Munchkin Invasion

Vienna Boys Choir

2012-01-29T19:36:00.000-08:00

I'm sorry that this will be another entry about the Frew (for the most part)...but, he's 18 months old. And hilarious. Also, I do not keep a separate journal for him (he's #6 - I gave up on that a long time ago), and so all funny things need to be recorded here.

Last week we went to church, and he sat with us (sometimes he sits with this wonderful woman in our ward to mitigate the effects of chaos on our bench). Shortly after the program began, he grabbed the hymnbook, opened it up, and started to exuberantly belt out a song - with all his might. It was some serious singing. TPM and I laughed like crazy. We knew we should probably stop such irreverance, but...it was so cute, we just sat there...and laughed (like the great parents we are). Then, this week, the same thing. Grabbed the hymnbook and started singing away. We can't understand a word of it...cause it's all in Frew language. But, I'm pretty sure everyone around us was feeling especially warm and fuzzy about his worshipping.

I think he learned some of this from his big brother, Squeakers. He loves a good hymn. He has started writing his own songs (see picture above...he usually writes them in notebooks, but in this case, he wrote on the white board). Today he was playing one of his songs and we asked him, "What's that song called?" to which he responded, "Smooth girls." Hmmm....okay. But, his new favorite thing is finishing his dinner, and running outside for a good outburst. He stands out on the basketball court and sings his heart out - it doesn't matter what the song - and he does some moves. It looks...kind of like...drill team tryouts. Lots of straight arms waving around. Brent and I sit in the kitchen (finishing our dinner, because we like to eat more than 4 bites of food), and just laugh away at the sheer entertainment of it all. When he actually notices that people are watching him, he will quickly stop and wander away acting as if nothing were happening. We will probably try to video record it sometime; but, he will probably have us legally removed as his parents/guardians when he is an adolescent if we ever post it on the blog.

Asher Antics

2012-01-22T20:14:00.000-08:00

This kid is driving me crazy. He's cute. He smiles a lot. He's a generally a happy fella...but, he never stops moving. He loves to climb...on EVERYTHING. He loves to get into...EVERYTHING. I feel like I can't even step into the pantry, because who knows what I'll turn around and find. With most kids, you can put on a video and go take a shower. Not this boy. Last week, I put on a video and ran up stairs for a couple of minutes. Asher, in an attempt to celebrate my absence, showered salt and pepper all over my kitchen floor and counters like confetti on New Year's Eve. I didn't even know that the salt and pepper were out, much less accessible to 19 month old hands.

Here are the antics for this week:

This is some beautiful art work drawn on my wall...(medium: Sharpie). Thank you Asher. I love it.

You may not be able to tell...but, this is Asher ripping my books...and smiling while he's doing it. (Did you notice Puppa's filthy shirt? I give up.)

And, this is one of his favorite things to do...brush his teeth in a sink of running water (please notice the running water behind him). He realized that hot water is not pleasant, so we are happy to report that he now knows the difference between the hot and cold knob (and only cranks the cold now). This happens at least a few times a week (sometimes a few times a day)...pretty much whenever the boys leave the bathroom door open.

It's a good thing he's cute. That's probably the only way he'll survive to his second birthday.

Girl vs Boy

2012-01-15T19:04:00.000-08:00

I came home from my doctor's appt on Monday with a few pictures of the baby. I showed them to the boys, and Lil' N exclaimed, "So, is it a girl?" I've been telling them for weeks that it was probably a boy, but when Lil' N asked me the question, I hestitated. Normally, at my first ultrasound (the real one comes in February) - I can tell that it's a boy. When I was pregnant with the triplets, I had an ultrasound about every other week...so, we got pretty good at knowing what we were looking for. Consequently, I am usually able to nip any hope of a girl in the bud by my first appointment. But, this time, I never saw what I was looking for. I'm not saying I think it's a girl...that would be foolish of me (but, I did let myself think about it the rest of the day, and now I'm back to thinking it's a boy (after TPM's "cold shower" reception at the idea--to quote him, "I don't want my tiny hopes crushed again. It is a boy until incontrovertible evidence proves it otherwise."))....but...the ultrasound did make me pause when Lil' N gleefully asked, "Is it a girl?!?" I couldn't really say for certaintly that it wasn't. So, I just replied, "I don't know".

Blurbles shouts, "YOU MEAN IT COULD BE A GIRL!!!????!! I would be SOOOO excited!"

Then, I realized we were getting in trouble with this conversation, because too many people were getting their hopes up (myself included), so I began to backpedal and replied, "Well, no, it's probably a boy...but, I just won't be sure until February."

Blurbles: Is that a school day?

Me: Yes

Blurbles: Will you make sure you tell me when I get home from school?

Me: Yes

Blurbles: I really hope it's a girl...we don't have any girls.

Me: Would you still be happy if it's a boy?

Blurbles: (with a shrug) Ya, at least we'll get more fighting toys. That's always cool.

And, there you have it - the best part of having boys - are...apparently...all the fighting toys. :)

Christmas 2011

2012-01-01T19:26:00.000-08:00

Maybe a before and after shot might be appropriate in describing Christmas this year:

BEFORE:

AFTER:

It's just obscene when you see all the junk that 6 kids acquire on one holiday. We even tried to be conservative this year...it just looks obscene anyway.

Anyway, I asked the kids to find their favorite presents. Squeakers loves his Toy Story Lego Train:

Blurbles was a fan of his new dinosaur (thank you, Aunt Shelley for suffering at Wal-Mart with Mrs. Claus while she acquired this little creature on Black Friday).

Lil' N was thrilled that Santa heard his pleas for a tetherball:

This little presnt combines Bug's two true loves: Batman and Robots. Introducing, BatBot:

Puppy asked Santa for Buzz, Woody, and Bullseye...even though he already has a dozen of each:

Frew's presents were few...since, what do you get a kid who already has every toy imagineable in that age bracket? But, Santa discovered that he bought this cool wagon a couple of years back on a great sale...and then, realized that it was never gifted. Thus, Frew's favorite gift...the wagon. He's fallen out of it (head first in most incidences) at least 6 times.

We hope your Christmas was Merry.

Answers to FAQ's:

2011-12-21T07:29:00.000-08:00

I should add...

