Blah Blah Blah.

(So devout, isn't she?  Barfing can do that to you.)

Talk about feeling off kilter today! 
Staying home too long with nothing to do drives me crazy!
Too many consecutive days with nothing to do drives me crazy!!

I think I've reached my limit.  [Not getting dressed for the day didn't help either.]  In fact, the 30 minutes of the day when I was dressed-- before dinner, because I couldn't take it anymore--were the most uplifting of the day.  Then, I went back to my sweats . . . but I DID leave on my earrings.  That's gotta count for something.

There were actually so many things I wanted to do today--like get my hair cut, go to the temple, write, finish reading my book--but none of them involved spending time with my family.  Guilt, guilt, guilt because how often do you get nearly two weeks of nonscheduled family time?  I said to Ben as we were lazying around, "Don't you have any dreams, anything you really want out of life, some great accomplishment?"  I hate his answer because it's always the same, "All I care about is that you guys are happy.  I don't need anything else."  Blah blah blah.  I can't decide if he's sincere or just not creative.  [Okay, I'm totally grateful he says that, but instantly I feel like a scum-bag because I could list off a gazillion other things I want out of life in addition to that.  I want to squeeze every. last. ounce. out of life.]

This is probably one of my gratitude-gone-to-the-wind days.  I've learned that about myself.  No gratitude = crappy day.  So, I'm grateful today that when Annie decided to throw up she came to me and said she needed a bowl 'cause she was "about to throw up."  Bowl in hand, barf in bowl.  Score.  Also, I've rediscovered my talent for Super Mario Brothers, on the wii.  Of course, in my day it was the Nintendo, but hey, if ya got it, ya got it, right?  Saving Princess Peach is still the goal.  All my old moves came back, not to mention totally scoring "cool mom" points with the kids.  I had an audience.  I was a celebrity in my own home.  Can't get much better than that, unless, of course, you think about it for a while.  THEN, you could probably come up with something better . . . .  Let's just say I chose to stop my thinking once I hit celebrity status.      

Going Home Is a Good Thing.

Visiting family in Utah is one of our most favorite things to do.  Usually I'm a doer.  I don't like to sit around. I like to go places, see things, experience something new.  However, our trips to Utah usually involve staying at home,
Ben's parents' home,
the house he grew up in,
built by his parents as their very first home after they were married.  Doesn't that sound sweet?

Playing games is what we do. 
95% of the time. 
And it's so fun.
Most of Ben's siblings live close by. 
Somehow we all cram together in their little house, and laugh, and tease, and laugh some more.
This is love, to me. 
The tangible kind.
You can feel it.
Seriously, I know these moments will remain in the forefront of my childrens' memories.
Sometimes its the simplest things that mean the most.
The Carter's are simple, good, fun people,
who can also work harder than anyone I know.
(I think I'm the slacker of the family.)

Being there does something to me.
Something good.
"Things" don't matter to Ben's family.
"Things" don't fill our time when we're there.
It's just being together.
That's it.
And it fills me.
I'm always grounded and reminded of that when we're in Utah.
That's what I take home with me.
And I'm so grateful.
It's so easy to get caught up in other people's "things."
"Things" you don't have.
And when it comes right down to it,
"Things" carry no lasting weight.
"Things" don't define you as a person even if you think they do.
The feeling that "things" make you important isn't lasting,
because it's not true.
Truth fills, all else leaves you empty sooner or later.
My real self knows better,
but I guess I still need reminders every once in a while.
Dang it.

I hope and pray and cross my fingers that my kids marry into families that make them better . . .

Jolly Day.

(Christmas morning.)

It was 7 a.m. and I didn't want to wake up. 
The kids--and Dad (he was up before them!)--were so patient. 
They could barely contain themselves.

(That's a mouth full of gum.  A very happy mouth.)

 
Believe me, there was some major feet-wiggling going on. 
That's when I got excited. 
The kids are what makes Christmas.  They make it magical, keep the "believing" alive. 
Their excitment generously rubbed off on me.

