Recording that which is precious to me

The beauty of keeping journals for the kids is that periodically I can read back and remember the cute or hilarious things they did.  I'm thinking this will come in especially handy when they are teenagers and I can't stand them.

I hope that these journals give them a sense of what they were like and what their childhood was like once they are adults.

People have asked me how I have time to journal and blog.  Since I don't watch television and don't play games online and don't send texts or talk on my cell phone, it leaves me plenty of time to write.

When I only had N, I definitely wrote longer entries about the things she did.  With 3 kids, I sometimes only write a sentence or two.

Here are some of the things I jotted down.  It is funny to see how their words and language has changed over time.

5/10/06--N's journal, she was 2-and-a-half
You noticed Daddy's "equipment."  He was getting out of the shower and you gave him a quizzical look.  I asked what you were looking at and you said, "Daddy's ponytail."  

5/21/06--N's journal; she was 2-and-a-half
Just now I put you down for your nap.  You said, "I love you lady."

5/31/07--N's journal; she was 3-and-a-half
On Sunday morning daddy was grinding coffee beans.  You said, "Mommy, tell daddy to stop---he's giving me a headache."

7/23/07--N's journal; she was 3-and-a-half
To encourage you to throw your clothes in the hamper, we tell you to shoot a basket.  Whenever you do so, you say, "I made a shoot."  


7/6/10--G's journal; he was 2-and-a-half
You love watching the Thomas the Train movie, "Hero of the Rails."  But you call it "Hero of the Handrails."

10/28/10--G's journal; he was 3
You started eating a cupcake but then got distracted by something else and left most of it on your plate.  So I gave the bottom part to M.  You eventually came back and said you wanted your cupcake, so I gave you what was left...basically the icing with only a little cake underneath.  You looked at it and said,
"It's.....(pause)
"It's dead."  With a look of utter disbelief on your face.  


12/6/11--G's journal; he is 4
Today while you and Nana were playing in the basement, I heard you call her a "meddling door-rat."  

12/16/11--G's journal; he is 4
Today you wound chewed bubble gum around your neck in a thin strand like a necklace and couldn't get it off, although you did get a washcloth and tried to do it yourself before you hollered for me.  It took some serious scrubbing and baby oil to get it off.  


11/13/11--M's journal; he is 2
The other day we were talking about Christmas and N and G were telling what they wanted from Santa. I said to you, "What do you want, M?"
You pointed to the top of the kitchen cabinet where I have the Halloween candy stored in a Winnie the Pooh bucket and said, "POOH!" 

The itch to write---aka, My life of journaling

I started keeping journals as a child.  I continued writing throughout my years of school, even going through a spell of thinking I was the next Anne Sexton or Emily Dickinson.  But who hasn't done that???

In my first journal, when I was around 10 years old, I wrote about what I did that day:  went to the grocery store with mom, ate mac & cheese for supper.  Virtually every concluding sentence was, "Today was a good day."

As I moved into junior high and early high school, I began the bad poetry shtick.  This poem is titled, "Dream Enchantment."  Good grief.

As I got older, my handwriting grew more chicken-scratchy and my mood grew more bleak.  No more "Today was a good day" endings.

When D and I became engaged, I started a journal of our engagement, which I gave to him as a surprise as part of our wedding ceremony.

I journaled about our marriage preparations.  How I felt about him.  What I expected marriage to be.  I clipped articles and cartoons about marriage.

I kept pregnancy journals throughout each pregnancy and then began journals for each of the kids.  I treasure these most of all.

N's journals.  

(First-born children get all the spoils.  Of course, much of my writing from the time N was 2-and-a-half has been blogged.)

I write down funny things they've said over time and include little notes they've written.  The note below was written by N.  It says, "I waas seik."  (I was sick)

The blogging explains why G and M only have 2 journals each.

G's journals

I keep tickets of events we take the kids to see.  This is the ticket from G's first movie-theater experience---seeing Cars 2 this past summer.  

