Zig-zagging our way through whiplash-like LA traffic prepped us for some of the scarier rides like Space Mountain and Matterhorn. The only difference is on the rides, our fellow riders didn’t cut us off and give us the middle finger.
But it didn’t prep us for the beach. I tried not to stare at all the men in speed-o’s (something a cowgirl from Idaho isn’t usually privy to)—especially the two men in speed-o’s who were having their photo taken with a white bearded man in a multi-colored G-String. For a moment I thought we were on the wrong beach, but then he turned around to face me, and I realized that yes, in fact, we were in Southern California.
Loads of snacks and bottled water were squeezed into even the most obscure of places in the car. The water especially came in handy when Judd kept barking out that he was thirsty. I gladly obliged, congratulating myself for being so prepared. The sound from his lips suctioning off the top of the bottle after he managed to gulp down the entire 16 ounces kept him entertained until we pulled into the Disneyland parking garage. The wide parking area looked equal in size to our 1,000 acre cattle ranch in High Valley, Idaho, except instead of dense forest, there was acres of concrete. I was just about to comment on the large pond I saw in the distance on the concrete, but then I realized it was just a mirage.
I looked back and noticed Judd’s legs kicking back and forth fast enough they could paddle a small boat around Deer Valley Reservoir. “Have to go potty,” he managed to squeeze out in between agonizing groans. His whines quickly morphed into panicked squeals, and I knew we had to do something right away because we were at least one trolley ride and a 100-person line away from the nearest restroom. As I eyed the empty Slim-Jim can I debated. Should we? Is it legal? What if someone sees his naked bum out the window? What kind of mother would take a child out of their car seat with the car in motion? Judd’s screaming in my ear drowned out any other logical question and instead declared exactly what I needed to do. I stood in the backseat carefully holding the empty Slim Jim can in position. Judd looked at me with raised eyebrows. I looked at him and winked. “Go for it.” I started to panic as it looked as if we may need another can. I looked at him, then at the can, then at him again, then at the bottle of water he had sucked dry. Just as I was about to say, “wow,” my face slammed into the back of the headrest. “Sorry,” I hear Sean say. “But I really think this spot is closer.”
After spraying each child with enough sunscreen to burn a hole in the ozone directly above us, we march our way into the place that guarantees our dreams will come true. In one hand, Judd’s tiny fingers, in the other, the Slim Jim can, held six inches from my body. I was positive that everyone around us knew what that Slim Jim can held, their sunglasses really x-ray vision lenses.
As we walked through the pearly gates of fun, we were met on one side by a band with an exuberant tuba player (I still can’t hear middle C in that ear) belting out tunes that made me want to dance like no one could see me. On my other side I discretely watched a lady yell at her 7-year old son, “Are ya gonna cry? Huh? Are ya? Are ya gonna cry?” I wanted to say, “Look lady, it’s Disneyland.” But she wouldn’t have been able to hear me above the band. Besides, I’ve reached that point many times in my motherhood career.
As we muscled our way through the crowd to Space Mountain, a large, curly headed man in front of me sneezes. One second later I feel a mist of wet droplets cling to my face and nearly hyperventilate until I spot a string of misters above my head. A close one for this germ-a-phobe.
We screamed all the way down Space Mountain and for a moment I questioned if I was really seeing stars, or if my head just got jerked in a weird direction and I was “really seeing stars.” As we reached the bottom of the ride and slammed to a stop, Clay and I tripped over each other trying to get out fast enough that we could get in line for another try.
Clay and I shared an interest in the “head jerking, give-me-whatcha-got” rides. And since Sean felt sorry for me that I had never been to Disneyland, he agreed to take Judd and Drew (phobia of heights) on the more delicate rides. Let’s just say, Clay and I danced with death itself. Or at least that’s what Clay thought. Images of Clay and I jerking our way down Thunder Mountain Railroad are indelibly etched into my memories. I looked to my side grinning as I watched him throw his head back. His eyes closed and his mouth wide open in euphoria. The wind ripped through his short, almost white hair as his extended arms flailed in the air above his head. His giggles and shouts of “this is SO awesome!” tickled my emotional funny bone as no longer am I his mom, 24 years his elder, but his partner in daring fun.