 
I think my favorite part is when they first find their stockings.  The eyes get WIDER, the smiles OPEN-MOUTHED, and squeals begin. 
How can you keep from smiling in the midst of pure delight?

I've actually come a long way in my Christmas maturation.  I was a little selfish when we were first married.  What can I say, I'm the youngest, the baby in my family?  [Editor's note: Ben is also the youngest in his family, however, somehow the "selfish" gene passed him by.  I love/hate that it comes so easily to him.]  I still wanted all the wonder and surprises of my childhood.  Christmas was still for ME.  Thankfully, but not instantly, I've come around.  I am now able to live vicariously--and happily--through my children.  Hooray for progress!  And props to all you naturally unselfish souls.  Really, I admire so much that quality in people.  I love to be around you because, by association, I become better.  I think that's why marrying Ben has made such a difference in my life.  Perhaps, the best decision I've ever made.

Enough of my faults. 
It's Christmas, let's stick with the merry! 
Our day was chock-full of legos, knights, bikes, and wii wipe-out!

To be honest, I got a little stir-crazy sitting around because there wasn't much I could do. [Translation: Mom could not help with legos AT ALL.  Spatially retarded.  And they take FOREVER to put together, I don't have the patience.  The bikes were too small for me to ride, AND, well, I'm a little wii-retarded, too.]

I was the official Christmas spectator! 
However, I was good for something--providing great food, offering overly-dramatic applause at wii accomplishments, and giving hugs and kisses at random.

By 4 o'clock I was ready to go outside.  Too much sitting around, too much eating junk, it was time to MOVE (or be moved).  Ben and I pulled the kids around on the sled with the four-wheeler.  The cold, fresh air felt so good, the kids laughter was delightful, and I got to snuggle-up to Ben.  Good times all around. 

Our day ended with warm bowls of stew and rolls, a movie, and family prayer.  It was a wonderful day.  I thought to myself, after the kids were in bed and all was calm, that the house sure looks cleaner in the dark!  My heart yearned for my dust pan and swiffer.  My body yearned for bed.  Guess who won?  Yep, it was a good night's sleep.

*** We're down in Utah now, visiting Ben's family.  Guess what I'm doing tommorow?  Elk hunting . . . on horseback . . . in the snow!  Yeah.  Crazy.  I can't wait.  It's a first for me.  Wish me luck.  I'm not acutally doing the shooting, don't have a tag.  I'm basically going along for the horseride in the mountains.     

Merry Christmas To You!

Hope your Christmas Day is full of wonder!

With love, from our house to yours . . .

December 23rd Photo Doc.

  Happiness all rolled-up in, around, and through a day.

(A little Slamwich with Annie.)

(I will never get over loving dress-up.  Never.)

(Brigham's letter to Santa in the paper.)

(I will never get over NOT loving forts.  Never.)

(Very kissable.)

(Snowforts.  Boys.  Need I say more?)

(We did it!  Ben: project manager.  Lanette: building supplier.  Kids: cheap labor.)

(Don't I look happy and energized?  I was just beginning...that's why.)

(The "chocolates" of our labors.)

(Will following The Grinch movie, with his book.  Cute.)

(The dishes are done.  The kids in bed.  I'm headed to my cozy, reading chair . . .)

Goodnight.

XOXO

Door of Love.

Who'd of thought that a cluttered, messy door could bring such joy?
I'm feelin' it, alright.
I love Christmas cards (interspersed with kids' homeade Christmas projects).
I love seeing pictures of the people I love.
In my opinion, a Christmas card isn't worth sending without a picture.
That being said, I still--emphatically--love those who send Christmas cards without pictures.
Like my grandma,
mother-in-law,
and even my own mother.

We have two more things left to do to feel completely full of the Christmas spirit.
And two days to do them.
Gingerbread houses and Christmas goodies.
Peanut butter cups, nougat (dipped in chocolate), and white chocolate-covered pretzels, are our traditional fare.

