Up

Every once in awhile, something works.

This was one of those things:




I made a chart about a month ago. Every morning if our children got their work done by a set time, they got a "balloon" (smiley face sticker) for each task. Once we had 400, we would go see the movie Up.

This seemed like a lot to our kids. 400?! Sometimes people rise to the occasion though and this was one of those times.

The best part of the whole thing? They nagged each other instead of me nagging them to do their work. (Braeden is an especially skilled nagger.) I loved it!

I also loved the movie. I highly recommend it. And take Kleenex. It made me cry. Also, Mark was allergic to something in that theater (maybe the guy next to him glaring each time Mark sneezed?). Finally after digging in my purse in vain for anything Mark could wipe his nose on, I offered him my jacket sleeve. Then my other sleeve.

Adam wondered why Mark skedaddled over to hold my hand when we got to parking lot. I think my snotty jacket sleeves spoke for themselves. You've got to stick with someone who will let you wipe their nose (over and over) on their sleeve.

P.S. Susie, I saw your brother's name in the credits and I thought of you! I wanted to nudge the (glaring) man next to me and say, "Hey, I know that guy! Well, OK, I don't know him but I know his sister...so who's glaring now?"

The Last Day

No more pencils



No more books



No more teachers' dirty looks









(What are you looking for...there are no pictures here. I don't give dirty looks.)

All of this last day euphoria is slightly colored by the fact that there will be some school work happening over the summer.

And my kids will not escape their teacher's dirty looks (not that I ever give dirty looks) through summer's sweet song.

Still...

we're pretty happy around here.

Mother Bear

Today I was sitting in my school room, correcting grammar tests when I heard a scream of holy terror outside. Since all of my three were outside I immediately lifted the blinds. What I saw were three boys, slightly older than Braeden, chasing one of Mark's triplet friends. I couldn't tell which one it was because he was riding away on his bike, pumping his little legs for all he was worth while the older boys were whooping and giving chase on their scooters.

I wondered if I should intervene but Holden/Payton/Hunter had made it to safety because the boys had come back to the empty cul de sac across from my house.

Next I heard them starting to yell again. I glanced out my window and this time it was Braeden riding his bike down the hill towards our house. They were taunting him, begging for a fight. Braeden's always been a lover instead of a fighter and he calmly rode his bike into the garage without so much as a glance their way.

Now I REALLY didn't know what to do. Would I embarrass Braeden if I said something? If I didn't say something would the next victim of their taunts be Mark who still had to come home from Gavin's? Would Mark tackle them headlong and get beat up in the process? (He's much more of a fighter than a lover...always has been.)

The mother bear won the inner turmoil.

I opened my front door and saw the biggest boy walking into the garage, still trying to get to Braeden. I heard him say, in the sneering voice of a bully, "So you're not a fighter?"

Then he turned and saw me.


I said, "I saw you guys chasing one of the triplets earlier. I know you think it's funny, but it's not. He's little and was scared."

The boy looked sheepish and guilty and said, "He doesn't mind..."

I said, "Really?"

He swallowed hard and nodded.

I said, hands on hips, "Well, don't mess with my kids."

All three kids nodded vigorously and made their way up the street and away from my house.

I still didn't know if I did the right thing. Did I embarrass Braeden by stepping in when he was handling it fine on his own? Braeden seemed unruffled. He came inside looking for a drink and snack and wondering if he could watch TV. I asked him if those boys had messed with him before and he said no and shrugged. It was no big deal.

So maybe it wasn't.

Just another reminder that this parenting stuff is not easy. It never was. Probably never will be.

The Birthday

The Gift

The Grandpa and Sister

The Boy

It's My Birthday, I'll Be Tyrannical If I Want To

Today Mark is 6 1/2. With our tendency for birthdays close to Christmas, we celebrate half birthdays. Just another notch in our making-our-children-out-of-touch-with-reality belt. (Like his siblings before him, Mark wondered why they didn't sing to him in primary.)

