Multitasking. I Quit.

Women. We are known as great multitaskers. Our brains have been compared to a six-lane highway, while our counterparts -- the men we know and love -- operate with a one-lane road. I'm sure my house is similar to yours on a regular school morning. I juggle showers and baths, breakfast and bed making, clean teeth and snappy outfits for school or play, packing lunches and picking up toys, dishes and stylish hair-do's for my little ones. We run on a pretty tight schedule in the mornings here, and most mornings I am successfull at presenting four adorable children to the world by 8:40am. But this morning -- oh, this morning -- I don't know what happened. My amazing six-lane highway ended up with the traffic jam of the century. I think it started with one simple little fender-bender that should have been pretty easily managed and avoided. But then another accient, and then another, until no one was moving anywhere, there was complete chaos, and this magnificent freeway was shut down.

Let me explain. We'll go back to yesterday afternoon, early evening, when I was trying to juggle a different schedule. Tuesday. Laundry day. Yes, I do laundry only once a week. It's a beast of a day, but it all gets done before bedtime, and I love, love, LOVE having a day when every item of clothing, every bath towel, every dishrag, every sheet is C.L.E.A.N. But it makes for a very busy day. It consists, on average, of two loads of colors, two loads of darks/jeans, two loads of towels/sheets, and one giant load of whites (that probably should be two loads, but I'm just SO done by that time that I cram it all in together). Now, seeing as I have a pretty fantastic and energy efficient washer and dryer, you'd think that it could all get done in a snap. But alas, I assure you it takes the entire day - right up until bedtime - to get six people's laundry washed, dried, folded and put away. Because I am not one of those flyladies, I do not fold each item as it comes out of the dryer. I wash, I dry, and I separate so that everyone has their own pile. By the time the girls come home from school, our living room is transformed into a virtual dump of clothing and towels. And yes, my girls fold their own clothes and put them away. We are not there, however, with the boys. Someday, I tell myself. Someday.

And on top and in between all that laundry are the regular everyday things that a family deals with. Two to school in the morning, one to preschool in the afternoon, and one down for a nap during preschool time, which gives mom a couple of hours to do some extra housework while waiting on laundry. The girls arrive home about 3:30, and we begin our after school schedule (which, just fyi, is not nearly as organized or tightly run as our morning schedlue). I have not figured out yet how to master the organization of homework, chores, outside time (weather permitting), and extra activites such as music, dance and activity days all before bedtime. Anyone with a rockin' after school plan for your fam? Please let me in on your secrets.

So back to yesterday. Laundry, cleaning, and oh yes, the after school chaos. The girls get home and we start folding clothes like mad. There's whining, there's crying, there's even someone hiding in the bathroom to escape it. But I'm no sucker. I find the culprit and she's back on track right after she glares and rolls her eyes. We rush off to homework time, and I threaten Miss Priss if she isn't done in time, she'll miss Activity Days at the church today. Rotten of me, I know. I just haven't found another solution to getting through homework faster yet. I even arranged for her to be included in a carpool from now on so that I don't have to pack up our clan and drive her (at 4:45) to the church for her 5:00 meeting and arrive back home at 5:10, just so that I can pack up again at 5:45 to make it back down there by 6:00. Seriously. Who decided that it should be ONE measley hour when the building is 10 minutes away? Someone who does not have a daughter in Activity Days, that's who.