At the end of the day, I reflected on our time together. I laughed out loud at the funnies and teared up at the tenders. It was one of the most healing times we’ve ever experienced as a family. Pure fun together. As we walked arm-in-arm back to the car, Judd chased Sean’s shadow, jumping on it as if he were trying to stop it somehow, giggling and squealing after every jump. Laughter that would surely please Walt Disney himself.
Monday, May 19, 2008
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
The Big Princess
I’ve decided that being the only girl in the family isn’t so bad most of the time—like when I told Clay the other night while tucking him into bed that he’s my star. “Mom, you’re my angel,” he replies with a grin magical enough to instantly transform me into the celestial being. I guess it was redemption for the insulting comment he made earlier that day when he boldly stated, “Girls brains are made from toothpicks and their heads are made out of rocks!” Drew quickly agreed then added his thoughts, “Yeah, they’re just so dumb.” I rolled my eyes and said, “Oh, yeah? Well boys are just smelly, and they make gross noises.” They looked at me blankly with their heads cocked to one side. Then one of them belched.
Once in awhile we insult the grandparents, like when we were in Malad a few weeks ago and he asked Mom and Dad “So what do you do when we're not here? Do you just sit around doing nothing?” He redeems himself once again as we’re driving off and he longingly looks out the window at Grandma and Grandpa waiving on the front porch. With his nose pressed to the window, he sighs and in a low whisper says, “I wish we didn’t have to go. I’m really going to miss them.”
I have to admit, there was one day in March I had toothpicks for brains, and most likely a large boulder for a head. It all started one snowy morning after a long night with Judd throwing up every two hours. I forced myself to get up and make breakfast for the boys before school. As I flipped the pancake, I felt something ping me in the back of the head. I turned to see Judd hurling his apple slices at me, one by one until none were left on his plate. I glanced at the calendar on the fridge to see what other damage might come that day, and noticed Sean had written that he was going to be out-of-town the entire next week. This was fine until I noticed he would be gone the day I was in charge of a big meeting that required significant time and preparation. I looked at the apple Judd had thrown at me on the floor next to the counter. Anger burned up my neck and into my toothpick brains, catching them on fire. I cocked my leg back and swung as hard as I could, imagining I was aiming for the corner of the goal in a soccer penalty kick. Apparently it has been over a decade since I’ve played organized soccer as I completely missed and kicked the leg of the island. I immediately heard a pop followed by searing pain through my foot. (I’m sure it was nothing compared to the lightning that exited Blake’s butt). I mumbled something and hopped to my room on one leg.
According to the x-ray, I chipped off a piece of the bone that was still partially connected to the tendon next to the first joint in my right big toe, so I had to have surgery. The podiatrist took out the bone fragment and sewed up the damaged tendon. During the two weeks I had to wear the nursing home resident boot with three wide Velcro straps, my healing toe was only stepped on twice and stubbed three times.
In an effort to sharpen my toothpicks, I enrolled in a couple of courses at the university to hopefully finish up my Bachelor Degree within the next few years.
Once in awhile we insult the grandparents, like when we were in Malad a few weeks ago and he asked Mom and Dad “So what do you do when we're not here? Do you just sit around doing nothing?” He redeems himself once again as we’re driving off and he longingly looks out the window at Grandma and Grandpa waiving on the front porch. With his nose pressed to the window, he sighs and in a low whisper says, “I wish we didn’t have to go. I’m really going to miss them.”
