I don't typically use my blog to make major family announcements, but perhaps just this once. I thought this day would come much farther down the road, but I suppose we embrace things as they happen. We haven't had a wedding in the family for some time, so I suppose we're about due. Here goes: Ethan is getting married.
Yesterday as I drove him to school I asked him about the other kids in his class. Ever since the kindergarten camp week in August, he's talked about a girl with a lemon necklace named Sommer. I asked him if he plays with any of the boys in his class. He said yes, but that Sommer follows him around and vice versa. Then he added that soon he and Sommer would be spending even more time together.
Why's that? I asked.
You have to guess.
Akward silence, big grin on his face.
We're getting married.
Really, when?
Not until we're grown up. But it's good to find out who you're going to marry when you're still little.
Ah, Sommer lovin' happened so fast . . .
Friday, September 12, 2008
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Fool
As the boys have grown, Elliot has become, somewhat annoyingly if you ask Ethan, Ethan's shadow. It's been rather fun therefore to see Elliot turn into his own person every day while Ethan's away at school.
Where Enah?
You know where Ethan is, where did we take him this morning?
Enah at fool?
Yes, Ethan's at school.
He's become quite a little chatterbox. He flirts with the camp staff, does puzzles, plays games and watches moomies.
He's become my little buddy. I'm remembering what it was like to hang with just Ethan before Elliot was born. It's an odd feeling to have to think about activities for him to do rather than just breaking up fights between brothers.
Lately he's entered the NO! I do it myself! phase with hurricane force. Mix that with a good two-year-old tantrum and you have quite the storm.
Yet, the minute Enah gets home from fool, he immediately reverts to shadow.
The other day in the car, we notice he's covered himself completely with his favorite blanket. Then we hear:
Where Are Me?!
Where Enah?
You know where Ethan is, where did we take him this morning?
Enah at fool?
Yes, Ethan's at school.
He's become quite a little chatterbox. He flirts with the camp staff, does puzzles, plays games and watches moomies.
He's become my little buddy. I'm remembering what it was like to hang with just Ethan before Elliot was born. It's an odd feeling to have to think about activities for him to do rather than just breaking up fights between brothers.
Lately he's entered the NO! I do it myself! phase with hurricane force. Mix that with a good two-year-old tantrum and you have quite the storm.
Yet, the minute Enah gets home from fool, he immediately reverts to shadow.
The other day in the car, we notice he's covered himself completely with his favorite blanket. Then we hear:
Where Are Me?!
Saturday, September 6, 2008
Hypothetically Speaking
Let’s go back to our hypothetical friend Sara. Let’s pretend that Sara works at a very family friendly organization located on a large property. The organization owns many tools and pieces of equipment in order to maintain this property. Meet Sam, Sara’s husband. Sam, who is not an employee, has been given permission to use some of the tools at the organization because, like I said, it is a family friendly organization. While Sam is occupied with the tools, their 9-year-old son Mason is hanging around. Somewhere along the line, Sam gives permission to Mason to hop into a golf cart owned by the organization and take it for a little spin. This being a family friendly organization, there are other employees’ children around. Mason, being adventurous, offers to give two other children, aged 5 and 8, a ride. Their mothers whose spouses are also employees, make this discovery and are understandably upset. What would you do? Talk to Sam directly? If this were a regular neighborly situation, yes, that is perhaps the proper course of action. You might approach Sam and discuss the apparent safety concerns, ask him to keep his child and cart on his own property, or keep your child on your own. But, let’s consider a couple of things:
1) The golf cart belongs to the organization, and it is against policy not only for non-employees to drive it, but obviously for any child to do so.
2) The incident occurred on organization property. The safety concerns and liability are considerable.
3) Knowing Sam, he’s likely totally unconcerned.
4) Sam’s wife, Sara is easily offended.
5) Both Sam and Sara already feel like they are unfairly treated by the higher-ups in the organization.