Yes, we planned this one.
No, we are not hoping for a girl...that would be foolish. We are happily planning for a boy.
I wouldn't say that we are done...I don't like odd numbers.
The boys know...but, don't seem to care.

and...

Yes, we are crazy.

Puppy's Perspective on the Future

2011-12-19T11:16:00.000-08:00

So, once Frew was born, Puppy (#5) began using a new euphemism: baby. His ultimate insults are all combined with the word "baby".

Some examples:
You are a baby donkey!
You are a little baby boy!
You are a baby bum bum! (that one I tackled and made him stop saying)
You are a baby diaper! (that one I also tackled)
You are a baby girl!

You get the picture...

The other day he had to clean up before dinner and he announced, "This is just BABY HARD!"

Babies...in Puppy's world...are not a positive.

So, his world will be rocked in June 2012 when baby #7 comes along.

Christmas Season

2011-12-11T14:39:00.000-08:00

Isn't this tree ugly? It's okay, it won't hurt my feelings...I let my boys help me this year, and I ended up with 10 red balls on 2 branches. We love it. It's all the self-control I can muster not to fix it all when they are sleeping...but, they would notice. They know where every ornament is...they were carefully placed.

Last Sunday, we were watching the Christmas Devotional by the First Presidency.

In the devotional, Elder Uchtdorf was telling about when he set the Christmas tree on fire as a child. He later talked about how he still got Christmas present instead of the tree branch the naughty German children should get. Consequently, Blurbles has told me several times this week that "I don't think you have to be awesome to get Christmas presents from Santa...just not too rotten...cause remember Elder Uchtdorf? He set the tree on fire...and he still got Christmas!"

Today Blurbles wanted to review the pictures from the Savior's birth. He asked me why the Savior was placed in a manger. We talked about how there was no room for him. Blurbles answered, "I wished I would have lived back then. I would have let him sleep with me!" To which Bug replied, "Or me!! I would let him have my blanket AND my lion!"

Which, if you know Bug's love for his blanket and lion...you know that's a big thing. Maybe we haven't totally missed the point at our house. :)

Girls

2011-11-30T18:21:00.000-08:00

Last night we were trying to stress the real reason for Christmas in our Family Home Evening. I started out by asking, "Is there anyone that never makes mistakes in their life?"

Blurbles replies, "Oh! I know! Girls."

Hmmm....not the answer I was looking for...but, humorous nontheless.

Thanksgiving

2011-11-30T18:20:00.000-08:00

This past week we went up to Utah. It's a very long drive with a lot of kids in a little space. On our way home, one of our DVD players went out and it made it an even longer drive with seemingly even more kids with even less space. So....it's a good thing it's worth the drive.

We were able to visit with so many cousins and everyone's at such a fun age. Cousins are usually the greatest part of traveling. It's amazing how many of our boys love the time they have with their cousins. We went to the "Dinosaur Museum" and the "Animal" Museum. The "Animal Museum was on BYU campus, so TPM and I took the opportunity to do some "brainwashing". We took them on campus to show them "where all their classes would be". Then, we took them to the cafeteria and let them pick out anything they wanted, because "college students gets to eat what they want" (including a big ol' ice cream cone at the end). In the middle of the lunch, Blurbles asked, "So, college students get to eat whatever they want every day with all their friends?" I repied, "Yep!" Blurbles was sold. We hope he's a BYU Cougar in 12 short years. :)

We enjoyed some yummy food and enjoyed some more visiting on the way home.

My sweet sister-in-law took some family pics. They are great. They are on her blog:

http://captureathousandwords.blogspot.com/

We loved our visiting, but always enjoy coming home.

Commitment

2011-11-13T14:44:00.000-08:00

Lil' N is a commited little guy. Whenever he decides he wants to be good at something...he will work at it till he's stellar. 2 years ago, he found a hoola hoop at Grandma's house. He didn't know how to use it, so he had someone show him how to use. Then he spent the next 8 hours practicing until he could do a hoola hoop...and do it well. He's started to be that way about basketball. He spend hours outside trying to make a shot. He's drastically improving. He has done it with his dance games...he can beat anyone he knows.

His new obsession is tetherball (doesn't that take you back? I loved tetherball). Anyway, he's unfortunately the shortest kid in his grade, and so he's at a significant disadvantage in the game due to his height. We were in the car on the way to church, and he said to me, "This kid at school says I'm easy to beat in tetherball. It makes me feel bad."

You can imagine how sad that made me feel.

Then he said, "So, I'm going to ask Santa for a tetherball so I can practice a lot and a lot. Then, they won't say I'm easy...they'll have to say I'm reall hard to beat!"

That's my boy.

Guess Santa'll be bringing a tetherball...he has to practice, right?

Cystic Fibrosis

2011-11-06T14:28:00.000-08:00

For any of my regular readers, you will remember that Frew as a "breathing issue"...we lovingly call him Vader. He has his own pulmonologist that we unfortunately have to see often (at $40 a pop), and we have run ever test imaginable on him - including an exploratory surgery (bronchoscopy) that resulted in an adnoidectomy and ear tubes. A few weeks back my pulmonologist said the dreaded sentence, "I think it's time to rule out Cystic Fibrosis". For those of you unfamiliar with such a condition, just think lung transplant, chronic breathing issues, and the liklihood that I would bury my child before I pass to the other side.

Not good.

So, on Tuesday, I took him down to the hospital for the test. It's a sweat test, and I'm not really sure why modern medicine hasn't made the diagnosis of Cystic Fribrosis a little more concise. Basically, they put gauze on his arm (to catch the sweat) and covered it with lots of saran wrap and tape (to make him sweat). They were looking for an abnormal amount of chloride (salt) in his sweat. Apparently, individuals with Cystic Fibrosis have an extraordinarily high amount of chloride in their sweat. Who knew?

So, little saran wrap boy ran all over the hospital to work up a sweat. He was covered up with two winter coats and snowboarding pants (which looked very odd in Tucson, AZ). All the while that he ran and played, I mulled over how my life would change if he tested positive for CF. I can say it was a sobering half hour.

She unwrapped "saran man" and promised the results by the end of the day.