I strategically planned when said activities would occur so as to have Ben's help.
Many hands make light work, right?
Helping my four sweet children put roofs on their houses sounds like disaster to me.
We need our structural engineer, aka Dad, to consult.
He IS a professional.
And besides, he loves doing these things. 
He totally gets in the zone when it comes to tradition.
You should see him when it's time to make homeade jam and salsa.
Watch out.

I don't know about you, but I'm starting to get really excited . . .

p.s. I totally lied (unintentionally) about Annie's age in our Christmas letter.  Heh.  She's 3 1/2, not 4 1/2.  And the "Best Mom" award goes to . . .

At Home.

Days like today are priceless. 
The first day of Christmas vacation. 
I had the kids all to myself . . .
with NOTHING, nada, zippo on the agenda.

Relaxed. 
That was us. 
We played,
we ate,
we read,
and sang Christmas tunes
all. day. long. 
The Christmas spirit was alive and kicking, in a peaceful sort of way.

Annie's favorite song is "The Little Drummer Boy." 
Whenever the song came on I'd find her on the counter,
ear pressed to the radio mounted under the kitchen cabinets. 
She waits the entire song for her favorite line, right at the end:
"Theeeeeen, He smiled at me, pa-rump-pa pum pum . . ." 
Her perma-grin sets in and she says, "Mommy, they said, 'then, He smiled at me . . .'"
I love that.
I think Jesus does, too.

Speaking of Jesus, we watched The Nativity Story tonight.  It's not a blockbuster hit, but I loved it, especially now, so close to Christmas.  I love the Christmas story.  And I loved the peaceful spirit that lingered after the TV was turned off, with only the Christmas lights aglow.  What a great bedtime send-off for the kids.  Instead of sugar-plums dancing in their heads as they sleep, I hope it's a stable with a little manger, and a mother holding a sweet little baby.

Change.

(Early Christmas present?  Kidding.  I'm puzzled by my kids' fascination with taped mouths.  Novelty, I guess.)

Do you ever feel like your life is in order in all the wrong ways? 
Let me explain. 
House clean?  Yes. 
Scriptures studied?  No. 
Finding a cute outfit for the day?  You bet. 
Saying my prayers with earnestness?  No. 
Reading a great book?  Oh my, yes. 
Visiting teaching done?  No (but it will be tommorow, and don't ask about last month).
And the list goes on . . . 

I know the things that are filling my time aren't bad.  If my life was balanced, all these things would be wonderful.  It's just that I'm choosing the Good at the expense of the Better, or should I say Best?  I'm off balance and it's killing me.  Life feels so stagnant, like I'm not going anywhere (I guess it's a very slow digression).  It's time to change, get back to the Lanette I should be.  I guess it's a weakness in character that it takes getting to an all-time low before I decide to change.  But then again, that's human nature, isn't it?  Dang that human nature!  And yet, hallelujah that there's always hope for change.  I love hope.  I love that I can hope.  God' little gift to each of us.  Merry Christmas to Us.

While I'm hoping to change, here's some fun moments with my lovies:

Lincoln: "I wish the beauty school didn't exist.  They make girls all pretty and that makes me wanna kiss 'em."

Lincoln: "When I'm married, my wife is gonna clean all the toilets." (I told him he'd never get married.)

Annie in the car, after jabbering for about 5 minutes straight: "I don't know what I'm talking about anymore."

Nutcracker with Mom

Mom and I went to The Nutcracker on Saturday. 
This is another Christmas tradition that I love, love, love.
The boys and Ben watched the BYU game.
The girls went to the Ballet.
Go figure.

After things like this I'm always left thinking how beautiful our bodies are, that we (well, not me, but, others) can move with such grace. 

Granted, we're not all the picture of grace, especially the sweet little girl who sat in front of us who occassionally went rolling down the aisle, but the dancers . . .

We thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.  Especially when I captured mom with the fishbowl lense on my camera.  She gave me permission to share in hopes that it would bring much laughter to many.  So laugh away . . . at Mom's willing expense.  And find a Nutcracker ballet near you. . .