I have to admit, there was one day in March I had toothpicks for brains, and most likely a large boulder for a head. It all started one snowy morning after a long night with Judd throwing up every two hours. I forced myself to get up and make breakfast for the boys before school. As I flipped the pancake, I felt something ping me in the back of the head. I turned to see Judd hurling his apple slices at me, one by one until none were left on his plate. I glanced at the calendar on the fridge to see what other damage might come that day, and noticed Sean had written that he was going to be out-of-town the entire next week. This was fine until I noticed he would be gone the day I was in charge of a big meeting that required significant time and preparation. I looked at the apple Judd had thrown at me on the floor next to the counter. Anger burned up my neck and into my toothpick brains, catching them on fire. I cocked my leg back and swung as hard as I could, imagining I was aiming for the corner of the goal in a soccer penalty kick. Apparently it has been over a decade since I’ve played organized soccer as I completely missed and kicked the leg of the island. I immediately heard a pop followed by searing pain through my foot. (I’m sure it was nothing compared to the lightning that exited Blake’s butt). I mumbled something and hopped to my room on one leg.
According to the x-ray, I chipped off a piece of the bone that was still partially connected to the tendon next to the first joint in my right big toe, so I had to have surgery. The podiatrist took out the bone fragment and sewed up the damaged tendon. During the two weeks I had to wear the nursing home resident boot with three wide Velcro straps, my healing toe was only stepped on twice and stubbed three times.
In an effort to sharpen my toothpicks, I enrolled in a couple of courses at the university to hopefully finish up my Bachelor Degree within the next few years.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Ode to Potty Training
Potty training. Groan. Whine. Gnashing of the teeth. It stirs even the most deeply buried of animalistic emotions. Somehow your mind optimistically tricks you into thinking it might be different this time--he might only have one accident before completing the potty training course perfectly. The pee-soaked stains emerging from ten different spots in the carpet quickly fade from your memory.
Judd did quite well for the first seven days or so averaging only one or two slippages the entire time. Then, the dam broke, and we have been reaching our hands upward, mouthing the word “why”, in desperation ever since. One accident in particular was a large, camouflage puddle on the wood floor (its size would embarrass Lake Powell) sneakily hidden next to the side of the fireplace. Drew, an innocent bystander apparently unaware of the potty course Judd was taking, careened left, then right, then skidded out of his hydroplane landing softly on the rug, both hands out like an airplane.
Then there’s the supposed magic potty seat, aka donut, covered in Sesame Street characters. It is a vain attempt to somehow coerce the child in training to crave going potty so they can sit on the beloved Elmo. One cold, miserable day, I finally got Judd situated perfectly on the cushy seat. I turned my head in distraction only to feel a fine, wet spray, shrapnel from an errant missile, graze my face and the side of the wall. We can drop to our knees, we can scream, we can shake our fists. Or, we can trick ourselves into thinking some day we might miss these days of intense frustration and infinite elation.
Drew has let only one swear word slip from his tight lips this entire school year, and we believe it is due to his phenomenal teacher, Mr. Moser. So we nominated him for the KSL Teacher Feature Award, and he won! (for a look at the entire letter and the real reason we nominated him, please go here http://www.ksl.com/?nid=428&sid=2495929). So KSL's very own Amanda Dixon and an "Extremely Important Person" from Zion's Bank came to Legacy Elementary and presented Mr. Moser with the prestigious award at a large assembly. The kids hopped to their feet and proudly gave him a standing ovation. Drew wasn't sure about all the hullabaloo, but seemed to survive with a hearty grin that never left his face.
Kristine and I went snowshoeing up American Fork canyon with views so beautiful it would make any super model look ugly, except for maybe Ben Stiller’s “Blue Steel” in Zoolander. Despite talking about avalanches the entire time, how terrible it would be to be buried alive and discussing in scientific detail what it might be like to die in such a way, we made it out refreshed and vowing to do it again before spring.
Judd did quite well for the first seven days or so averaging only one or two slippages the entire time. Then, the dam broke, and we have been reaching our hands upward, mouthing the word “why”, in desperation ever since. One accident in particular was a large, camouflage puddle on the wood floor (its size would embarrass Lake Powell) sneakily hidden next to the side of the fireplace. Drew, an innocent bystander apparently unaware of the potty course Judd was taking, careened left, then right, then skidded out of his hydroplane landing softly on the rug, both hands out like an airplane.