Maybe I’m an overprotective parent—I know, we all grew up without seatbelts and lived to tell about it. But can you just imagine how you would feel in the unlikely event that your child injured or killed someone else’s child (or himself) in such a preventable situation? 9-year-olds may have the dexterity to operate such a vehicle, but there are reasons we don’t give out driver’s licenses to them. Any number of horrible accidents could occur including pinning under, between, around, falling, crashing etc. Beyond bodily damage, let us also consider the risk of property damage.
So, in our hypothetical situation, let’s suppose that the mothers opt to discuss this with their husbands who are employees of the organization. One of them, chooses to bring it up directly with Sam. What is Sam’s reaction? Perhaps he says “Oh, gee, I didn’t realize he was driving it, let alone offering rides, I’m sorry.” Or maybe “Oh, I didn’t think of it that way, I’m sorry, won’t happen again.” Or just maybe, “What, am I a big mean guy that they can’t come talk to me? Come on, 7-year-olds drive those things! What’s the big deal?”
What’s the BIG DEAL?!? The big deal my friend is that the cart is not yours, the property is not yours, you are not an employee (and neither is your child for that matter) and if, heaven forbid, something should happen, the repercussions in terms of publicity, liability, life and limb are enormous. Not to mention your wife could probably lose her job whether or not there is an incident.
What grown adult thinks this is okay? Perhaps the reason I didn’t want to discuss it with you myself is that it is like talking to my 5-year-old, but more frustrating because you should know better.
Don’t get me wrong, I like this hypothetical Sara and Sam. They are nice people. They are fun to be around and very kind. They do nice things for me and my children like to play with theirs. But, as evidenced by my last Sara posting about the library, they can be very frustrating because they treat rules like a big smorgasbord and tend to have double standards where their own children are concerned. While it does allow for discussions with our children about how not everyone chooses to obey the rules and just because Sara says it’s okay for her kids, it’s not okay for ours and so on, it does make parenting in vicinity more of a challenge. It makes life around here difficult, because we all have privileges and as many an adage suggests, it only takes one to abuse privileges to the point of ruining it for everyone. It makes friendship a challenge, because it’s hard to want to hang out with people who are constantly doing things you just disagree with vehemently. It obviously rubs off on their children and you certainly don’t want it rubbing off on your own. I know, live and let live right?
I should really spend less time fretting about hypothetical situations
1) The golf cart belongs to the organization, and it is against policy not only for non-employees to drive it, but obviously for any child to do so.
2) The incident occurred on organization property. The safety concerns and liability are considerable.
3) Knowing Sam, he’s likely totally unconcerned.
4) Sam’s wife, Sara is easily offended.
5) Both Sam and Sara already feel like they are unfairly treated by the higher-ups in the organization.
Maybe I’m an overprotective parent—I know, we all grew up without seatbelts and lived to tell about it. But can you just imagine how you would feel in the unlikely event that your child injured or killed someone else’s child (or himself) in such a preventable situation? 9-year-olds may have the dexterity to operate such a vehicle, but there are reasons we don’t give out driver’s licenses to them. Any number of horrible accidents could occur including pinning under, between, around, falling, crashing etc. Beyond bodily damage, let us also consider the risk of property damage.
So, in our hypothetical situation, let’s suppose that the mothers opt to discuss this with their husbands who are employees of the organization. One of them, chooses to bring it up directly with Sam. What is Sam’s reaction? Perhaps he says “Oh, gee, I didn’t realize he was driving it, let alone offering rides, I’m sorry.” Or maybe “Oh, I didn’t think of it that way, I’m sorry, won’t happen again.” Or just maybe, “What, am I a big mean guy that they can’t come talk to me? Come on, 7-year-olds drive those things! What’s the big deal?”
What’s the BIG DEAL?!? The big deal my friend is that the cart is not yours, the property is not yours, you are not an employee (and neither is your child for that matter) and if, heaven forbid, something should happen, the repercussions in terms of publicity, liability, life and limb are enormous. Not to mention your wife could probably lose her job whether or not there is an incident.