So I know you're thinking, "Hey, this all sounds like some seriously awesome multitasking here! You're totally rockin' all this! I mean, honestly, you could be the best mom I've ever seen in action!" Pretty much word for word, no? But don't you worry your pretty little head. This is where the tragedy all begins. Miss Priss is now happily on her way in the carpool off to meet her friends. And I start dinner prep - but not cooking, since I know I'm in charge of pick up at 6:00. What's on the menu, you ask? Hawaiian Haystacks. An easy dinner for a busy day. Lots of simple prep work and barely any cooking. So I'm chopping veggies and pulling out pots; one for rice, one for soup. And while I'm digging through the fridge I notice a package of lil' smokies that has been in there for ... a while. They're not spoiled or anything like that, I just realized that I needed to use them up before they do spoil. I personally don't like them, but they're pretty much mini hot dogs, and the rest of my family loves hot dogs. So I think to myself, I'll put them in a pot with some bbq sauce for a little appetizer before dinner. Everyone will love it! Now, I know that most people prepare them in a crock pot, but I figure that's purely for the sake of being easy and not having to think about it. Stick 'em in, pour the sauce, turn it on, and forget about it. But it's 5:00, people, and NOW is not the time to start work in a crock pot. So into the saucepan they go with the sauce. I have a little less than 30 min. before I need to leave to pick up the girlies, so I figure I can turn them on low and let them simmer a bit. When I leave to pick up the girls, I'll just turn the fire off and restart them when I get back.

Dinner prep is done and it's time to do a quick clean up of the house so we're ready to eat when dad gets home. But boy, I'll tell ya, 30 mintues flies by when you're ordering kids around and turning them into your slaves! Before I know it, we're putting on shoes and rushing out the door. We're a couple blocks from the church and it hits me. Did you remember those lil' smokies cookin' away on the stovetop? Yeah, I didn't. Shoot. I'm thinking, well, I did put them on low. So they're probably just going to simmer a little longer than I wanted. Total time away should only be 20 - 25 min. I should be home by 6:15ish. That's not horrible.

I didn't take into account the fact that they had ALREADY been on the stove for almost 30 minutes when I left. Also the fact that when you get about twenty 8 - 10 year olds together, NO ONE is ready to leave when it's time to leave. And when they finally get into the car, I now have to drop off three other girls instead of heading straight home. Stupid carpool. We arrive home at not 6:15, but 6:35. That puts my lil' smokies on my stove for oh, AN HOUR AND A HALF. We barely walk through the door when the smells knocks us over. "What's THAT?" "What's burning?" "Is that DINNER???" I run to the kitchen to find my pot of lil' smokies ... and it's smokin'. (In hindsight, I really should have taken a picture. But I wasn't thinking about that because at that time, I was smokin' too.) I sent all the kids upstairs so I wouldn't yell at anyone, moved my smoldering pot aside, and pressed forward with dinner. Stupid lil' smokies. I hate those things anyway.

A minute or two later, The Man walks through the door, rushes into the kitchen, and tells me he has to leave again. I'm sure he could see the steam coming out my ears as he asked carefully, "Is everything ok?" All I could say was, "It's just been a bad evening." When we came home again, I explained, in very little detail, that I had burned part of our dinner. He asked what he could do to help, and I pointed to the pot. "Take care of that." After scraping, scrubbing, washing, soaking, and even boiling water in the pot in hopes of that charred bbq sauce cooking off, we still had a nasty little black pot. I said we should just throw it out. I also said I really liked that pot. So he tried everything. When nothing worked, I offerred one last suggestion. "We'll let it soak overnight, and if I can't scrub it off in the morning, I'll just throw it away." I lit a candle hoping to overshadow the burnt smell out of our house, and called it a night. (And yes, I rememberd to blow out the candle before I went to bed. But I suppose I deserved that question.)

This morning was much like other mornings in our house (as described in the beginning of this now ridiculously long post). Except that while doing breakfast dishes, my attention was brought back to this little black pot soaking in the sink. One look told me there was no way that stuff was going to just scrub off. So I put clean water in, and put it back on the stove to see if I could "cook" any more of that stuff off. It boiled away as I cleaned up the kitchen, and the water was now turning very brown, which indicated to me that the stuff was, in fact, coming off. This just might work, and I just might be able to save my little pot. But our time was ticking away, and our 8:40 am deadline was getting closer and closer. The girls were just about ready, and I rushed to stick the boys in the bath. Then Miss Priss hollers for me in a voice filled with despair. What is it now? And she comes into the bathroom to reveal this ...