Then there’s the supposed magic potty seat, aka donut, covered in Sesame Street characters. It is a vain attempt to somehow coerce the child in training to crave going potty so they can sit on the beloved Elmo. One cold, miserable day, I finally got Judd situated perfectly on the cushy seat. I turned my head in distraction only to feel a fine, wet spray, shrapnel from an errant missile, graze my face and the side of the wall. We can drop to our knees, we can scream, we can shake our fists. Or, we can trick ourselves into thinking some day we might miss these days of intense frustration and infinite elation.
Drew has let only one swear word slip from his tight lips this entire school year, and we believe it is due to his phenomenal teacher, Mr. Moser. So we nominated him for the KSL Teacher Feature Award, and he won! (for a look at the entire letter and the real reason we nominated him, please go here http://www.ksl.com/?nid=428&sid=2495929). So KSL's very own Amanda Dixon and an "Extremely Important Person" from Zion's Bank came to Legacy Elementary and presented Mr. Moser with the prestigious award at a large assembly. The kids hopped to their feet and proudly gave him a standing ovation. Drew wasn't sure about all the hullabaloo, but seemed to survive with a hearty grin that never left his face.
Kristine and I went snowshoeing up American Fork canyon with views so beautiful it would make any super model look ugly, except for maybe Ben Stiller’s “Blue Steel” in Zoolander. Despite talking about avalanches the entire time, how terrible it would be to be buried alive and discussing in scientific detail what it might be like to die in such a way, we made it out refreshed and vowing to do it again before spring.
Monday, January 7, 2008
Seasons Greetings Delayed
We escaped the holidays unscathed—save the broken vase over Thanksgiving and the holes burned into the backsides of our snow pants from skidding down the sledding hill after flying off our saucers. I haven’t felt the thrill of barreling down a hill that fast since I was probably five, six, or seven, and I’m turning red at having to admit I was trembling in my skivvies at the top looking down.
Judd careened down the hill in his green mini toboggan faster than any almost three-year old should probably go, his head bouncing so hard his teeth chattered all the way to the bottom. His red cheeks glowed through the icy snow that stuck to his face as his lips parted into a smile so big it rivaled the moon behind us. I looked up to see Drew, almost in orbit, slam into a young woman who was obliviously standing in the sled path, knocking her off her feet. I was sure she was unconscious since she didn’t get up for what seemed like a really long time. I lean over and mumbled something like this to Sean, “Helmets might be good next time,” wincing as I witnessed near collisions all around me at speeds of 30+ miles per hour. Ahh, though, the sound of plastic slicing through the snow is a good one. Unless, that is, when the plastic happens to be your front bumper…
I was in a big time hurry, and I couldn’t find a parking space. Finally spotting what looked like a winner I wasted no time. I whipped into it going a little too fast and slammed into the snow bank in front of me forcing the car in an upward position. I attempted to back up, self-conscious now strangers were gawking as the engine revved to over 5 RPM’s. Yet the car still wouldn’t budge. Images of the car stuck on the mound of snow with all tires spinning freely in the air sent taser-like currents swimming through my limbs. Then I looked down at the dashboard and realized I was in neutral. I smiled while nodding at the onlookers, then gently slid it into reverse.
On a more serious note, I enjoyed catching up with family on Grandma’s funeral and took comfort knowing that she’s with Grandpa. Brian and Blake get the “Good Guys” award for traveling so far in one day and being there even though it was at a great sacrifice. Mom gets the “I Can Stay Stoic” award for putting up with so much sh** which seems to pile up in suffocating amounts. Kristine and Julie, I don’t know what awards you get. I don’t have enough for everyone.