What grown adult thinks this is okay? Perhaps the reason I didn’t want to discuss it with you myself is that it is like talking to my 5-year-old, but more frustrating because you should know better.
Don’t get me wrong, I like this hypothetical Sara and Sam. They are nice people. They are fun to be around and very kind. They do nice things for me and my children like to play with theirs. But, as evidenced by my last Sara posting about the library, they can be very frustrating because they treat rules like a big smorgasbord and tend to have double standards where their own children are concerned. While it does allow for discussions with our children about how not everyone chooses to obey the rules and just because Sara says it’s okay for her kids, it’s not okay for ours and so on, it does make parenting in vicinity more of a challenge. It makes life around here difficult, because we all have privileges and as many an adage suggests, it only takes one to abuse privileges to the point of ruining it for everyone. It makes friendship a challenge, because it’s hard to want to hang out with people who are constantly doing things you just disagree with vehemently. It obviously rubs off on their children and you certainly don’t want it rubbing off on your own. I know, live and let live right?
I should really spend less time fretting about hypothetical situations
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Pants
Ethan started Kindergarten last week. I didn’t even think to take a picture. Mother of the year. Tomorrow, I’m going to let him take the bus home . . . this is a big step, for mom. It should give me some sanity though, considering the 90 minutes it’s been taking to pick him up from school (30 minute drive, 30 minute wait in line, 30 minute drive home). Maybe I’ll take pictures as he gets off the bus tomorrow.
He’s done very well, or so I’m told. Matt says they frown on parents hovering outside the classroom door, or installing video cameras in the classroom. I have no doubt his teacher is doing an excellent job. I’m just struggling to believe Ethan is not manifesting his superbly defiant and stubborn nature with her.
Today he came home with a blue dot instead of the usual green. This indicates he had some difficulty today and had several warnings. He refused to tell us what had happened though. I’m not surprised. This morning was a rough morning.
Tuesday evening, we pick out clothes, try on as necessary and decide on the outfit of the day.
Wednesday morning, I try and wake Ethan up.
I’m tired!
I know, me too. Car is leaving in 15 minutes.
School’s boring, I don’t want to go.
I know. Car is leaving in 14 minutes.
MOOOOOOOOMMMM!
Yes?
I’m tired!
I know, me too. Car is leaving in 10 minutes. Are you going dressed or in your pajamas?
I’m just going to follow you wherever you go. I won’t stay in class.
That may be true. Here are your clothes. Car is leaving in 5 minutes.
These pants are too loose!
Would you like me to tighten your belt?
NO! I NEED DIFFERENT ONES!
Alright, here are different ones.
THEY’RE TOO TIGHT!
That’s terrible. Car is leaving in 3 minutes.
MOM!!
I’ll take these things to the car and come back and check on you before I leave.
MOM!! THESE ARE TOO TIGHT!
Gee, that’s strange. Those are the ones that were too loose a couple of minutes ago. Car is leaving now.
Much more whining and crying ensued. The beauty of the 30 minute drive to school is that generally by the time we get there, he’s awake, happy and ready to go.
Bye mom! I love you!
Bye sweetheart, have a good day!
Do you ever find yourself making up complex excuses to get out of doing something you don't want to do. The next time I find myself in that situation, I think I'll just get weepy and complain that my pants are too tight. You'll know what I mean . . .
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Hefty
I am disturbed, and have been for some time--oh, and not just in the ways you already know about. I'm disturbed by many things. One thing disturbing me of late (again) is the ongoing issues with women and body image. I spent several days this week with relatives. We spent many hours watching the Olympics. I can't recall spending more time discussing bodies and weight loss and vitamins and the like before in my life. One comment in particular just keeps grinding on my brain. We're watching the women's marathon (that's running 26 miles thank you) and I kept hearing:
"Look at that one, she's hefty."
"Boy, she's a bit hefty."
It carried me right back to a day some years ago when I heard the same voice saying, in jest of course, to someone he loves (who was relatively thin at the time):
"Hey Thunder-thighs!"