And the pictures don't even do it justice. The spots are bright pink and they are everywhere. Hundreds of them. The cover her stomach and back, legs and arms. She did tell us last night that her arms were itching, but it wasn't anything like this. Great. This is exactly what I need five minutes before you are supposed to walk out the door for school. Perfect. I snap the photos and text them to her dad and ask what I should do. Send her to school like this? Keep her home? Take her back to the doctor? (She had missed almost the entire previous week of school due to strep throat.) As I'm examining her body, texting back and forth with The Man, and googling images of chicken pox and measles, I hear the boys start fighting in the tub. I know that when I get in there, I will find very little water INSIDE the tub, and most of the water OUTSIDE. One more mess to clean up today. Awesome. So we're minutes away from the first bell at school and I decide to call the nurse hotline. And as the line is ringing I remember something. "This is what my body used to look like when I took penicillin. I'm allergic to penicillin." The nurse reassures me that it's most likely a non-allergic reaction to her antibiotic she's been on for a week from strep. Not contagious and not a big deal. I hang up the phone prepared to send her out the door. I get up to check on the boys and I hear familiar questions from last night. "What's THAT? "What's burning?"

Crap. I run downstairs to find this ...




Stupid pot. Again, the pictures don't quite do it justice. I mean, this thing is charred. That water just boiled itself right outta that pot. But at least this time I think to take a picture. Because this morning is one for the books. And as for my six-lane highway brain? I think I'll take a break and slow things down a bit. Right now that one-way country back road sounds really, really good.

P.S. Day two of the "non-allergic" reaction to antibiotics. They have gotten worse ...

To Be A Mother

My sweet little C-Bug,

Tonight with you was like a dream. Ironic, though, as the early evening started as a nightmare. You cried and cried as you followed me around the kitchen while dinner preparation was in full gear. You disapproved of your meal, choked on a carrot, and received a bruised leg as we tried to quickly pull you out of your seat to help. Yes, this was definitely an early-bedtime night. I took you upstairs to settle down before laying you into your crib. And in the soft glow of your nightlight, we rocked.

Not one of my babies has been a rock-me-to-sleep baby. But you sat there with me, still, and let me rock you. And I was happy. I hummed a favorite lullaby, over and over, for fear that if I stopped you would become restless and want the rocking to end. But when I did finally stop, you seemed content just to sit with me.

You jibberred and jabberred about the musings of your day; you practiced your wave of hi and goodbye; you pointed at everything you could see in the dim light, all while we rocked. With your head on my shoulder, we rocked and rocked.

And when you turned to face me, I put my lips on your soft cheek and kissed you again and again until you turned away, letting me know that you had enough. I will never have enough kisses from you.

I whispered, "I love you," and you whispered back. Not an "I love you, mommy" but I was sure that's what you meant. Then you pinched my neck - not too hard, but just enough to make me giggle out loud. You froze at the sound; but then, curious, you pinched again, and waited to hear. And I giggled again, over and over, until I took your hand away, letting you know I had enough.

But I kept my hand on that sweet, soft, chubby hand of yours, and caressed it as my heart fell deeper in love.

Soon we were joined by your big brother, who upon seeing us happily rocking, wanted to rock too. Daddy helped him in on the other side of my lap, and the three of us rocked and rocked.

It was over too quickly - the two of you can't seem to remember how to whisper when you're together. But I left your room with a big smile on my face. I love how you can make me smile.

So tonight, my little love, I thank you for the reminder of how I love to be a mother.
This gorgeous picture was taken by my dear friend from Shelly Geller Photography. Oh, how I miss you, Michelle!