Judd careened down the hill in his green mini toboggan faster than any almost three-year old should probably go, his head bouncing so hard his teeth chattered all the way to the bottom. His red cheeks glowed through the icy snow that stuck to his face as his lips parted into a smile so big it rivaled the moon behind us. I looked up to see Drew, almost in orbit, slam into a young woman who was obliviously standing in the sled path, knocking her off her feet. I was sure she was unconscious since she didn’t get up for what seemed like a really long time. I lean over and mumbled something like this to Sean, “Helmets might be good next time,” wincing as I witnessed near collisions all around me at speeds of 30+ miles per hour. Ahh, though, the sound of plastic slicing through the snow is a good one. Unless, that is, when the plastic happens to be your front bumper…
I was in a big time hurry, and I couldn’t find a parking space. Finally spotting what looked like a winner I wasted no time. I whipped into it going a little too fast and slammed into the snow bank in front of me forcing the car in an upward position. I attempted to back up, self-conscious now strangers were gawking as the engine revved to over 5 RPM’s. Yet the car still wouldn’t budge. Images of the car stuck on the mound of snow with all tires spinning freely in the air sent taser-like currents swimming through my limbs. Then I looked down at the dashboard and realized I was in neutral. I smiled while nodding at the onlookers, then gently slid it into reverse.
On a more serious note, I enjoyed catching up with family on Grandma’s funeral and took comfort knowing that she’s with Grandpa. Brian and Blake get the “Good Guys” award for traveling so far in one day and being there even though it was at a great sacrifice. Mom gets the “I Can Stay Stoic” award for putting up with so much sh** which seems to pile up in suffocating amounts. Kristine and Julie, I don’t know what awards you get. I don’t have enough for everyone.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
December 2007
Halloween screeched through our week like an 18-wheeler swerving to miss a large animal. Sean decided Las Vegas would be much more thrilling than hauling an old man, a green slime bucket, and a skunk around the neighborhood--all greedily begging for treats. So on Monday, he slipped quietly out the back door, suitcases still swinging at his sides, claiming he had some VERY important business meetings that would take the entire week. Make no mistake, I was the lucky one this year.
I woke up early the morning of the morbid day, and strapped on my Ghostbusters backpack, poised to tackle the early morning school costume parade. With one spray foam can clutched one hand, and one green hairspray poised in the other, I was equipped to create the greatest slime bucket costume in the history of slime bucket costumes. Clay stood before me strategically placed inside a black, Rubbermaid garbage can, with a hole on each end for his head and feet. His duct taped suspenders hung over his shoulders. “Close your eyes,” I said in monotone. “Mom, I’m not sure…” But I couldn’t hear the rest because the “psssssss” from the spray can drowned out any other trivial words. “Hold your hands up!” I shouted while busily covering the entire top of the lid with foam. I giggled under my breath as I watched it expand to twice its size. Soon, the “psssssss” was drowned out by Clay’s crying, “I can’t hold my arms up any longer! I just can't...” The “nooooo” lingered on my lips in slow motion as I watched his arms droop and come to rest into the unset goop. As he lifted his long sleeve covered arms, webs of gooey, unsolidified, spray foam connected his arms to the lid of the garbage can. I frantically turned the can to the side where I read, “Caution: Always wear gloves, takes 10 minutes to set, and turpentine needed for clean up. I turned and said dammit so soft, only the ground and me could hear it. I whirled around and looked at him so long and in so many different ways, I thought it might actually change what I was seeing. I checked my watch. Ten minutes until the costume parade. I stripped him naked, slammed on a clean shirt and gloves and sprayed the foam all over again. This time the garbage can was on the ground--without Clay inside. I waited as long as I could possibly wait, approximately 500 jumping jacks later, and careened two miles down the road to the elementary school just in time for the big show. Another close one for the memory books.
As Thanksgiving draws near we gobble with the anticipation of spending three days together, shoveling down more calories than a one-ton dump truck can haul, and grimacing as the kids run around Blake & Kate’s table in dizzying pursuit of the chosen one holding the wishbone. Our expectations aren’t unrealistic; we just hope our boys remember to put their clothes back on after their showers, and to close the bathroom door before unloading their holiday delights. If not, you can’t tell me you haven’t been cautioned not to look.