Let me just say that such "teasing" of a teenage girl from her father--the one man who is supposed to love her unconditionally, is not just not funny, it's reprehensible.
We can pretend that this obsession is because we're concerned about our loved-one's health and well-being, but when it become an obsession--something talked about all day long, day in and day out, and when the subjects of such concern are far from obese, it's not so much a health concern as our own body-type bias.
I am disturbed not just generally about female body issues, but I am concerned in particular about the contributions men make to our body issues and more particularly, as a member of the LDS church, I am deeply disturbed by such attitudes amongst our membership.
I am again carried back to a time, again a few years ago, when a conversation with a few LDS friends really bothered me. (I did say that I've been disturbed about this for some time--it was the hefty commentary that pushed me over the edge). You see, we were walking early one morning when these beautiful, intelligent, charming (and thin) women began discussing the desired plastic surgeries they were hoping one day to have done. They indicated that their husbands were in full support of such enhancements, and may have even suggested them. Around the same time, I had a similar conversation with another dear friend. This conversation revolved around how her husband wanted her to lose some weight.
Below are some suggested comments for husbands whose wives begin discussing plastic surgery or weight loss.
"You know dear, I married you because I think you are beautiful. I will always think you are the most beautiful woman in the world." (you could play the Beatles When I'm 64 at this point).
or, for weight loss woes:
"You know, you have borne my children and neither of us are as young as we once were, so you really shouldn't beat yourself up over a few pounds. I still think, and will always think you are the most beautiful woman in the world. I certainly didn't marry you for your waistline. If you want to lose weight to feel healthier though, I will support you in whatever way you want me to. Just let me know what you need."
What kind of world are we setting our children and our spouses up for when we tell them in no uncertain terms that their bodies are not acceptable to us? That somehow our love for them is dependent upon a few key physical features. Then we sit back and wonder why our daughter sinks into a depression because she can't shake the weight she gained after her first baby. Or our wife talks incessantly about her diet program of the week and how she needs to drop 20 more pounds as she struggles to find the right mix of hormones and antidepressants.
To me, being hefty and having my own set of thunder-thighs, I find all this very disturbing. Sure, I'd like to lose quite a few pounds myself, but have learned to try not to let my weight determine my self-esteem or consume my life. I am grateful for parents who never made fun of me and never tolerated my siblings doing likewise. I am oddly and sporadically grateful for my lifelong struggle with weight--there's something very comforting in knowing that I met and married my husband at 250 pounds, so he's certainly not in it for my waistline. I am very grateful to my husband. I am grateful that despite being raised in a culture and even a childhood where weight was everything, he's somehow risen above that--he's in it for my charming personality and my lightening wit . . .
"Look at that one, she's hefty."
"Boy, she's a bit hefty."
It carried me right back to a day some years ago when I heard the same voice saying, in jest of course, to someone he loves (who was relatively thin at the time):
"Hey Thunder-thighs!"
Let me just say that such "teasing" of a teenage girl from her father--the one man who is supposed to love her unconditionally, is not just not funny, it's reprehensible.
We can pretend that this obsession is because we're concerned about our loved-one's health and well-being, but when it become an obsession--something talked about all day long, day in and day out, and when the subjects of such concern are far from obese, it's not so much a health concern as our own body-type bias.
I am disturbed not just generally about female body issues, but I am concerned in particular about the contributions men make to our body issues and more particularly, as a member of the LDS church, I am deeply disturbed by such attitudes amongst our membership.
I am again carried back to a time, again a few years ago, when a conversation with a few LDS friends really bothered me. (I did say that I've been disturbed about this for some time--it was the hefty commentary that pushed me over the edge). You see, we were walking early one morning when these beautiful, intelligent, charming (and thin) women began discussing the desired plastic surgeries they were hoping one day to have done. They indicated that their husbands were in full support of such enhancements, and may have even suggested them. Around the same time, I had a similar conversation with another dear friend. This conversation revolved around how her husband wanted her to lose some weight.