When she called to report that his test came out "normal", it took me a minute to process it. She was telling me that my worst fear (for the last few months) were not realized and I could relax.

He just has really bad asthma.

Thank goodness for asthma.

Halloween 2011

2011-10-31T17:01:00.000-07:00

So, we made it through most of our Halloween festivities. :) It was tricky, because this year I had to take all the kids myself one night (Brent had a meeting for work...I don't know how they thought this was a good weekend for a meeting, but - we don't complain. :) I was worried that I would lose my patience in all the dressing, pictures, and rangling at the event...but, the boys were superstars and we had a really enjoyable weekend.

This year the boys decided to be independent. It was a little stressful for me, because I like things coordinated, but I just smiled and let them pick their costumes. This year, Squeakers decided to be a stop sign:

Blurbles wanted to be "Emperor Palpatine" from Star Wars...it was hard to make him look old; hence, the "goth" look.

Lil' N's favorite Wii game is "Michael Jackson Experience" - and so, he picked to be the "Michael Jackson-Beat It" version.

Bug decided to wear what he wears the other 364 days of the year: Batman

Puppy asked to be Buzz. I was originally against this idea, because it would require a purchase of a costume (which is not my ideal situation...I hate paying for costumes). But, it has completely transformed his outlook on life in general...he's a happier boy now that he knows he gets to be Buzz for the rest of his life (or until the costume doesn't fit him anymore):

Frew was just a plain ol' pea. It's a recycled costume. And, he couldn't care anyway:

We had a lot of fun. Every year it gets more enjoyable. Less rangling and more enthusiasm. :)

There has been an immense amout of candy, of which Frew has enjoyed all the options:

Halloween Racket

2011-10-24T12:36:00.000-07:00

I found myself at the fabric store on Saturday (along with a few other procrastinating moms)...so that I could get Blurble's fabric for his costume. I hate being this ill prepared, but it's been a stressful few months. I was standing in the long line of procrastinating moms and thinking, "What is up with this holiday anyway?" I spend tons of money and time creating these dopey costumes so that my kids can pretend to be something else for the evening...and then people give them candy for it. Nevermind that I could have purchased 20 bags of yummy candy for the price of the costumes...

And, the time...the immense amount of time involved with producing the whole event.

Oh, well...they are really, really happy. I think it's their favorite holiday. They've been talking about it since November 1 of last year.

But why?

I'd rather eat turkey and pie.

Family Picture Attempt

2011-10-16T20:33:00.000-07:00

I hate family pictures. I really, really do. It's all stressful...everyone needs to match, clothes need to stay clean, everyone needs to stay happy, and you have to get 6 independent boys to all look at a camera at the same time. Not fun. But, I really, really love pictures of my family up in my house. And, so we must suffer through the ordeal of family pictures. This year, we decided to take them at a pumpkin patch. We haven't ventured to a pumpkin patch before, but there is a new one in Marana, and we decided to attempt the Pumpkin Patch experience.

As we were in the hustle and bustle of the morning, our downstairs potty starts gurgling. A gurgling potty is never good. Especially when you have 6 boys and especially when you have pictures you need to get to in 30 minutes. I was finishing my shower, and TPM drained the tub...which left a gurgling potty overflowing.

Sewage all over the kitchen. My sweet husband immediately started to clean up while I shout, "We cannot clean that up right now! We have to go take pictures!"

Never...never...never...would I EVER think pictures are more important than a sewage filled kitchen, but...I was afraid our photographer would bail on us...and we had just spent a very stressful morning getting ready for the wretched experience!

So, we threw a bunch of towels on the floor to soak up sewage.

Don't you love my life? I mean, really, you are all thinking, "Wow...sucks to be her! Pee in the bedrooms and now this!"

Yup...it's all in a day's work at this house!

Okay, back to the pumpkin patch.

We jumped:

We took a tractor ride out to the pumpkin patch:

Carefully picked out our pumpkins:

And, rode the tractor back:

What a good day.

Until we got home and remembered the towel soaked sewage. The plumber met us at the house, took out all the pillow stuffing, wipes, and food that seemed to be clogging our drainage system (thank you, boys). TPM and I worked til about 10pm making sure that everything was bleached clean.

I wonder what next week's little surprise will be?

Of a Social Nature...

2011-10-09T20:34:00.000-07:00

We were walking to school this week, and Squeakers was walking beside me. When suddenly I hear this conversation:

Squeakers: Hi Jasper! How are you? (he's peering into the kids face, trying to give him eye contact, but possibly invading some personal space).

Jasper: Oh, Hi!

Squeakers: How....are....you...today?

Jasper: Good!

Squeakers: Do you want to go to the playground with me?

Jasper: Ya! Okay!

They walk off to the playground.

I just stood there dumbfounded. I was so happy; I could have cried! I have never seen anything like it from him. And, today he said to me, "Oh, today is my friend Amanda's birthday. On October 17, I need to remember to tell her Happy Birthday!"

If you have been reading my blog for a while, you know that Squeaker's social interactions have been a concern to me...

There is a sweet girl that walks home with us who is in Squeaker's class. Every day he asks her, "What color were you on (behavior color)? The other day she said, "I was on orange (a great color)...and I'm always on orange!" Squeakers responds, "I was too! Today I was on orange!" She looks over and says, "I know Isaiah! I am so proud of you! You did a great job!" And, Squeakers beamed the whole way home.

When Squeakers had his surgery two weeks ago (remember the penny?)...I had to explain to the hospital staff that he has autism, because the later the night got...the more random his conversations. When the surgeon came out to tell me about his surgery, she asked me, "Does he...have autism?" I answered that he did. And, then she said, "Because I just didn't see it...he was so interactive...he gave me eye contact...and he seemed very friendly." We talked for a few more minutes about his history, and she then said, "I never would have guessed."

I told her that was the kindest thing she could say to me, because it meant that something was working. He will always have autism, but maybe one day...no one will believe me.

Finally!!!!

2011-10-02T20:54:00.000-07:00

Frew decided to walk this week...finally!

It only took 15 months (I'll post the picture when TPM is available).

He is really just not the most motivated kid.

He's cute, though.

