, and the youngest was not even in school yet, so does she really count? I think so. We all had to be at the same school at the same time--8:15 a.m. Our house was chaotic to say the least, with us either fighting over clothes, fighting over the last of the milk, fighting over toothpaste, fighting over the curling iron, or fighting just because we were grouchy. My favorite morning was the tantrum I threw because I couldn't find a clean sports bra in the dryer. For 20 minutes I ranted and raved over who stole my clean sports bra. Then I looked in my dresser. And found one.

Dad had to be at work at 7 a.m. He left the house at 6 a.m. for his 10 minute commute to work. Let me remind you that we lived in rural southeast Nebraska, and traffic helicopters never graced our airways. He was just a smart man to get the heck out of Dodge before the stampede came through town.

Mondays and Wednesdays now mean Pat has left the house before 6 a.m. to go to morning wrestling practice, and I'm left to get the kids together and out the door all by my lonesome. We'd been doing a decent job of it until this past Wednesday. Try to follow along as I tell you about the chaos that transpired...

I get Parker out of bed and on the couch so he can watch cartoons while I get breakfast for them. After many "I don't knows..." he says he wants dry cheerios. I get a bowl of cheerios and set them on the coffee table. They don't move. I get Peyton out of bed and her clothes on while she shoots down my every suggestion for breakfast (which is not uncommon now-a-days--rarely does she eat breakfast like a champion). I tell Parker to get busy with his breakfast, and he declared that he wanted PANCAKES! NOT CEREAL! for breakfast. Not a big deal--see how I'm taking all of this in stride?--I can grab a couple of pancakes from the freezer and get them ready in 5 minutes or less. Peyton sees me pull the two pancakes out of the microwave and says WHY ARE THERE TWO PANCAKES?!? PARKER CAN'T HAVE TWO PANCAKES!

Do you wnat one? I ask.

Yes, she replies.

Deal!! I say.

I'm feeling pretty good about myself, because it's not even 6:50 and I've got two kids who are dressed and happy about their breakfast. Obviously they aren't going to finish their pancakes by 7, so I figure we'll just eat breakfast in the car (again). So I get their shoes together, and just as I am finishing tying Parker's shoes, all heck breaks loose.

Parker: I DON'T WANT MY SHOES ON I DIDN'T GET TO EAT MY BREAKFAST WHILE I WATCHED CARTOONS I DON'T WANT TO GO YET I WANT TO FINISH WATCHING CARTOONS WHILE I EAT MY BREAKFAST! I DON'T WANT TO WEAR A JACKET TODAY MY LIFE REALLY REALLY SUCKS! (not that last part, but the rest is quite accurate)

Petyon: I DON'T WANT PANCAKE I DON'T WANT TO EAT BREAKFAST I DON'T BLAH BLAH BLAH WHINE WHINE WHINE.

So we're walking out the door, two out of three of us screaming, and I'm trying to juggle two plates of pancakes because by golly they're going to eat what I fixed for them and I am thinking to myself this is not a good way to start our morning.

As I'm shuffling our things and the kids into the car, I remind Parker that he's the one that changed his mind, and if he wants to eat breakfast while he watches TV then he needs to decide earlier what he wants to eat. And not change his mind. Because it's not my fault that he didn't eat when I told him to.

And I tell Peyton that she's the one that said that she wanted pancakes and if she doesn't eat her breakfast it's a long time until lunch and she's going to be pretty darn hungry.

Basically, I tell them to take responsibility for their own decisions and their unhappiness is their own darn fault, and there's not a thing I can do about it.

I'm sure you can imagine how well that went over. Yeah, the screaming only increased in volume and frequency.

So we're about a half a mile from home and at least we're on the road and they're in the back and I'm in the front and I'd turn on the radio but it would only add to the chaos. But, let's face it, we were all miserable.

I say, Parker, I'm sorry. I must have misunderstood you. I thought that you said "cheerios" when in fact you meant "pancakes." I'm sorry I made a mistake and you didn't get to eat your breakfast while you watched cartoons. But let's not let it ruin our day, okay?

He says, Sniff, sniff. Okay.

Then I say, Peyton, I have an apple in my bag that I was going to eat with my lunch. Would you rather have my apple?

Did you wash it? she asks.

Yes, I say.

Will you take off the stem? she asks.

Here, I say, and hand back an apple.

So Parker picks up his plate of pancakes and Peyton picks up her plate of pancakes and breakfast is finished by the time we pull into Brennans. Peyton doesn't even eat her apple because she decides she wants to save it for after school.

All because I took responsibility for their problems? And I've been thinking, am I doing them a huge disservice by fixing all of their problems? Am I raising a couple of kids who are egocentric and think that life doesn't serve real consequences?

She's the Sassiest Thing

Peyton is, in a word, SASSY.
She never refrains from conveying her disgust in her mother's stupid rules and regulations. She'll put her hands on her hips and huff, "But MOM, I said I wanted..."
Pat and I have noticed this attitude developing over the past six months or so. It started over the summer. Pat says that with her attitude, we won't have to worry about the boys she dates, or her even dating at all.

We imagine a boy coming to our front door, Pat and I sitting him down, and instead of threats of Pat's non-existant hunting skills, we'll say, "Are you sure you want to put yourself through this?"

The volleyball girls asked this fall what sports we think Peyton will play. I wonder sometimes if it will ever be an issue. I can't imagine any coach in their right mind will want to put up with her "screw you" attitude.

This attitude has gotten worse over the past month. I had some of my co-workers and their kids over for soup and snacks one night. Caleb, an innocent and unsuspecting almost 2-year-old, was playing with a doll stroller--one of the two that Peyton has in her toy collection. Peyton tried to take the stroller that Caleb was playing with, had already been reminded that we don't take other people's toys, when Caleb took his hands off of the covetted stroller to grab a handful of chips. Immediately Peyton was all over Caleb's stroller.
"Peyton," I say, "Caleb is playing with that stroller. You have your own."
She drops her hands and glares at me. (Isn't she the cutest thing?)
So we all go back to talking and Caleb continues eating, and as I'm watching Peyton out of the corner of my eye, I see her place her hands on Caleb's stroller's handles, look at Caleb, tap him on the shoulder, and smuggly grip those naughty little fingers around the purple foam covers on the handles of his stroller!

This behavior continued all through Christmas. She is queen of the castle at Grandma's house. Denise took her to Nebraska with her two days earlier than the rest of us went. On the way, she asked Denise, among many other things:
1. Is Grandpa in our hearts? because I can't feel him in there.
2. Is Grandma going to get a new Grandpa?
3. Is Jesus a boy or a girl? (she was not at all happy to find out that he was a boy...oh, feminism, here we come!)

When she got to Grandma's, she was the only grandkid there for two whole days. Denise said that she's never heard the word "Okay" come out of our mother's mouth so much. Grandma even let Peyton stay up until 1:30 in the morning! Her antics included asking Aunt Bobbi if she could have a drink, a snack, a kick in the rear, whatever, and when Bobbi would get up to get it for her dear little neice, Peyton would steal her seat! Bobbi darling, now you too are Peyton's sucker.
This behavior is precisely why Santa brought her a Barbie camera instead of the Barbie computer that she'd been asking for. That, and Santa maybe couldn't find requested Barbie computer.