Christmas with William.

I am William's 2nd grade Room Mother.  Reluctantly.  Isn't that awful?  It took a little persuasion from the PTO lady at the beginning of the school year.  When it comes to things at the kids' school, I like to be given an assignment.  I don't like making them.  But, I said yes.  So, I'm committed . . . to an insane assylum.  Just kidding.  It's not so bad.  That thought just crossed my mind as I was typing "committed."

We had our big Christmas bash on Friday.  I'm all for simple, fun plans when it comes to parties at the school.  Thankfully, the kids were excited to make pipe-cleaner/bead snowflake ornaments, have a boys vs. girls relay race, and Pass the Present (wrapped a gazillion times in different paper with candy canes for all at the end).  But, the highlight, the best part of all, came last.

I roped my dad into assuming the role of St. Nick.  Santa.  Papa Noel.  And he did a stellar job!  When I got to the office I told the secretary that Santa was coming, but didn't know where the classroom was.  I said, "He's not a creepy Santa-guy.  It's just my dad."  She smiled.  Sure enough, at 2 o'clock, here comes Dad accompanied by the Principal. 

(I love the look on Will and Annie's faces.  Can you see them?)

We have a tradition in our family on Christmas Eve.  My dad reads an old 50's radio show version of  "The Night Before Christmas."  It's a more humorous version, a spoof, but completely appropriate and hilarious, not to mention that it must be performed with a German accent!  The kids loved it.  He had their full attention.  I was so proud.  This is certainly one of those perks that comes with living close to family.

I'm glad it's over.  However, I kind of revel in the brief moment when my kids are proud to call me Mom.  It's not like I get that treatment at home when I make dinner.  I'll take it when I can!

My Rotation.

(Would you accept a gift from the likes of him?  Good thing he wasn't seen.  Tricky Brigham.) 

I worry as a mother.  My worry rotates from child to child.  It's ever-changing.  So, often my attention, my awareness, is heightened and focused more on one kid than the others.  And like I said, it jumps from one to another.  Does that happen to you?  Lately, I've been so focused on Annie and Lincoln.  They've been pretty needy.  Because of that, Brigham has suffered.  Not physically, but maybe a little emotionally.  He's a "spend time with me" kind of kid.  I guess it's time to rotate.  Brigham's been a little removed from me.  And I can feel it.  I've been trying to feel him out, but I hadn't been able to break through 'til tonight. 

The kids were all tucked in.  I decided to lay beside him and wait for him to talk.  He didn't talk.  But, little by little, a hand found mine.  A foot touched my knee.  A cheek found my shoulder.  Before I knew it, half his body was entangled in mine, all snuggled up and comfy.  I'm hoping he knew then how much I loved him . . . without having to say it.  And then a line from our Christmas story tonight came back to my mind, "The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see."   He's right.  You can't see love, but you can feel it.  And there's nothing quite like it.

Bakers and Warlocks.

I've entered a new phase of life.  I am now the mother of independant bakers!  Having no idea how enjoyable it could be to enjoy the fruits of others' labors within the walls of my own home, I am eagerly embracing the roll of . . . mooch.

Today it was brownies from one boy and oatmeal cookies from another.

This could present some problems if it continues on a consistent basis.  The problem being my will power.  The only thing going for me is that I'm that much farther from the bowl.  The licking privileges are claimed.  It would be a fight, one in which I'm not willing to engage.  Mother vs. Child.  Certainly the odds are in my favor.  But, alas, it wouldn't be fair.

I'll settle for the baked version. 

(Totally cutting a rug, this one.  I had no idea he had those kind of moves . . . in an apron.)

As part of our Twelve Days of Christmas adventure, each night we secretly drop off Christmas stories and a new reason why we love them, to two widows who live nearby.  I'm admitting this because I'm sure they don't read my blog.  While getting everything organized at home for the big "drop off," Lincoln brings me two pictures he's drawn for these sweet ladies and says,

"These two are for the warlocks."