A Time for Thanks

November brought some excitement along with the cold weather. Neither were good. The morning of the 18th went as always; breakfast, showers, and we were ready for the day. The girls were on track break, so there was no rush for school. C-Bug had a doctor's appointment (due to a diaper full of -- well, the regular plus a lot of blood), and a friend of mine graciously offered to watch everyone else. I dropped them off around 9:15, plenty of time to make it to our 9:45 appointment. We were in and out of there faster than planned, but had some time while waiting for test results. I had a little shopping to do at Michael's, so I thought I'd run home, grab my coupon (who shops at Michael's without that weekly 40% off golden ticket?!?), and head down to the store. It was 11:00 am. Pulled into the garage, left the car running, ran inside for the coupon, back in the car, and I was off.

It was an hour and a half later, shopping done, tests were back (a couple of allergies, but nothing much to worry about), kids picked up, and we were back in our garage parking the car. I unloaded the kids and headed in through the laundry room. As soon as I walked inside, I noticed that the cabinets in the laundry room were open. All of them. Weird. Did I do that? I do have a tendency to leave cabinet doors open (just ask The Man - he hates it), but ALL of them? I did do laundry the day before, so I thought maybe I just spaced it and left them like that. As I walked through to the hallway a funny thought went through my head ...

Remember the scene in "The Sixth Sense" when the little boy and his mom are in their kitchen in the morning and he's eating breakfast while she gets ready for work? He's all nervous and she's frustrated with him. She leaves for just a second and when she comes back EVERY CABINET IN THEIR KITCHEN IS WIDE OPEN. The boy is still sitting in his chair, his hands flat on the table.

"How freaky would it be if I walked into my kitchen and all the cabinets were wide open.?"

Then in the hallway I noticed that the door to the closet under our stairs was open. The light was on. Now I'm thinking, "I may have spaced those laundry room cabinets, but I KNOW I didn't leave that open."

My heart sinks as I walk into the kitchen. Lo and behold, every cabinet is open. At this point I'm truly thinking of ghosts and crazy paranormal activity. Then I quick turn around and see that our tv is gone. I drop everything (except, of course, my baby) and grab the phone. Called The Man.

"Someone broke into our house. The tv is gone. It's a mess in here and I'm freaking out."

While the words are coming out of my mouth, another thought occurs to me. "They could still be in here. Upstairs. Get out. Now."

"I'm on my way home," he says to me, and we both hang up as I holler at and push my kids back into the garage and into the car.

"Get in the car! Get in! Just get in!"

"What's the matter, mom?! What's going on?"

They were confused, and I was freaked out.

"Mom! Don't go yet! My buckle is not on!"

"I don't care! Just sit down!"

"Mom, is C-Bug dying?"

"THIS IS WHY YOU ARE NEVER ALLOWED TO ANSWER THE DOOR! SOMEONE VERY BAD WHO WAS NOT INVITED CAME TO OUR HOUSE AND TOOK OUR THINGS! THERE ARE BAD PEOPLE OUT THERE AND YOU ARE NEVER ALLOWED TO TALK TO STRANGERS!!!"

Yes, in hindsight, I probably could have handled that a little bit better.

I'm pulling out of the garage now and getting ready to haul butt outta there. But then another thought. "If they ARE still in there, and they come out, I want to see them. No, I want to run their a** down with my car!"

(For all of you who were under the impression that I am a good, decent person who doesn't swear, sorry to burst your bubble. Now you know, and I feel just a little bit closer to you.)

I'm back on the phone with The Man, who tells me that he's called a friend of ours that works really close. He should be there in just a minute or two. And he's packin'. I tell him I don't have the number for the police. I'm assuming this isn't cause for a 911 call. Not until I've taken someone out with my vehicle, anyway.

Mr. Saturday-night special comes, then the police, then The Man. And all the neighbors who were home all morning but didn't see a thing are now coming out to see what all the commotion is about. The police check the house, and no one is there. A couple hours later we are making a list of things that are missing, writing out our statements, and sending the police on their way. A neighbor kept our kids so that we could clean up everything before they came inside. We didn't want them to see the house torn apart and their rooms in disarray. They literally went through everything. Every drawer, every box, every space in the whole house. It still creeps me out to think about it.