Here's to happy holidays!
I woke up early the morning of the morbid day, and strapped on my Ghostbusters backpack, poised to tackle the early morning school costume parade. With one spray foam can clutched one hand, and one green hairspray poised in the other, I was equipped to create the greatest slime bucket costume in the history of slime bucket costumes. Clay stood before me strategically placed inside a black, Rubbermaid garbage can, with a hole on each end for his head and feet. His duct taped suspenders hung over his shoulders. “Close your eyes,” I said in monotone. “Mom, I’m not sure…” But I couldn’t hear the rest because the “psssssss” from the spray can drowned out any other trivial words. “Hold your hands up!” I shouted while busily covering the entire top of the lid with foam. I giggled under my breath as I watched it expand to twice its size. Soon, the “psssssss” was drowned out by Clay’s crying, “I can’t hold my arms up any longer! I just can't...” The “nooooo” lingered on my lips in slow motion as I watched his arms droop and come to rest into the unset goop. As he lifted his long sleeve covered arms, webs of gooey, unsolidified, spray foam connected his arms to the lid of the garbage can. I frantically turned the can to the side where I read, “Caution: Always wear gloves, takes 10 minutes to set, and turpentine needed for clean up. I turned and said dammit so soft, only the ground and me could hear it. I whirled around and looked at him so long and in so many different ways, I thought it might actually change what I was seeing. I checked my watch. Ten minutes until the costume parade. I stripped him naked, slammed on a clean shirt and gloves and sprayed the foam all over again. This time the garbage can was on the ground--without Clay inside. I waited as long as I could possibly wait, approximately 500 jumping jacks later, and careened two miles down the road to the elementary school just in time for the big show. Another close one for the memory books.
As Thanksgiving draws near we gobble with the anticipation of spending three days together, shoveling down more calories than a one-ton dump truck can haul, and grimacing as the kids run around Blake & Kate’s table in dizzying pursuit of the chosen one holding the wishbone. Our expectations aren’t unrealistic; we just hope our boys remember to put their clothes back on after their showers, and to close the bathroom door before unloading their holiday delights. If not, you can’t tell me you haven’t been cautioned not to look.
Here's to happy holidays!
October 2007
My birthday was filled with surprises and even more surprises. Sean (and several other contributors) bought me a shiny, red full-suspension Diamond Back mountain bike. I’m not sure if he was more excited about the great deal he got, or giving it to me for my birthday as he jubilantly pointed out the upgrades and squishy gel seat he handpicked for my oh-so-delicate tush. He urged me to test ride it before “the big ride” he had planned for the following morning up South Fork Provo Canyon. I took off before he could change his mind and rode a mile or so on the canal trail not far from our house. I met up with a boy who I thought was treading water without the water, but quickly realized he was rollerblading. I passed him widely in the weeds as to not get beaned by his flailing arms. I smiled and giggled like a young girl as a bug splattered between my two front teeth. I could hear the wind spray past my ears even as I slowed down to cross the street. I quickly realized it wasn’t the wind, but the air seeping out of both tires that were speckled with goat heads (thorns). I knew one of Sean’s favorite jobs was changing flat tires, so when I explained what happened I was surprised by his lack of enthusiasm and the sounds of clanking tools and swear words seeping through the garage door.
Manipulating Drew’s and Clay’s sports schedules can test even the most savvy juggler—of which I’m not. Throw in a fever and a seal-like barking cough, and one kid that “can’t hold it any longer” with no bathroom in sight, and you have the recipe for pure glee—and sports spectating at it’s finest. Add tears of just missing that touchdown pass and the screams of joy for unknowingly shooting and swishing it in the wrong basket and it’s family fun unmatched.
Parent teacher conferences almost parallel the anticipation of fall sports. Teachers rave about Drew and Clay being good students. Then their voices turn low and raspy as they lean in talking through clenched teeth, “and if they could just shut up, they would be even more amazing” as if they have just shared the coveted secret of success. I nod and smile, the light glints off my eye.