Mark also decided he wanted to celebrate his birthday on Tuesday, not Wednesday. No amount of convincing him that wouldn't happen made a difference. He insisted.

Customarily I ask my birthday honorees for menu suggestions. Here's what Mark wanted:

breakfast: waffles
lunch: pancakes
dinner: oven pancakes

We were going to be swimming in a sticky syrup stupor all day.

I tried to come up with alternatives.

About this time my angel son informed me that he was in charge of his birthday and I was not. Whatever he said was going to happen, was going to happen.

Enter Adam with the stern fatherly advice. I don't know if it's the big deep voice or the big size but when Adam speaks, the children listen.

Humbled, Mark acquiesced.

We had the waffles for breakfast.

We're having leftover pizza (from last night's dinner at Alfy's) for lunch.

We're having hot dogs cooked on the grill for dinner.

Don't judge me and I won't look at the ingredients on the hot dog package and I think we'll all be OK.

Photo Booth

Today Braeden and Emma had ridden their bikes to their piano lessons and Mark was bo-ooooored (it's amazing how many syllables he can put in that word). I ran through a list of possibilities that might be fun (and not involve me). He didn't like any of them. Then I remembered photo booth on the computer.

I took a few shots with him...




then left him to his own giggling devices...








He's kind of nuts don't you think?

Not QUITE Yet

Today Braeden asked me if he could make lunch. I said a reluctant OK. He made the one and only thing he knows how to make, scrambled eggs. They were perfect. I marveled as I ate the flawless eggs with ham and onions cooked just right. They were good. My mind-with-the-active-imagination thought maybe Braeden could start making lunch every day. Wouldn't that be nice? I would even eat scrambled eggs every day.

Maybe we'd reached a nirvana state with these children of mine. Maybe it was going to be smooth sailing and lunches I didn't have to prepare. Maybe.

Usually Braeden visits his grandpa while I do my errands but today didn't so I took the opportunity to take Braeden to the store with me. The boy needed clothes. And a new bicycle helmet.

"But why do I have to go?" he wondered. Over and over. Each time the answer was: Because. You. Have. To. Try. Things. On.

Then Mark didn't want to go. "Why do I have to go?"

There was a much simpler cure there though. He watched Home Alone at Christmas time and lives in fear of being left home alone (not that we are the type to ever leave kids behind). I told him in my best spooky voice, "You have to come so you won't be left Home Alone." He quick-stepped it to the van.

So with a scowl and a grumble, we were off.

Emma was remarkably pleasant on the drive. I asked her a question and she said, "Mom, I'm imagining a story I want to write so can you please not talk to me."

At least she wasn't mad at me like my sons were.

At Target we selected bicycle helmets and looked at clothes and various other Target like trappings. Target's an OK store to take the group to because when I'm done with Whatever I Need Them for, they can waltz off to the toy aisles while I find Whatever Else I Need.

After I convinced Mark that I really meant it when I'd told him I wasn't buying him a toy, we were off.

The next stop was the mall. I don't remember having such a miserable time at the mall since the last time I took all three children.

My sister told me it couldn't be that bad considering the ages of my kids. It was that bad.

At least when they were young I could corral them in a stroller and placate them with cheerios and a sippy cup. Now they grumble and complain and don't like anything they see and drift away from me in their angst. Except for Mark. He's as pleasant as a sunny day at the mall. He just doesn't stay near enough for me to enjoy his smiles. He's a whirling dervish of Mark-ness in and out of clothing racks, up and down escalators, writhing out of my grasp. Not getting a toy, treat or movie THANK YOU VERY MUCH.

Oh, I was crabby when we left the mall. I was wondering what delusions I live under that I ever go to the mall with my children. I was trying to remember why I homeschool the brood. I was wondering a lot...like how I ever thought we were approaching any sort of nirvana.

Our final stop was Costco. I gave Braeden and Emma half the list and they efficiently met me at the front of the store with their cart. They deftly loaded the contents of their cart into mine. It was quick and snappy and painless.

Maybe easy street isn't SO far out of my grasp.

We're just not there yet.