M's journals

M obviously doesn't say much, but I do write down new words he is saying and books he wants me to read over and over and over.  

That's like, your opinion, man.....

I truly have mixed feelings about blogging and any other kind of social discussion media (Facebook, Twitter, whatnot).

On the one hand, I think it is great for people to be able to "put stuff out there" because it does often open the door to discussion, or at least getting people to think.  For me, blogging and Facebooking are a means of quenching the need to write, stay in touch with friends in far off places, and perhaps offer support to other stay-at-home moms and women with mood issues similar to mine.

It is always nice to have someone I actually know (like Giselle or Susan or Keri) comment because, even when they disagree, I know that they like me.  We have a relationship outside of the blogging and Facebooking and know we can tease each other.

It is also nice to have bloggy friends I don't know (like Kelsey or Bethany) comment because they have  given me thoughtful comments.  While they, too, may disagree with things I have said, they do so in a way that is tempered with friendship established over the course of reciprocal blogging comments.

But here's the double rub with doing anything publicly.  First, there are those people who don't acknowledge themselves, who stay anonymous.  Remaining anonymous is certainly fine and in principal I don't have a problem with anyone's wish to remain unknown.

However, sometimes while remaining safely cocooned in their anonymity these folks write things in a way that comes across as hateful, mean-spirited, and generally ass-hole-ish.  Would these people say these things if we all knew their names were Kate and Delores and could see a picture of their faces right next to their names?  I think not.  Would these people say these things to my face if they knew me?  I doubt it.

I have read lots of things online with which I disagree, but I generally keep my mouth shut and my fingers still.  If I type something which might be construed as mean or nasty, then I am just coming across as a jerk.  And if I don't even own up to it by showing my face and listing my name, then I am a coward.

Some might say, "Well, you are putting your stuff out there, so suck it up."  I agree to an extent.

The difference is I am not demanding anyone read my blog, not emailing it to someone's browser without them having added their email to the little feature on the blog's home page.  I am essentially putting a potted plant of my choosing on my front porch where anyone who drives by can see it.  Some people who drive by say, "Hey, nice flowers."  Some people see my flowers and think to themselves, "Dang, those are ugly." And some people yell out the car window as they drive by, "You got some nasty-ass flowers on your porch!"

This metaphor could be applied to virtually any situation.  If I wear something hideous to Target most people will ignore it, thinking to themselves, "God, what an atrocious outfit!"  But no one is gonna come up to my face and say it because 1. to do so is rude and 2. they run the risk of being punched in the mouth.

If only the courtesies we extend to people in real life were extended to the online world.

The October surprise

In October my parents celebrated their 40th wedding anniversary.

The day before their actual anniversary, my brother and I held a surprise wedding blessing and party for them at their church.  We started planning it in August, making it the longest 2 months of my life since I couldn't talk about it with my mother, whom I talk to about virtually everything.

Much skulking around was needed to pull this thing off.  I had to scan through all the joke emails they send me to pull email addresses for their friends whom I don't personally know.  I had to do some B&E at their home in September and early October when they were out of town to check their address book, borrow some CDs to burn songs onto my iPod, and "steal" the champagne glasses they used at their wedding (that D and I used at our wedding 14 years ago and my brother and SIL used at their wedding 10 years ago).

On the invitations, I put my home phone number as the RSVP contact info, meaning I had to unplug my answering machine whenever my mom was here and I ran errands so she wouldn't hear someone leave a message about the event.

A few days before the event I called the welcoming committee chairperson at Mom and Dad's church to ask if she would call my parents to get them to "usher" at Saturday's 5:00 mass.  It took mom awhile to finally understand that she didn't actually have to usher....that it was our ploy to ensure they showed up to mass.

We ordered a beautiful wedding cake, made a Shutterfly photo album of pictures of them from the past 40 years, and purchased a commemorative plate on which guests could sign their names.

The day after the party I felt like I'd been hit by a truck----exhausted like never before.  I've planned events in the past and never had this kind of visceral feeling after all was said and done.  I think it was the secret-keeping that did me in, the anxiety that someone could let the cat out of the bag.