Judd likes to whack people in the head when they least expect it. Then he makes it up with a sweetness only a double scoop of earnestly chocolate ice cream with a cherry on top can match. As I busily talk on the phone one morning, he leans over and whispers in my ear. “Mom, tell ya secret?”
“Yeah, babe,” I whisper back, covering the phone.
“I wuv you sooo much.”
I drop the phone forgetting what I was talking about anyway, and we hug and dance around the room. I wonder how I got so lucky.
I’m also reminded how lucky we are when Drew tells me he feels like he was sent to our family for a reason, and that even though he doesn’t know why, he is grateful because he loves us so much. In the same lucky day, Clay asks me if we’re going to have another baby someday. I tell him “no”, but thanks anyway. “Good mom, because I like our family just the way it is.”
Somehow during these tender times, our whiplash-like schedule seems to stop for a fleeting moment, and I’m engulfed by their love for life and the frank simplicity of their words.
Manipulating Drew’s and Clay’s sports schedules can test even the most savvy juggler—of which I’m not. Throw in a fever and a seal-like barking cough, and one kid that “can’t hold it any longer” with no bathroom in sight, and you have the recipe for pure glee—and sports spectating at it’s finest. Add tears of just missing that touchdown pass and the screams of joy for unknowingly shooting and swishing it in the wrong basket and it’s family fun unmatched.
Parent teacher conferences almost parallel the anticipation of fall sports. Teachers rave about Drew and Clay being good students. Then their voices turn low and raspy as they lean in talking through clenched teeth, “and if they could just shut up, they would be even more amazing” as if they have just shared the coveted secret of success. I nod and smile, the light glints off my eye.
Judd likes to whack people in the head when they least expect it. Then he makes it up with a sweetness only a double scoop of earnestly chocolate ice cream with a cherry on top can match. As I busily talk on the phone one morning, he leans over and whispers in my ear. “Mom, tell ya secret?”
“Yeah, babe,” I whisper back, covering the phone.
“I wuv you sooo much.”
I drop the phone forgetting what I was talking about anyway, and we hug and dance around the room. I wonder how I got so lucky.
I’m also reminded how lucky we are when Drew tells me he feels like he was sent to our family for a reason, and that even though he doesn’t know why, he is grateful because he loves us so much. In the same lucky day, Clay asks me if we’re going to have another baby someday. I tell him “no”, but thanks anyway. “Good mom, because I like our family just the way it is.”
Somehow during these tender times, our whiplash-like schedule seems to stop for a fleeting moment, and I’m engulfed by their love for life and the frank simplicity of their words.
August 2007
Today is the first day of school. It is a happy day. The quietness surrounds me like a warm blanket.
We’ve had a great, yet busy, summer. Clay, who turned seven in June, continued his guitar lessons—complete with a three quarter size metallic blue electric guitar. He also moved up a level in gymnastics where, here comes the bragging, he’s the only boy in gymnastics that can do the full-on splits (ouch). When we have guests over he’ll unexpectedly drop into the splits followed by a gasp from the crowd. I’m sure he’s shown most of you his Circ De Soleil-like acrobatics. He certainly doesn’t lack confidence. Just yesterday I complimented him on building an amazing lego structure. I asked him how he did it. He explained, “I just have a terrific mind, of course. I bet if you had a terrific mind, you could do it too!”
Drew is nine years old, perfect for babysitting Judd while I mow our new lawn. Yes, we’re thrilled we finally have grass to replace the sea of 4-foot weeds that nearly overtook our dwelling. No more stickers in our socks or, if we wore flip flops, twigs between our toes. Judd loves a screaming underdog in his swing on the new swingset, while Clay carefully scales the top of the 10-foot monkey bars, then drops into the splits. Ok, I lied on the last part.