Hah!  Warlocks?!  It was the cutest thing I'd heard that day.  I took that boy in my arms and hugged him tight, all the while my mind was playing with the images of widows and warlocks.  Sweet, little, elderly ladies and evil, scary, conjuring wizards.  That's quite the comparison.  Quite a contradiction, really.  I love my Lincoln.  He keeps my life full.

Cheers!

(Sparkling Cider.  Really.  I promise.)

I'll tell you what, as much as I'd like to THINK that my life is perfect, it's not.  Let's just say it's perfectly imperfect.  I'll take that, gladly.  I lean towards the idea that imperfections are what make family life sweet. . . and interesting. 

I wonder if my kids will get over the fact that just because we do the Twelve Days of Christmas for others, doesn't mean that someone's going to do it for us.  It's sweet, really.  I know they're still young.  Still learning.  And they don't really need everything that's in the bags for other families, like fake teeth or slinkies or silly straws or ninja guys or glow sticks.  We are far from grasping the concept of joy in giving, but, I'm hopeful, really, I am.  I have to hold my tongue sometimes because I find myself thinking words like selfish, ungrateful, spoiled, entitled, but then I take many deep breaths and say something like this, "Oh boy, isn't it so fun to give?  To have this great secret that only we know?  I bet Heavenly Father's so happy that we're thinking of others this time of year!"  Imagine my sweetest, kindest, motherly voice, and you'd have me pegged.  I can see that another Family Home Evening lesson on gratitude would be in order, as well as putting it into practice more at home.  This is a very teachable principle.  However, I'm certainly guilty of my own little selfish pleasures, usually involving a book.

And then, tonight while I'm doing the dishes Brigham hops onto the barstool and reads me this joke from his book, The World's Greatest Collection of Clean Jokes, "There are only two ways to handle a woman--and nobody knows either of them."  Ha, ha, haaaaa, er, umm. . . not so funny.  I was thinking that the cleanest jokes would stick more with the chicken crossing the road instead of the enigmatic relationship between men and women.  He's nine, people.  You think he understood that one, really?  Not unless he told it to his dad first.  The only funny part is that he read it to me in the first place. 

There you have it, folks.  Such is the comical truth, the oh-so-real life of Lanette.  The redemptive part of all this is that I'm slowly acquiring a plethora of fabulous stories for future embarassment, I mean, enjoyment.  I'm sure my kids, and their kids, and I, will have a great time rehashing the glory days years down the road.

Here's to giving . . . and not wanting to give, but doing it anyway.  Here's to great clean jokes that kids wouldn't really understand when they're NINE!  Life is good.  And pretty funny, too.

(I was going to keep this one in the vault, however, I couldn't resist capturing this surprising moment.  Where did he learn that?  Not at home, to be sure.  We're not really the alcohol-type.  Pretty

much an alcohol-free zone.) 

Christmas Party 2010

First of all, let me say that I fully acknowledge the white trash-ness of my latest endeavor.  I'm not a professional decorater, interior designer.  I'm not bound by any rules, techniques.  I just do it and let the chips fall, so to speak. 

What am I talking about?  Well, I have long been embarassed by my hideous front door.  Paint chipping, drafty, scratched, door knob replaced one too many times, holes (that leak cold air) from previous hardware,  and yes, stray pieces of tape that won't come off, etc.  Bascially, just an old door. 

How could I greet our guests tonight with a n-a-s-t-y door like that?  I wanted the whole experience, from the moment they stepped out of their car to the moment they left our driveway to be magical.  Well, as magical as it can be with friends who really know me, my quirks, not so far removed from the reality of being my friend.  Anyway, I couldn't have a door that's part hunter green, part gray from the metal door beneath.  Seriously, these chipped areas were shaped like countries, big countries (or big states).  I specifically remember thinking one looked a lot like Texas.