Penniless

2011-09-25T19:47:00.000-07:00

What do these 2 pennies have in common? They are both worth between $900-$5000. The first one because it was minted in 1877, and is a much sought-after rarity among numismatists. The second because it was lodged in the esophagus of a six year old boy (who will remain nameless), and required 2 emergency room visits, an unnecessary ride in an ambulance (demanded by a surgeon who was later too lazy to get out of bed to perfom the procedure), an over-night stay in the hospital, and an operating room procedure to have it extracted. At least the offender will live to be able to chip in a little cash to help pay for this. At one point, we were concerned about his ability to breathe. However, I would have preferred he “cough up” the cash, but he just wouldn’t cooperate. After many hours of throwing up, and two different X-rays...it was still in the same spot.

I'm glad my boy's okay, but if I miss one more night of sleep due to one of my children's stupid antics...I may swallow a penny myself...just to ensure some peaceful hours of sleeping san kids around.

Joys of Boys

2011-09-18T15:56:00.000-07:00

I had a lot to do this week. I had it all carefully mapped out. Each day I had a list of things to do: class, homework, clean, teacher conferences for each boy, well-child appointments, flu shots, play dates, haircuts, and park day. But, the whole week was turned upside down on Monday morning. I walked into the youngest boys' room and smelled...urine. Yep, lots of it. I was blown away by the disgusting smell. I quickly began to process the smell: okay, it has to be that someone wet the bed, right? That must be it. But, both boys were dry as a bone. My instincts kept telling me that the smell could only come from one thing: a complete and total "pee"-fest. Itching in the back of my mind was the memory of putting both of them to bed screaming. This is not an uncommon occurence on Sundays, because their whole routine gets messed up - and there is a total lack of napping that occurs on Sundays. So, by the end of Sundays, there is usually a decent amount of crying involved. I was hoping the two events were not related.

I calmly walked downstairs and completed all the stuff I needed to do to get the boys off to school. While I was waiting to walk them to school, Bug came in to explain that, "Puppa peed on the puppy."

My brain started to process this new bit of info. He really can't be saying that my three year old peed on our sweet puppy...right? But, the immense smell of urine upstairs began to match with the events of the morning...and I began to panic.

I walked the boys to school and came back. I bathed our puppy. She was mad at me all day for that. Then I marched upstairs with the boys and demanded that the boys show me where they had peed last night. They somberly began pointing: in the drawers, in the corners, on the walls, behind the dresser, under the crib...EVERYWHERE. I thought in that moment that I may lose my insanity. But, I didn't. I put them in time-out, and began to assess the damage. I pulled out my carpet shampooer (that was woefully inadequate for such a job). I began to clean the best I could. I scrubbed, cleaned, and then scrubbed and cleaned again. I did this three times. The smell was much better...but, still there. I wanted to die. I fed the boys lunch, put them down for naps, and went and layed in my bed...just out of sheer grief. This is my worst nightmare on a week that I couldn't handle as it was already mapped out.

I had to wash every item in the room, including poor Eeyore. Poor Eeyore; he got the brunt of it all. I washed walls and removed every piece of furniture I could move in the room. For two more mornings, I cleaned and even still, the carpet cleaner will need to come tomorrow to hopefully get out the last remants of our little urine party.

During naptime, Puppa did it again.

I called my mom to make sure I hadn't left any "discipline" measures out. I was completely beside myself. What was I doing wrong, and why won't this behavior stop? I went down the list of things I had taken away, the privileges I had refused, and all the punitive measures I had taken. I acknowledged that I would need to separate them, since I've known that they were a toxic combination for a while now. She agreed that would be a good move. But, it required me boxing up my entire den and turning it into a bedroom. We've been on the search for a house all summer, but haven't found anything.  Our parameters are hard to come by, and so we are trying to be patient in the process, and not jump at something just because "it will work". She assured me that I was doing everything necessary to teach self-discipline in boys that clearly had none.

Then she called me back five minutes later. "I was telling Dad about your predicament. He wants me to ask you if you've talked to them."

Then preceded my explanation about how I've talked to them til I'm blue in the face. I've asked them why, and haven't gotten a very good answer. I've scolded them, and I've indicated my immense disappointment on several occasions. To which my wise mother responded, "No, I mean really talk to them". At this point I'm thinking, "Yes...how much more talking can a girl do?" And, then she said, "I would ask them why they are so mad at you".

At this point, I'm thinking, "I don't really care if they are mad at me! They better keep their bodily fluids where they belong! They can take their anger and spray it in the potty where it belongs!"

But, I told her I would try it. Mostly because I knew she was right.

So, next morning, I got the boys off to school and then I came back to chat with my little miscreants. I started out by asking them why they peed all over the room. They both sat there, and then I asked, "Were you mad about something?" To which Bug promptly replied, "Ya, I was mad at you." We talked about some things that I was doing that has been making Bug feel frustrated, and to my suprise, his beef with me was fairly legitimate. Elijah expressed similar frustrations. I hadn't been handling some situations the way that I should.

That brought tears, because I realized that it took a pee-fest to get my attention.

When Bug saw the tears, he ran over and hugged me. He began to cry and said, "I'm so sorry."

Witnessing the whole scene, Puppa ran over, he began to cry and said, "I'm sorry too".

We all cried for a bit.

Since that morning, the peeing has stopped. I have happier boys, but I'm not planning on putting myself in that situation again. We sat all the boys down at explained that we would be having new sleeping arrangements. Each older boy would be sleeping with one of the younger boys. We talked about how important it was to set a good example, and help the younger boys to want to make right choices. I put Blurbles with Puppa (the repeat offender). I explained to Blurbles how much Puppa needed to feel loved, and that that would help him to make better choices.

The next morning, I went in to get them and they were curled up on the floor with their blankets around them and Blurbles was reading Puppa a story.  Puppa looked up at me with the biggest smile and exclaimed, "Mommy! We are reading!!"

Blurbles has continued that for the last 2 mornings.   This morning he said, "I'm trying to help Puppa learn to read".

My week was really bad. One of the worst weeks ever.

But, I was also very clearly reminded that my children are little people. Little people with feelings, frustrations, and insecurities. I may expect good behavior from them, but I also need to be willing to listen when the behavior is communicating that all is not well on the home front. I've known for a few weeks that things were not all good with my younger two. They've been a challenge for more than month. I kept chalking it up to all the changes brought on by the beginning of another school year. But, I wish I would have listened a little more closely.

