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?