But it was wonderful.  My dad's two Air Force buddies and their wives (from Ohio and New Jersey) came down, as did many of dad's former co-workers at General Electric.  Mom's quilting group friends attended, as did neighbors and family members.  Mom and Dad were shocked to see so many unexpected faces.

The groom kissing the bride.  

My family.

My children smell like butt

Children are gross.  It starts with meconium and goes downhill from there.

I doubt I would be able to function as a mom of three if it weren't for my Lexapro.  There is only so much yuck a person with OCD who has germ issues can handle.  When N was younger, if she pooped in the tub I had to break out the bleach, scald my hands in hot water and actively work to convince myself that the tub was clean and she wouldn't contract some freaky poop-related illness.

Now, either my medication has really built up in my system or I've built up my tolerance to poop or I'm too darn busy to worry about it much.  When I have to flip G's poops, if some poop residue gets on my hands, I wash 'em well and go about my day.  When I've got me, G and M crammed into a restroom stall and G has to completely disrobe to pee on the potty (since he sits) and M is crawling all over the floor, I wash their hands when we're all done and don't think much about the nasty fecal microbes that spray out all over the floor whenever the toilets flush.

G and M are definitely gross with the fondling of the penises and whatnot, but I am a little amazed at how disgusting N still is.  I thought an almost 8-year-old would be a little more hygienic, and maybe other kids are, but not her.

She never flushes the toilet.  I don't have a problem with, "If it's yellow, let it mellow," but daggonit, I firmly believe in, "If it's brown, flush it down."  And she does not.  Ever.  Flush.  It.  Down.   She swears that she wipes, but I never see toilet paper.   I think I would recognize toilet paper (unless it has been sitting in an unflushed toilet so long it completely dissipates).

To make matters worse and amp up the gross factor, she is a terribly inconsistent hand-washer.
The cherry on top of everything is she farts alot.

G and M smell like butt all the time because they both still do the deed in their shorts.

Hence, the butt smell that emanates from my children.

I admit that I am not real regular about giving the kids baths.  When I only had 1 child, giving a bath was a way to break up the day, give us something different to do.  Bathing two children is slightly more involved.  Three children makes bath time a 2-hour activity that always involves a change of clothes---and I'm talking about myself here.  It is a headache enough wrestling children into and out of their regular clothes on a daily basis, plus diaper changes and flipping poop out of underwear.  Up until recently I've been of the mindset that, "The kids get a bath once a week whether they need it or not."  What's good enough for the pioneers has been good enough for me.

But with Stinky Sue, I'm finding that a once a week bath is not cutting it.

Between my cats and their inability to cover their stuff in the litterbox and my kids, I think the smell of unseemly fecal material has permanently invaded my nasal passages.  

What do these pics say about my kid?

G is starting to draw real pictures, and by that I mean we can sorta tell what they are.  It just feels like a HUGE milestone when my kids begin drawing cephalopods.   I save some of the drawings, but G went on a spree so I thought I'd photograph him holding his art to save a little space in his treasure bin.

He started out being all cute and smiley and then just got plumb weird.

Willy Wonka kind of day

The boys and I visited a local candy factory today with playgroup friends for a holiday party.  The boys got to make marshmallow chocolate penguins and do a candy coin scavenger hunt and draw on a chalkboard and play a pinball game and eat pizza.

Oh, yes, and they also got to eat candy.  Momma, having just worked out this morning, contained herself.  It helps to bring two little boys to a candy shop because Momma doesn't have time to actually browse the homemade chocolate deliciousness section.

Selecting his marshmallows.

Dipping 'em.  

The finished penguin product.

M slathered white fudge on the chocolate marshmallows, ate a couple of the blue M&Ms (what was supposed to be the eyes), and dove headfirst into the eating part of the process.  

A face only a momma could love.  

And only a blast of water from a hose can clean off.

The whole adorable gang.