I might have heard a "pee"-fest before it all hit the fan.

Marry Me?

2011-09-14T19:49:00.000-07:00

Last week, as we were walking out of church, Lil' N "happened" to be striding along next to this pretty little girl that moved into our ward about a month ago. They have become quite good friends because she lives a few houses down from us, and they are in the same 1st grade class. I started eavesdropping (because that is what good moms do ;) ), and caught this little gem of a conversation:

Lil' N leans over to her and asks, "So, will you marry me?"

A delighted grin spreads across her face as she quickly replies, "yes."

Just like that.

Wow...that kid has got some nerve.

Now what?

When I was sharing the details with the afianced's mom, she told me that the second week of school the girl came home and guiltily confessed, "Don't be mad at me Mom, but I had to let Lil' N cry in my dress today...don't worry...it was only the second layer, but he was really sad and needed a place to cry."

Should I at least be happy that he's selected a wife with whom he can shed a few tears?

This week, as we were leaving church, my son's betrothed walked up to me, touched my skirt and said, "Hi!"

So, I was thinking...maybe I should jump on this. You know, daughters-in-law that actually GET ALONG with their mothers-in-law are hard to come by...maybe I should snag this opportunity while I can? Then, at least I'd have ONE daughter-in-law that adores me. At this point, probably fruit snacks and fishy crackers could win her over...so, it might be a good idea to start now. I have to say, Lil' N has good taste...she's a cutie.

I'll have to think that over...

"Sunny" Day

2011-09-11T19:58:00.000-07:00

Well, from our post Sasquatch Paradox, I'm sure you got the point that in a few short days, "Sassy" made quite the impression on us. I was shocked at how quickly she wriggled her way into my heart, especially since I was convinced I was immune from any affection for an animal (after all, I have 6 "animals" of my own, why would would I want to venture into another genus of the animal kingdom?). But, the affection I had for Sassy got TPM to thinking..."Maybe a dog is not out of the realm of possibility for our family?!" And so, the hunt began.

I must make a point here. TPM loves a good treasure hunt. If I bring up the need for a new washer (or other item for our home...like a spatula), I must factor in the 6 months it will take him to completely research the item, weigh all the pros and cons, deliberate incessantly, and ultimately come to a decision. This has actually served us well in many instances; but, since patience is not one of my strength - I find it very frustrating at times.

Back to my story. So, unbeknowst to me, TPM began a dog hunt. He searched all the websites for all the shelters in the area. I had mentioned to him in passing that I didn't realize I was a fan of labradors (Sassy's breed), and that got TPM to begin his search for a good labrador. A couple of weeks ago, I was having a particularly difficult week, and TPM thought, "I should speed up my search...because my wife would be cheered by a new dog!"

Huh?

I know what you are thinking, "Doesn't TPM know Becca at all?!? The last thing that woman needs is another thing to be responsible for!"

That's what I said to him.

I could tell he was pretty crestfallen. The search had illuminated several fine options for a "man's best friend," and he was convinced that our family was missing this most important element. In the end, I could tell that he had fallen in love with the idea of a family pet (he grew up with pets...I did not (see "The Sasquatch Paradox for further details of this)).

So, over Labor Day weekend, I agreed to "look" (I was pretty sure that I was not going to find anything that even remotely interested me).

We checked out one facility that informed us that we had too many kids for them to feel comfortable giving us one of their animals (yeah, a shelter felt that their compound was better for the animal than ours...wow). The next day, we went by another shelter. TPM insisted I go in first (this annoyed me since I felt that this whole charade was his doing...and that he could pick out his own dog).

Then, I saw her.

I tried to convince myself that it was a bad idea. I walked out and told Brent he could decide between 2-3 animals that I saw, but once I got out to the car, I could only remember her face.

He came back out and begged me to go back in a pick.

I walked back in and picked her.

I guess maybe there's a little bit of animal love in me that I didn't know I had...because...I really do love her.

And, so does the rest of the clan.

Maybe TPM knows me better than I know myself. She did quite cheer me up.

Austitic

2011-08-31T20:05:00.000-07:00

When I started my program more than two years ago, they had this big huge push for using "child first" in place of "autistic". I thought it was a little extreme and was annoyed that two full class periods were dedicated to the issue. It even showed up on my final (i.e. please rephrase this sentence "The autistic child in the corner" into "the child with autism is sitting in the corner") The idea was that you never want to define the child by their disability. You always want the disability to be just one characterisitic in the overall child. I thought it was ridiculous, but got into the habit of saying, "The child with ____________" pretty quickly, because if you didn't, you got dirty looks.

Now when I hear people say, "autistic child" - I have to admit I cringe a little. Call it 2 years of indoctrination, but I do have to remind myself often that it's pretty normal to say, "autistic child". The other day, someone said to me, "Oh, he's your autistic child, right?" They meant no disrespect at all by the question, but I still wanted to answer the question by saying, "No, he's my child who can remember the house number of every person he knows, likes the song "Billie Jean" because it has lots of "F #s", and draws maps of the city of Tucson with appropriate exit numbers, stop signs, street names, and power lines. He's my child who walks into school yelling, "I hate everyone, and I don't want to be anyone's friend!" But, two minutes later is ready to learn, and tells his teacher that he loves her. He is my child who will bounce out of school exclaiming, "I had such a GOOOOD day! I got no X's!", but then comes home and kicks the wall because it was so hard on him to stay awesome all day. He's my child who will remember what page number his favorite word is in a book (donut is on page 101 in Harry Potter), and has to cover his ear for most of his favorite movie, because it is so overstimulating. He screams like a banshee, but hates loud noises. He sets his timer at bedtime, and wake up and says, "I sleeped for 11 hours, 23 minutes, and 14 seconds!" He writes on my calendar to make sure he knows every important day coming up (thus making it his calendar and not mine). He regularly tells his brothers, "You are my best friend", and will share anything with them...even if it's a toy he got 2 minutes ago.

He's my child with autism. Autism is such a big, and yet, little part of him. Autism doesn't even come close to defining him; just like "normal" doesn't even come close to defining any of my other children.