Drew has been my big helper this summer, yelling at the other boys if they’re not doing their jobs so I don’t have to. No, really, it is nice to have a child finally old enough to carry their weight around here. Drew will start piano lessons again with the start of the school year. I’m anxious once again to hear songs played three times as fast as the normal rendition, then trying to name that tune while I busily attend to my housework.
Judd, two years old who will be three in February, likes experimenting with different ways to say “No!” or “That’s mine!” The other day I caught him watching cartoons with his potty seat balancing perfectly on his head. His red hair has been replaced with more of a blonde rendition for the summer, which goes better with most of his outfits anyway, and the hot pink toenails we painted together several weeks ago.
Sean joined a city softball league with his brother. He likes to boast about his multiple home runs, just to me of course, and his amazing “diving behind the back catches” in the outfield. I’m glad he’s having fun. I guess the $200 D. Marini bat he bought on Ebay is a justified expenditure. Work keeps him busy, not busy enough to not continue having his daily bowl of BYU Creamery Earnestly Chocolate ice cream, but busy.
Did I tell you I wrote a book? Oh, you’re thinking, I thought I was reading it. No. My real book is 400 pages. Hopefully I’ll get a publisher. If not, I’ll have to find the nearest cliff. It has taken me three years and a lot of research and practice. I’m still working on the autism council seeing some great efforts develop into solutions and resources for family members and those affected with autism. It’s a rewarding outlet.
I’m really looking forward to Thanksgiving. I hope all of you are planning to mooch off Blake and Kate along with our family.
We’ve had a great, yet busy, summer. Clay, who turned seven in June, continued his guitar lessons—complete with a three quarter size metallic blue electric guitar. He also moved up a level in gymnastics where, here comes the bragging, he’s the only boy in gymnastics that can do the full-on splits (ouch). When we have guests over he’ll unexpectedly drop into the splits followed by a gasp from the crowd. I’m sure he’s shown most of you his Circ De Soleil-like acrobatics. He certainly doesn’t lack confidence. Just yesterday I complimented him on building an amazing lego structure. I asked him how he did it. He explained, “I just have a terrific mind, of course. I bet if you had a terrific mind, you could do it too!”
Drew is nine years old, perfect for babysitting Judd while I mow our new lawn. Yes, we’re thrilled we finally have grass to replace the sea of 4-foot weeds that nearly overtook our dwelling. No more stickers in our socks or, if we wore flip flops, twigs between our toes. Judd loves a screaming underdog in his swing on the new swingset, while Clay carefully scales the top of the 10-foot monkey bars, then drops into the splits. Ok, I lied on the last part.
Drew has been my big helper this summer, yelling at the other boys if they’re not doing their jobs so I don’t have to. No, really, it is nice to have a child finally old enough to carry their weight around here. Drew will start piano lessons again with the start of the school year. I’m anxious once again to hear songs played three times as fast as the normal rendition, then trying to name that tune while I busily attend to my housework.
Judd, two years old who will be three in February, likes experimenting with different ways to say “No!” or “That’s mine!” The other day I caught him watching cartoons with his potty seat balancing perfectly on his head. His red hair has been replaced with more of a blonde rendition for the summer, which goes better with most of his outfits anyway, and the hot pink toenails we painted together several weeks ago.
Sean joined a city softball league with his brother. He likes to boast about his multiple home runs, just to me of course, and his amazing “diving behind the back catches” in the outfield. I’m glad he’s having fun. I guess the $200 D. Marini bat he bought on Ebay is a justified expenditure. Work keeps him busy, not busy enough to not continue having his daily bowl of BYU Creamery Earnestly Chocolate ice cream, but busy.
Did I tell you I wrote a book? Oh, you’re thinking, I thought I was reading it. No. My real book is 400 pages. Hopefully I’ll get a publisher. If not, I’ll have to find the nearest cliff. It has taken me three years and a lot of research and practice. I’m still working on the autism council seeing some great efforts develop into solutions and resources for family members and those affected with autism. It’s a rewarding outlet.
I’m really looking forward to Thanksgiving. I hope all of you are planning to mooch off Blake and Kate along with our family.
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