Cozy

We all cuddle up for a self-portrait on Max's bed for a sippy-break.

When I was younger I used to want a really big house. My mom laughed, muahahahah. "Who would clean it?" Then she'd say, "Besides, it really only matters to have a big kitchen or big room attached to the kitchen. Because where mom is, the kids are."

Lately we've been watching "Jon and Kate Plus 8" on TLC. They just bought a bigger house. Kate said it would give the kids plenty of room to be wherever they wanted and not always in her room or crowded in the same space. So now I laugh, muahahahaha.

Unless her kids are different than mine, I bet those six 4-year-olds will crowd her the same as they did in the smaller house. This is because wherever I am, my kids are. They magically stick to my legs if I start cooking. They find my hiding spots for phone conversations. They follow me from room to room.

As I type this, Max is showing me something and demanding I look, Ben is at my ankles saying "Down! Down!" (which really means he wants to be picked up). Now they both want more milk. I think I hear my mom laughing.

Ain't Misbehaving

I walked back into the living room and saw my boys like this.


They are breaking two rules - first, Max is pantless. Again. Second, they took the cushion off the couch. Again. But instead of scolding, I had to laugh at how content they were and take pictures. Ben the rascal has to do whatever is brother is doing and it makes me laugh.

Ancient of days

I'm turning 30 in five months. I think it's on my mind.

I dreamed this week someone asked me if I was going to serve a church mission next year. I said, "Well, I'm 30 this year, not 21...."

My age was more top of mind than the fact that, oh, I'm married and have two children.

I think there's just something about turning 30 no matter what your situation in life. I hear 50 is hard too, but what about other decade-markers? I don't see much difference between 70 and 90. Maybe I'll still be blogging and can lament about entering my 80s.

Perhaps because I seem to be aware that I am getting "OLDER," I try to be all youthful with the young women at church. I've blogged about this before, but here's another incident. On Wednesday we played Jeopardy. I was only supposed to be scorekeeper and let the girls play. Instead, I whispered answers, teased other teams and contested the questions. Jeez.

What would you wish with a bump on your head?

I wanted to a)be a cool mom, b)feel 20 years younger, and c)help my boys burn off their energy, so I set up a jumping pile at the bottom of the stairs.

The boys didn't know what to do about it. Ben rolled around in the blankets saying "night-night," Max looked expectantly at me, so I thought I'd show them how it's done.

Foreshadowing: We live in a 50s house with a lower ceiling in the basement. At the bottom of the staircase the ceiling dips even more. My 6'2" husband ducks.

My story continues. I picked the third stair up, said "Watch mommy!" Then I crouched my knees and jumped. BONK! I landed flat on my back, clutching the top of my head.

I didn't see stars, but I did see two little faces peering over me. One curious, one anxious. So I laughed. I laughed til I cried. Whoa dang it hurt. I felt like those cartoon characters who get thumped, or a conehead. Even two days later it still hurt to wash my hair. At work, my radio headphones hurt the top of my head when I put them on. But every time I think about it, I have to laugh. It really was so silly.

Max didn't mind. He was soon jumping gleefully into the pile of blankets, burning off that energy and hopefully thinking his mom was cool.

Family o' fun

My family all gathered in Missouri this month without me. I now regret not scrambling to get the time off for the impromtu get together, after seeing these pictures of their frivolity.

They are playing King of the Rock, on the rock where I got engaged. Plus my siblings are lots of fun. Boy I have a lot of brothers, don't I?!

It's better than Outback Steakhouse

Sometimes I feel lost in blog-land.

I don't really cook, and I'm definitely not a vegetarian. So no recipe posting for me. JB gets more into the dinner making, which I heartily endorse.

I'm not a photographer, at all. JB does the family's best camera work.

(maybe he should blog)

I don't craft much.

But, if I did have blog envy, it would be for this one. When I see her cakes and frosting, I think...

"I want to go to there."

Slogan Stealing

Ben likes to read the Sunday paper. Without his Sunday pants on.

I'm thinking of titling the picture, "Ben Comes At You Fast."
Or, "Ben Happens."

Manipulation

Please tell me I'm not a bad mother.

Remember this happy face from Christmas? He was so excited about the big boy bike Santa sent him. Since then, we've had only a few opportunities to practice riding it. Inversion, cold and fatigue have all been in the way.

But the last few days have been warmer, and surprisingly sunnier. So out we went. But Max didn't want to ride much. He often hopped off and walked with his bike along the sidewalk, meaning I had to drag it through the icy spots (people who don't shovel their sidewalks irk me but that's another post).

I was so tired of pushing Ben in the stroller and dragging the bike, or waiting for Max to keep up as he walked beside his bike, that I finally said "Do you not like riding your bike anymore? Should we give it back to Santa Claus?"

Yes, I said that. I'm terrible. His sweet face fell. That night in his prayers he mentioned it -- "Please don't let me give my bike back to Santa."

I still feel horrible.

But yesterday, we had a break through. We went down to the elementary school after hours, and let him ride on the blacktop. He did fantastic! He loved riding his bike. It turns out he was so afraid of riding off of the sidewalk into the street that he was walking beside his bike instead. Apparently my "Watch out for cars!!! Stay off the street!!!!" has sunk in.

We'll do it again today. He's come a long way from his little trike riding days of yesteryear.

Ball, ball!

I like to take the boys to watch JB play basketball on Saturday mornings. Last Saturday was an early game, so I just left the boys in their jammies. During half-time they love to run on the court.

In the above picture, Max is reaching for Ben to make sure he doesn't get in the way or get hit by the ball. Below, Ben is running. He loves the open space and goes straight for any loose basketball he can find.

I tried to take a picture of JB playing, but they turned out blurry (not that the above pictures are any better). I'll take the real camera next time. If I remember it along with the diapers, toy balls, toy trucks, crayons, sippies and snacks.

Paternity

Apparently there's one for each of us. The following scene took place recently.

Kitchen. Noon. Mary comes home from work.

Ben : (squealing) "mamamama downdowndowndown mamama."

JB: "Are you excited to have your mommy home?"

Max: "No, she's my mommy. Benny goes with daddy."

Me: "I'm his mommy too. And daddy is your daddy, too."

Max: "No, he's not my daddy."

Me: "Who's your daddy?"

Me, five minutes later and still chuckling: "Who's your daddy? Who's your daddy?"