True Test of a Mother

2011-08-28T20:05:00.000-07:00

We have someone that sometimes watches our kids for us who is pregnant with her first baby. I have been truly grateful for her many times, because she will watch the boys in the middle of the day when all my other babysitters are in school. Anyway, she was watching the boys for me this week when I had a meeting with the boys' teachers. I told her that if the boys seemed frazzled, when they got home from school - that they could watch a show. I've noticed that when they come home these days...they need a snack and veg for a few minutes. Well, true to my prediction, they were frazzled and high strung - so she went to put on a show. Problem is, she couldn't find the remote. While she was looking for the remote, Blurbles asked, "Don't you have a baby in your tummy?" She answered, "Yes, I do." He then explained, "Well, if you have a baby in your tummy, and you're going to be a mommy, you NEED to know how to turn on the TV!!"
Yep, there you have it. My son thinks the major qualification needed in mothering...is how to turn on the TV.

I'm such a great mom. :)

Summer Reading

2011-08-21T20:32:00.000-07:00

My sister has loved Harry Potter for forever. Consequently, she has all the toys from Harry Potter. Since we spent a lot of time at my parents' house this year...the boys did a lot of playing with trolls, Harry, Ron, Hermoine, a centaur, and Snape.  Blurbles was constantly begging me to let him see Harry Potter. His exact quote was, "All my cousins have seen it!" (and so it begins). I was trying to think of a way to prolong the viewing of the show (not because I mind Harry Potter, but some of the later movies are a little intense, and I knew once they saw one...they would want to see them all). So, I said, "When you read the book, you can watch the movie. Well, Blurbles marched right over to the bookshelf to begin his summer project. I saw him struggling with the words, and had mercy. I suggested we read it right before we go to bed, and when we finished the book - we could watch the movie.

I thought they would get bored, and that the summer project might be shelfed for the following summer. But, they loved it. They were so good about listening every night...and the longer I read...the happier they were. At one point, Blurbles declares, "I know who Voldemort is! Professor Quirrel! Cause Grandma has a toy that is half Professor Quirrel and half Voldemort!" I tried to tell him that they weren't suppose to know that, but he just replied, "Ya, but I'm smart, so I know."

We finished the Friday before school started.  We turned the movie on, and they were so fixated. They loved every second of the movie. It was fun to watch them watch the movie.  When Hermoine made her debut, Bug exclaimed, "SHE...is BEAUTIFUL!" I died laughing. At another point of the movie, Bug instructed TPM, "You have to hold me, cause Fluffy scares me."

They keep asking me when we can read the next one, and I just reply, "After we read Matilda". I want to space them out as much as possible. As much as I love the books - I'm not sure the later movies are appropriate for a 3 year old.

But, it sure was fun.

First Week of School - Take 2

2011-08-15T22:17:00.000-07:00

I forgot how hard the first week of school can be. For mom and the boys. This year we separated the boys. Not because I wanted to, but rather, because I needed to be able to say, "We tried that and it didn't work". The school district really pushes separating multiples. And, so, we're going to try it. If it's not good - we'll go back to family togetherness. Blurbles was so upset about it. He kept explaining, "But Mom! We can't be in different classes! We're TRIPLETS!!" He even explained to his teacher at the meet and greet, "I'm really sad that I can't be with my brothers." It really surprised me, because I thought he would actually be excited about the independence. Not so.

So far this week, my boys have gotten in trouble for talking without raising their hands, playing tug-of-war with a book box, and talking to their neighbor. Apparently, we are playing the role of troublemakers this year. I hope to nip that in the bud pretty soon.

If we could get a handle on the attitude, crying, tantrums, and fighting that goes on when they get home...I may start to be excited that schools back in.

But, right now...I'd be happy to switch back to the summer days.

Only problem is...I can't get to Costco when all of them are home, and we really need to be able to go to Costco. It's been a long, Costco-less summer.

The Sasquatch Paradox

2011-08-07T20:10:00.000-07:00

No, this blog posting is not about our family's unexpected encounter with Bigfoot in the deserts of the southwest (although that would definitely be something to blog about). But, somehow the legendary Sasquatch has entered into our family's daily lexicon, and might prove to be a somewhat interesting tale. The reason that I, TPM, am writing this posting is because I am more of an objective observer in the recent events that have transpired—which were unprecedented, unusual, and rather mystifying.

I'll now dispense with the vague ambiguities and get down to facts. My wife, Rebecca, is not an animal person. She likes them okay; but, has not been chomping at the bit to run down to the local pet store and pick up the first four-legged thing she can get her hands on. She tolerated my turtle indulgence (which lasted a couple of years, and ended when we realized that turtles could easily transfer salmonella (our triplets were just beginning to become mobile)...bye bye Yertle and Squirtle), and conceded that our children could one day have a dog (but it was going to have to have short hair, didn't bark (except at bad people), wouldn't jump up on people, and wouldn't lick people). I honestly thought that our children would have to settle for a taxidermy canine we could position on our back porch so that they could at least pretend that they had a dog.

Becca's feelings about animals are understandable given her past experiences in this realm. She personally owned a dog, Popeye, for a glorious 48 hours. Her grandfather had given her Popeye as a birthday present when she was 10. Popeye was a dream come true for Becca, and she showered him with affection. Just two days after his arrival, he decided to “soil” some laundry and her mother decided that Popeye's reign had come to an end. Becca’s broken heart mended with the cicatricial effects of not wanting to open herself up to further pain by becoming attached to an animal like that again (Becca says this is my psychological version on why she doesn’t like dogs; her version is that they are “dirty”). Her aversion to cats developed with the enlightening experience of dissecting a cat in her high school anatomy class.