Below are some suggested comments for husbands whose wives begin discussing plastic surgery or weight loss.
"You know dear, I married you because I think you are beautiful. I will always think you are the most beautiful woman in the world." (you could play the Beatles When I'm 64 at this point).
or, for weight loss woes:
"You know, you have borne my children and neither of us are as young as we once were, so you really shouldn't beat yourself up over a few pounds. I still think, and will always think you are the most beautiful woman in the world. I certainly didn't marry you for your waistline. If you want to lose weight to feel healthier though, I will support you in whatever way you want me to. Just let me know what you need."
What kind of world are we setting our children and our spouses up for when we tell them in no uncertain terms that their bodies are not acceptable to us? That somehow our love for them is dependent upon a few key physical features. Then we sit back and wonder why our daughter sinks into a depression because she can't shake the weight she gained after her first baby. Or our wife talks incessantly about her diet program of the week and how she needs to drop 20 more pounds as she struggles to find the right mix of hormones and antidepressants.
To me, being hefty and having my own set of thunder-thighs, I find all this very disturbing. Sure, I'd like to lose quite a few pounds myself, but have learned to try not to let my weight determine my self-esteem or consume my life. I am grateful for parents who never made fun of me and never tolerated my siblings doing likewise. I am oddly and sporadically grateful for my lifelong struggle with weight--there's something very comforting in knowing that I met and married my husband at 250 pounds, so he's certainly not in it for my waistline. I am very grateful to my husband. I am grateful that despite being raised in a culture and even a childhood where weight was everything, he's somehow risen above that--he's in it for my charming personality and my lightening wit . . .
Friday, August 22, 2008
Shoo Bear
Since moving to FairyLand, I’ve consistently been told how shy black bears are, how they avoid human contact. My first bear encounter led me to believe it. My last was a different story.
I’ve come up with a new ploy to deter bears and other wildlife from getting into my garbage. Apart from taking it to the dump more frequently, I’ve also bungee corded the heck out of the poor chewed-up can. I’ve also tied it to my fence just outside my bedroom window. The reasoning for this is two-fold. 1—that the smell will encourage me to take it to the dump more regularly and 2—the motion light right there will discourage the shy bears and wildlife from digging in.
A couple of weeks ago, it finally cooled down enough to leave my windows open. About 4am my cat started sprinting back and forth from one of my bedroom windows, to my bed, across my head to stare out the other window. I subsequently woke up and noticed the motion light was on. I got out of bed, peered out my window and noticed a 400 lb (appx—I didn’t bust out the scale) black bear dining casually on my trash.
What did I do next you might ask? What would you do? I woke up my husband.
“Matt! Wake up! There’s a bear in the garbage!”
We’ve been told, “If you see a bear, just make yourself seem large and talk to it sternly like you would a dog and tell it to go away.”
Alright. “Hey! Go away bear! Shoo!”
The bear paused his dinner of dirty diapers and cat poop, slowly turned his head to look at me, turned back to the diapers and continued with his meal.
So Matt of course went to the kitchen and grabbed a pan, took it to the window and banged on it. He got a similar reaction.
I suddenly remembered that my children were in there beds, soundly asleep with the windows open. Recalling vague stories of bears eating children in their sleep, I ran in and closed their windows. This gave me another brilliant idea.
I ran to the front door, opened it and slammed it shut, then flashed the porch lights. I ran back to my window, slammed it shut a couple of times. Bear still eyeball deep in trash.
“What do we do?”
“Well, I don’t think we ought to go out there and clean up the trash just yet. Go back to sleep.”
Yeah, right.
I laid back down, my head propped up, staring at the bear. Then he casually sauntered away. After a few moments, the motion light turned off and I laid my head back down, attempting to sleep. Alas, my reprieve was short-lived. A few moments later, our friend returned for seconds.
Eventually he left and eventually I got back to sleep. I wish I’d had the presence of mind to grab a camera instead of a pan. Oh well, next time. I’m thinking of leaving out bowls of ripe berries. Just kidding, my trash now resides in my shed.