In desperation, with the party clock ticking, I do the only thing I can besides just leaving it and swallowing my pride.  I go to the top shelf of my storage room and pull out the .99 craft paint from walmart.  Please have hunter green and white, please, please, please.  And I did!  I grabbed my sponge brush, paper plate, and high quality (ahem) paints and got to work.  I painted that front door and trim, not even sanding or anything.  I didn't have time.  I hoped that the romantic lighting of our christmas lights would mask any clash in color or texture.  I just needed to get through tonight and then I didn't care if it looked white trash after that!  I think we pulled it off (Annie is a tremendous supporter and photographer).  I didn't catch anyone staring for long amounts of time at my Texas or Brazil that night.

The party was fantastic.  Great food.  Beautiful food.  Wonderful ambience.  Awesome company (11 couples).  Good times all the way around.  I'm so grateful to have good friends who aren't afraid to let their hair down and be silly.  We really had a great time.  Such a great time, in fact, that I didn't take ANY pictures.  I only got a picture of the aftermath when several couples had already left and Mom and Dad brought the kids home to scarf down the remains of our party.  Vultures, seriously.

Ben is a saint for indulging me when it comes to parties.  I love to throw a party.  I love to create a party.  I tell Ben my vision and he makes it happen.  He always gives me a 200% effort when I'd really be content with 100%.  I can't thank him enough (kiss, kiss). 

One party down.  Valentine's Day, here we come!

Evenly-Yoked and Harmony.

Finally!  I thought I was the only one who was semi-psycho in this house.  Ben has come out of the closet.  He said last night, "I think I have an OCD."  Wow, Ben never has issues.  He's as smooth sailing as a boat on a still water.  Here it is . . . drumroll please . . . you know when you have more than one light switch that works for the same light?  Well, he can't stand it when the switches aren't down for "off."  He has to fix them.  Make sure they're all down, or just one is up if the light is on.  I love this.  Everything is logical to Ben.  Ordered.  And I love that he's fixated on something that really doesn't matter . . . to the rest of the world.  He's human.  Just like me.  And I love him more for it.

No matter what time we all get home and settled, we read a Christmas story.  They're always sentimental stories, the tug-at-your heart-strings kind.  I love sentimentality this time of year.  Tonight was the sweetest so far.  We sang "Silent Night" before our story and I was surprised that all the kids knew the words (little did I know, they're learning it at school.  Isn't that great?  Songs about Jesus at school!)  Usually I'm a one man show in the singing department at our house.  Wait, that's not true.  Ben sweetly sings a third below the melody, unknowingly harmonizing, but thinking he's right on.  I fondly remember when Ben and I were dating and I was the choir director at church.  He would faithfully come, always making sure he stood by someone who knew how to read music.  Tender, right?  But tonight was different at our house.  We all sang together.  I love it.  It felt so good.  Christmas brings us together.  Christ brings us together.  He has a way of doing that, doesn't He?

Good Times Ahead.

(Yep, that's butter, sugar, and cream cheese.  Can't go wrong with that combination.  No, siree.)

These next few days are exciting ones!  Annie and I are baking up a storm, preparing for a school bake sale and our couples christmas party on friday.  Our first round this afternoon was making tons of petite cherry cheesecakes.  I love when kids want to help and there's actually something they can do on their own.  It's a win-win situation: my job is shared and they feel empowered.  Score!

Preparing for a party is so fun!  I love getting the house ready, making holiday foods, goodies that you love but don't make often because they're meant to be shared with friends, lots of them.  And let's face it, cheeseballs, lil' smokies, cheesecakes, etc. shouldn't really be incorporated into weekly meal planning (as much as Ben would LOVE it).

Also, I thought I'd share my latest materialistic love.  This green.  I'm prepping this main living area for a new paint job, new mouldings, new furniture, a whole new feel.  I was leaning towards staying with just the white and the sea blue, however, I saw these green treasures and couldn't pass them up.  They make me smile.  I figure I have barstools in both colors, so I might as well incorporate this fabulous color a little more.  I think it'll work, and if not, I can definately use it in the upstairs family room.  Cross your fingers.  Tommorow, I'll have to post some great end tables I bought at a thrift store the other day.  I'm going to paint them and put them together as a coffe table.  They have a great shape and evoke the feeling I want to have in this room.  Exciting things to come, no?  Ben loves all these changes, heh.  He's having a hard time keeping up with my vision, which I know he'll love, but at first, let's just say, I have the more vivid and idealistic imagination.