I slept with my purse for a week. The Man laughed at me as I would walk up the stairs at night with my purse over my shoulder. I had no more than 20 bucks in there (I'm dangerous with cash!), but I just couldn't bear the thought of someone coming back and taking the only thing I had left. I stopped sleeping with it when The Man told me, "They already took everything they wanted. There's nothing left here that's of any value to them. Why would they come back?"

We left the next week to spend Thanksgiving in San Diego with my family. Everyone was there, and it was so nice to be with them. It was nice to not think about being afraid for a while. It was nice that even though we were now without a lot of material things, I had SO MUCH to be thankful for ...

I'm thankful first and foremost that we were safe. I'm thankful that no one was in my home when I walked through that door with my four young kids. And no matter how bad a** I thought I could have been inside that car, I'm thankful no one came out while I waited across the street. I'm thankful for my husband who understood that although we originally planned to stay home for Thanksgiving, I just had to get out of there for a little bit. I'm thankful they were not able to take our computer, and every picture we have along with it. I'm thankful for good neighbors and friends who wanted to bring dinner that night even though it was our electronics stolen and not our food. I'm thankful for the lessons we learned and the chance we have now to be better prepared. I'm thankful that my kids were not scarred by my lunatic reaction, but somehow saw the whole situation as some exciting adventure.

While in the car the morning of their first day back to school, I asked the girls if they were excited to see their teachers and friends again. DC said, "Yeah! I'm gonna tell my teacher that we went to San Diego for four days!" And Miss Priss said, "I'm gonna tell my teacher we got robbed!"

Back From the Dead - Just in Time for Halloween!

Yes, I know it's January. I'm a little late. Whatev. But hey, isn't the saying "better late than never?" I'm all about being better. Here are our kids in costume for Halloween 2009. Forgive the quality, we only used The Man's phone for pictures.

C-Bug was Darth Vadar. But before we even left the house, we nicknamed him Darth Drool. He's so slobbery! What a cutie-pie. I love how smiley he is.


Our ward had a fun carnival and trunk or treat. Mini Man won the costume contest for the boys. I may be just a teensy weensy bit biased, but I thought he totally deserved it. He rocked that costume. His dad even taught him to look at people thoughtfully and say, "Much anger I sense in you" in a yoda voice. It was a crack up.


I was pretty excited about our Star Wars theme, but DC was so not on board. We were going to do Queen Amidala, but she refused. I'm not sure why, since her dad has trained her to love Star Wars right along with the rest of our kids, but she was adamant about being a devil. How could I argue with that?


Miss Priss made the perfect Princess Leia. Her own hair worked way better than the silly wig that came with the costume. Although she was a little disappointed when we had no use for black spray for her hair like we did last year.


The Man and I are lame and once again did not dress up. We thought maybe he could be Chewy, but we figured he'd be a little warm while chasing kids around. We've decided next year we'll be cool again and participate. Any suggestions?

Mad World

Yesterday while sitting at the table with Miss Priss during homework time, she told me that her teacher was mad at some of the class for not staying on task. I asked, "How did you know she was mad?

"She sounded mad and had a mad look on her face."

"Did she sound mad like when I'm mad?"

"No, she didn't scream like you do."

That's right. Mother of the year.

Get Up and Go

Most mornings I wake to the sounds from a baby monitor ... sometimes it's crying, sometimes it's cooing, sometimes it's Mini Man yelling at his baby brother to "BE QUIET!!!" Yes, I set the alarm for 7:00 am, but I rarely get the chance to let it sound on its own. I climb out of bed and head to the boys' room. Mini Man is always happy to see me open the door, and he runs out to the toy room. And my cute little Bug gets even the slightest glimpse of me and begins to shake with excitment. I see that huge gummy smile, and I am ready to begin the day. I pick him up and go into the girls' room to wake my princesses. It's time for their day to begin, too.