Fast forward to July 29th, 2011 at approximately 10:05 PM. Becca and I had just returned home from a dinner and a movie. I pulled into the driveway and opened my door to see a rather large, animal quickly approach me as I was placing my foot on the concrete. I impulsively swung my leg back and prepared to slam the door on whatever it was that was accosting me. At that moment, I realized that it was a dog, and that it wasn't baring its teeth at me...but, wagging its tail happily and wildly. When it saw my tepid (understatement) response, it ran around to the other side of the door, because Becca was starting to emerge herself. I tried to warn her, but the dog was on her as the words were rolling out of my mouth. I expected a shriek (Becca is not a “shrieker”, although I thought this type of encounter would elicit that kind of response); instead, a quick gasp and a stunned silence was all that met my ears. I briskly walked around to the other side of the car to usher her inside. Once I rounded the passenger’s side head light, I was able to get a much more substantial look at the animal. It was medium height, very muscular, dark brown with light brown highlights, a small white diamond blaze on her chest, sharp teeth with strong, powerful jaws, and light brown eyes. Becca was hesitant and thoughtful. Her first question was, “whose dog is that?” Followed quickly by a, “it looks pretty sad and hungry.” I answered her with, “[stunned silence].”

We slowly walked to our door as the dog waggled behind us. It had no collar and was looking to make some new friends. Going through our front door was a bit of an ordeal because the dog seemed to think that she belonged in our house with us. I closed the door and hoped the dog would find its way home quickly.

I could tell Becca was still distracted by the event. She began to talk to the couple that had watched our children that evening; but, she incompletely engaged in the conversation (something very unusual for her). She asked me if I thought the dog would be okay, and I began to feel guilty for the poor beast that I imagined was waiting patiently on our doorstep.

After a couple of minutes of aimlessly wandering around our kitchen, I finally pulled out the phone book and started looking up animal service organizations so that we could find someone who could help this dog out. Becca came into the room and asked why I thought it (we didn’t know it was a she yet) was wandering around our neighborhood. I replied by saying that I feared she was a drop off since she was not collared and appeared to be fairly well taken care of. That really seemed to touch a spot that I didn't even know existed in my wife 10 minutes previously. Sensing her concern, I told her that I would see if I could get the dog in the backyard and would call animal control in the morning. I was aghast when she acquiesced to that plan. Considering this was a strange animal, was strong enough to carry three of my kids like a pack mule, and could probably bite through a 2 x 4, I could not believe that my wife wanted it anywhere near our house of bustling bedlamites.

My expectation of the dog waiting patiently on our porch was quickly dashed. There was a relieved part of me that thought, “well, she is not my problem now.” Then the guilt began to settle in, and I thought I should at least look around the area since I was pretty sure the dog was not in an area with which it was familiar. I ran into my neighbor across the street (he knows every dog within a 1 mile radius), and told him the story. The dog emerged shortly after the conclusion of the story following a young woman down the street. After some exchanges back and forth about who would like to take stewardship over the animals welfare, it devolved upon me to see that the dog did not find herself under someone's tire or on some coyote's dinner plate (although it would have to be one big coyote).

I lured her in the backyard with some canned roast beef (Becca keeps in our pantry, even though she detests it, “just in case” (in case a dog wants to settle in our backyard?)). Almost as soon as the gate closed, Becca appeared in the backyard and started showering the dog with attention. I was thunderstruck (and, a little jealous). This dog, in the span of 15 minutes, had melted my wife's heart and healed 25 years of emotional animal trauma (or at least was able to get past her aversion to “dirty animals”). It quickly became apparent why Becca became so immediately emotionally involved. First of all, it met the three crucial criteria for what a dog had to be if it were ever to be allowed to be adopted into our family: did not jump, did not bark, and had short hair. In addition to that, it had the sweetest disposition—there did not appear to be a violent bone in her body. She was beautiful with her combination of light and dark brown. And her eyes, like melted brown sugar, seemed to peer hopefully into your soul. I had to admit that if there were any animal capable of melting the animal ice queen it was this one (and it did it with a blow torch).

We could tell the dog was accustomed to being inside of the house. This was one area of Becca's heart that did not melt—the thought of dog droppings, dog hair, and dog germs outweighed her new-found infatuation (they are, after all, still a little dirty). We tried to settle her down as much as possible. She whined for a little while; but, did not bark…thus confirming her angelic nature. Both Becca and I were interested to see how the boys were going to react in the morning (if Becca was infatuated, the boys would be enamored and transfixed). Becca went down 3 more times that night to check on her. Our children can whine, and she doesn’t skip a beat, but a whiny dog was fairly distracting to her. At one point in the night, a teenager parked in front of our house, and she barked at him; that caught Becca’s attention , because she was only barking at something that had the potential to be bad.

The boys did not disappoint. I had left early in the morning to do some grocery shopping (Becca’s surgery prevented her from the usual task), and the boys assailed me when I returned home with their excited declarations, “Daddy, there is a dog in the back yard!” We realized that we were not going to be able to avoid an introduction, so we determined to do it as carefully as we could arrange. We tortured them for a little bit and made them eat breakfast and change into their clothes before we began the gradual introduction of boys to dog.

I have to admit I was a little fearful of how the dog would react to the boys (actually, I was a lot fearful...how many dogs have experience handling 5 small boys). We introduced them very slowly at first, and when she seemed to handle a new addition we let another one pop out to add to the mix. She was a champ. Pleasant tolerance would best describe her response. She withstood their poking and prodding (although she would seek sanctuary with one of the adults any time they were present), and just took her new, insane environment in stride. At one point, Squeakers poked her in the eye, Puppa tried to run her over with his toy car, and Bug wouldn’t leave her food and water alone. She never even flinched at the chaos of our crew.

There were several interesting statements made by the boys during the course of the morning. At one point Blurbes asked me if I had any projects that I needed to work on outside. I thought he just wanted me to hang out in the yard with them while they played with the dog. When I asked him why he asked me that he said, “because you're allergic to dogs, and the only way the dog can come inside is if you go outside.” Wow...I have been supplanted by a slobbering pooch.

Several names were formulated as the boys searched for something that would give the dog her official identity. Someone came up with Suzie, and another came up with a female friend of his from church (we had to tell him that the girl would probably not be flattered to know that we named our dog after her). Unexpectedly, the name that stuck was proffered by Lil' N when he declared, “we should call her Sasquatch.” Sasquatch? Really? How in the world did that kid come up with that name. We have not been watching or reading anything that even remotely referenced Big Foot. I asked him where he came up with it, and he said that the husband of the couple that babysat them last night before was going to name their forthcoming baby Sasquatch. It stuck. We shortened (and cutified) it to Sassy. But, Sasquatch was now properly installed into our chaotic lives.