Saturday, August 9, 2008
Extreme
My eldest son has inherited and developed some personality extremes. He is extremely bright (got that from me), extremely handsome (his dad), extremely stubborn (me again), extremely short-tempered (paternal grandfather) and extremely sensitive. Last night he was also extremely tired.
I've been burning the candle at both ends with three part-time jobs (my excuse for neglecting my blog). Last night I was up until past 2am sorting music. I decided to call it a night, turned out the lights and went into the bathroom to pee. As per usual in our one-seater household, my son's pee-dar kicked in. You see, he has a sixth sense about when you're in the bathroom and generally waits until those moments to nearly have an accident. Perhaps it's just the power of suggestion. Regardless, I was peeing at 2:15 am this morning when my child came rushing into the bathroom with an urgent need to pee. So, I promptly finished up and exited. It was then that he decided he'd like to pick a fight with me.
"You made the bathroom stinky!!!"
"I just peed."
"IT STILL STINKS!"
"I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting you. What are you going to do?"
"YOU NEED TO CLEAN IT!!!"
"Alright--there, all done" (can of lysol is a handy tool).
"NO! YOU NEED TO MOP!!!"
He didn't really want me to clean or mop, he really just wanted to argue. I called his bluff.
"Alright, let me get a mop."
"No! Now you left, you can't go back in!"
"Alright, I'll wait here with my mop. What are you going to do?"
"I NEED TO GO POTTY!!!"
"Great, have at it."
"NO! IT'S STINKY! YOU ARE MAKING ME STAY IN THE HALL! I'M GOING TO HAVE AN ACCIDENT!"
"Gee, that's terrible. What are you going to do about it?" I tried terribly not to giggle--it was hilarious in it's ridiculousness.
More screaming ensued. I think he was particularly miffed I didn't start arguing. Shortly thereafter, Matt awoke to all the screaming. He didn't find it as humorous as I did. Ethan was subsequently dragged into said stinky bathroom where his father sat in front of the door and waited for him to do his business. Again, much screaming ensued and I think about 3am he finally gave in and peed. I sure hope it was worth it.
I've been burning the candle at both ends with three part-time jobs (my excuse for neglecting my blog). Last night I was up until past 2am sorting music. I decided to call it a night, turned out the lights and went into the bathroom to pee. As per usual in our one-seater household, my son's pee-dar kicked in. You see, he has a sixth sense about when you're in the bathroom and generally waits until those moments to nearly have an accident. Perhaps it's just the power of suggestion. Regardless, I was peeing at 2:15 am this morning when my child came rushing into the bathroom with an urgent need to pee. So, I promptly finished up and exited. It was then that he decided he'd like to pick a fight with me.
"You made the bathroom stinky!!!"
"I just peed."
"IT STILL STINKS!"
"I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting you. What are you going to do?"
"YOU NEED TO CLEAN IT!!!"
"Alright--there, all done" (can of lysol is a handy tool).
"NO! YOU NEED TO MOP!!!"
He didn't really want me to clean or mop, he really just wanted to argue. I called his bluff.
"Alright, let me get a mop."
"No! Now you left, you can't go back in!"
"Alright, I'll wait here with my mop. What are you going to do?"
"I NEED TO GO POTTY!!!"
"Great, have at it."
"NO! IT'S STINKY! YOU ARE MAKING ME STAY IN THE HALL! I'M GOING TO HAVE AN ACCIDENT!"
"Gee, that's terrible. What are you going to do about it?" I tried terribly not to giggle--it was hilarious in it's ridiculousness.
More screaming ensued. I think he was particularly miffed I didn't start arguing. Shortly thereafter, Matt awoke to all the screaming. He didn't find it as humorous as I did. Ethan was subsequently dragged into said stinky bathroom where his father sat in front of the door and waited for him to do his business. Again, much screaming ensued and I think about 3am he finally gave in and peed. I sure hope it was worth it.
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