They are not happy to see me. They moan and yawn and roll away from me as I steal their covers, hoping they will really wake up. I tell them I know how tired they are, and that maybe tonight we should go to bed earlier so they can get more sleep. This does not help their mood.

We're now all headed downstairs for breakfast, and when the girls see there is no fabulous breakfast banquet set up and ready for them on the table, they both head to the couch for an extra five minutes of rest before I make them climb up to the table. The kids eat slowly ... and I mean s-l-o-w-l-y. Seriously, who can make a bowl of cereal last for 45 minutes? My kids, that's who. I feed the baby while everyone eats, and then we rush upstairs for showers and baths.

8:30 rolls around and I'm rushing everyone around, putting the finishing touches on girly hairdo's, making sure teeth are shiny white, and reminding the girls to put socks on before grabbing lunches, backpacks and shoes to head out the door.

Yes, my kids all look adorable by 8:45 am. I, on the other hand, look like the tired, old, bedraggled woman that lived in the shoe. Whatev.

This week Miss Priss' second grade class has been reading a story called "Get Up and Go." It's all about how long it takes this little girl to get ready to go in the morning. Miss Priss decided she needed to keep track of everything she does in the morning and how long it takes her to get ready. I tell her that's a great idea.

This morning I wake up to sounds of my little Bug at 6:49. But when I go down the hall, I see the light in the bathroom on, and I can smell shampoo and feel the damp air of the bathroom. Someone has showered already. Wow. She wasn't kidding around. I gather everyone else and head downstairs to find my little Miss Priss in the kitchen ... MAKING HER OWN LUNCH!!! (I know this might be common for some of you out there, but this is unprecedented in our house! Don't judge.)

Next to her on the counter is a list ...

Wake up - 6:16
Shower - 6:26
Get dressed - 6:38
Make lunch - 6:44

At this point I'm thinking, Dude. Where has this book been all my life??? At this rate she'll be ready for school by 7:00, she'd have time to get all her chores done, SHE could feed the baby, and I could still be in bed. Ah, fantasies.

After breakfast and brushing teeth, she asks for help finishing her hair. As we talk together in the bathroom, I ask her what she thinks about this book they've been reading. She says she really likes it. And I ask, "How long does it take for the girl in the book to get ready in the morning?"

She says, "Like 11 chapters. I'm way faster than that."

Never Give Up, Never Surrender

What's a girl to do when nearly three months have gone by and her blog seems to have been completely abandoned? Should she post about how sorry she is for being such a slacker blogger? Not this girl. Should she skip over the last three month's of her family's life and just begin to post from where she is now? Not this girl. Should she spend hours and hours writing post after post, recounting the last 90-some-odd days to people who probably don't care as much as she thinks they do about what she and her family have been doing? No, not this girl.

I know! She should overload her blog with pic's and captions to summarize the super-fun spring/summer she's had with her husband and cute kiddo's. Yeah, that's it.

Though some have commented that I have given up on the blogging world, and others have given up on me, I will not let time passed get the better of me. I will get out of this "no blogging" rut, and I will press on. Get comfy, ya'll. We're going through three months' time in one post.

So, where have we been, you're asking? And what have we been doing???

We've been getting haircuts...






And losing teeth...


And receiving awards at school ...


We've been spending time becoming Honorary Fire Chiefs ...


And hanging out in helicopters at the Fire Dept with grandpa ...





We've been rockin' out on the guitar ...


And rockin' the elementary school play ...



We've been finding fingers ...


And finding toes ...


We've been visiting great grandparents ...


And attending the temple for one seriously amazing sealing ...






We've been swimming here ...




And swimming there ...




We've been dressing up for holidays ...



And taking family photos ...



We've been learning how things work with dad ...



And camping at Father & Sons ...




We spent a rainy day at Lagoon (with no kids!!!) ...


And finally started loving the bumbo ...


To put it mildly, we've been having so much fun, we're just plain worn out ...


And you'll all sleep better tonight now that you know.