Date Night.

(Just a little reminder that summer DOES exist . . . somewhere, right now . . . like South America.)

I had a little piece of joy tonight.  I was doing a grocery run by myself in our cute little car.  I love driving the car because #1. it has seat warmers and #2. it has a CD player and "my car," aka VAN, only sports a tape deck sans seat warmers.  We're high-class, up-to-date people, I'm tellin' ya.  Anyway, it was dark outside, the roads were pretty much empty and there I was, alone, listening to Alison Krauss. 

I love Alison Krauss.  The best part about my "date" with Alison was that I had a totally emotionally-satisfying experience.  I was listening to her CD, A Hundred Miles or More.  I love folksy, bluegrass, backwoods music.  And I love her voice.  Pure, simple.  I love to FEEL, and she ran the "emotional gamut" in her music.  Also, the fact that I had the music so loud it resonated through my entire body might have contributed, in a small part, to my "feeling" the music.  I love when I can blast my music and sing out, pretending that I AM Alison Krauss!  It doesn't happen very often.  I have to be in the right mood.  So, basically, the music quenched some subconscious emotional need, so I was happy.

I came home and "not a creature (or child) was stirring," except my sweet husband, watching Seinfeld re-runs, waiting up to help me unload.  That's my guy.  Now the groceries are put away and I'm off to kiss my little, sleeping angels.  One thing I love, love, love is watching my babies while they sleep. 

It's a Wonderful Life.

(Three peas in a pod.  All freezing.  All tired.  All ready for bed.)

If you called me a drill sergeant or a human garbage disposal you would be right.  To add to my mood, while reading The Gift of the Magi to my kids tonight I came across this phrase, ". . . life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating."  I would concur, on days like today.

My poor kids, putting up with a grouchy, demanding mother.  They are so patient.  But maybe they shouldn't be naughty, either.  I love them, but sometimes . . . . 

Completely unrelated, do you ever clean off your kids' plates because you can't stand to see food wasted?  Food that couldn't be saved for leftovers because it was just one bite here or there?  I hate waste.  But I also hate extra calories.  What do you do?  I know, I should just throw it away. 

By the way, they weren't naughty for not licking their plates clean.  Sweet Lincoln, in complete hysterics over his hunger and me not letting him eat before dinner, threw a stuffed elephant at my head!  It's hilarious and awful at the same time.  I asked myself, did he really just do that?  It was a delayed reaction.  Needless to say, he was off to his room for some "personal reflection time."

And Annie, being sufficiently warned NOT to eat anything while I was laying down for a 30 minute power nap (before dinner), ate three packages of fruit snacks, one popsicle, one string cheese, and graham crackers, subsequently leaving all the wrappers on the floor!  She's not old enough to think about hiding the evidence.  Few things irk me more than when kids eat right before dinner and then . . . they don't eat dinner!

I'm sure glad today is over.  These are days that keep life real.  Very real.  And I'm so glad when I can climb into bed, waiting to start over tommorow, choosing to have a better day.  But first, Ben and I are going to watch It's a Wonderful Life.  And it is.  Most of the time.

p.s. after reading this Ben said that I shouldn't share so many of Lincoln's "exploits," lest I paint a picture that he's a bad kid.  In all honesty, most of my posts involve the youngest two because they're home so much more than the big boys.  If I had blogged when they were young, boy, you would've read about some fabulous exploits.  Horrible exploits.  But alas, they are boys through and through, all three of them.  Curious boys.  And they've all gotten into mischief more than I can count.  I guess I wouldn't have it any other way.  Who wants boys who sit around all day playing video games, anyway?  btw, Lincoln is probably my most compassionate child.  Most aware of feelings.  He is full of goodness . . . even when he's getting into trouble.  Usually.