I really thought that Becca would have lost her taste for canine companionship during the night. I figured that there must have been a full moon the evening before, and that the animal curmudgeon would awaken in the morning and wonder what that brown beast was doing in our backyard and make me walk it to the nearest pound (I knew there was no way she was going to let it get inside one of our cars). But, it appeared that Sasquatch's magic spell continued to bewitch my wife. She was unable to commit to doing anything with the dog (like calling animal control…my suggestion). She was worried that “she wouldn’t be able to run around enough.” Huh? Are you my wife?

The following two days were spent trying to figure out what we were going to do with her. I sent out emails with pictures to all of the dog care and shelter locations in our area. We printed up flyers for the neighborhood. Becca promptly posted all the flyers, but determined that “if we didn’t hear from her family…we will keep her.” Then began the purchases to make her “short stay more welcome”…we bought her dog food, a collar, a leash, and some doggy biscuits.

On Monday, Becca informed me that I needed to get a dog house, because “Sassy doesn’t like thunderstorms”. I didn't want to be a pessimist and tell her that it had only been 2 days since we had found her, and that her previous owners might actually want her and be looking for her. So, I kept my mouth shut and picked up a doghouse. That evening, I spent a harried half hour setting it up while the boys tried to “help” me, because Becca was concerned that a storm was brewing.

Sassy took to her dog house without issue, and so it seemed that it was meant to be. We had solved the issue Sassy had with not being allowed outside (her own hiding spot), and she had found a spot she liked in the middle of the day (under the swing set in the little sand square). But, the following day, we were cleaning up dinner when the phone rang. Guess who it was? To Becca's credit, she was very upbeat and positive to the person on the other line. But, when she hung it up, she could not refrain from allowing a few tears to well up from the emotional place in her heart that now bears the sign of “animal wanted.” I comforted her (and then the boys, of whom some were bellowing in grief), and we prepared ourselves to give up this dog that had performed a miracle that I thought inconceivable the week before.

Such is the paradox of Sasquatch. She left our house at 9:30 Tuesday evening, and there is an empty place in our backyard...and in our hearts...that has Sassy's name written all over it.

Deja Vu

2011-07-31T21:37:00.000-07:00

So, I didn't write last week, because I was out of commission. I forgot to mention in the posting about our vacation - that the first 4 days of our vacation - I was miserable. I had these horrible, stabbing pains in my stomach. And, they would not go away. I had a hard time eating, and I didn't get to hold my new niece, because I was so worried about having an awful intestinal bug. Anyway, it eventually got better, and we went on with our vacation. When I got home, however, the pain came back. I knew that something must be going on, and so I eventually went to the ER (I was actually worried it was my appendix). After 9 hours in the ER, they finally got around to running a cat scan (the nurse told me that Mondays are a bad day in the ER....just FYI). After they ran the cat scan, they told me that the cat scan looked great, and maybe I need to drink a little more water and take some fiber. Huh? I didn't think I was THAT much of a wimp, but I felt so dumb that I just took my paperwork and drove home (at 4 o'clock in the morning). The next morning (with 3 hours of sleep), I was cleaning up my kitchen, and went to go put my paperwork in the file cabinet, when I took a second look at my cat scan results, which said, "multiple gallstones" on it. I had to read it several times to convince myself that I wasn't imagining things. I called the radiology department and made the guy pull up my cat scan to confirm whether or not I had gallstones, to which he replied, "Ya, you have a lot of gallstones". Hmmmm...the ER nurse never mentioned THAT! I called back the ER to discuss with them their oversight and the nurse recommended that I go see a surgeon. TPM called a surgeon in town and got me an appointment for the next day. I explained to the surgeon that I was in the last semester of my Masters, and that I needed my gallbladder taken out before I started school in three weeks (cause I can't have any more episodes, but I also can't manage a surgery after that point). He replied, "Well, you are in luck, because I have a cancellation for tomorrow.

So, that was that...I had my gallbladder taken out the next day.

I don't know why our family feels the need to have a surgery every other month, and I really hope this stops. But, I'm pretty happy that my gallbladder is gone. I realize now that it has been bothering me for a while...I just never really knew that's what it was.

Here's to superfluous organs!

Trip #2

2011-07-17T21:25:00.000-07:00

This blog posting will be very picture heavy...so, I apologize if it takes three hours to load. :)

So, we went to California again this last week. We thoroughly enjoyed ourselves and give my parents a special thanks for making it so nice...they did a lot of "grandchildren watching" - and we really appreciate it. We went to a beach house in Newport and spent some time on the beach:

Even Little Frew took a brief (and rather unhappy) dip in the ocean. Blurbles is running in front of the camera, and that is Bug being a spaz...

Squeakers and Lil' N frolicking in the waves (which for Squeakers is a dramatic improvement over our beach escapade 2 years ago where he melted down for the entire afternoon)...

Puppy's sand castle...

and Lil' N in the initial stages of sand castling...

We celebrated the boys' birthday...they turned 6 while we were there:

And, we went to Disneyland...

(Little Frew was sleeping for Grandma at the time)...

Daddy with the boys...

I got in trouble for taking this pic...it's "unsafe"...

The boys and me flying in Dumbo...

But, this was my most favorite thing EVER...

It's called, "Jedi Training Academy". Basically, they pick kids out of the audience to "train" to be Jedis. We cheered and cheered, and so, two of our cousins, and Blurbes, and Squeakers (of all people) got picked to "train". Here is Blurbles in his training session:

I was super stressed about Squeakers being picked to train (because he couldn't care less about the whole process), so, I leaned over and mentioned to the worker that he might not be the best child for the activity due to his autism, and she assured me that that wasn't stressful to them...and then, she gave him his own padawan trainer...

Disneyland is a FABULOUS place for children with autism. I love Disneyland. They gave us a pass so that he didn't need to wait in line, and they treated him like gold. Thank you, Disneyland. Squeakers loves that place...it is truly magical to him...even with all the millions of people...he loves that place. At one point, he asked for a "really, really quiet break", and then he sat in a corner and drank some water. But all day he exclaimed how happy he was. By 9 o'clock, he was throwing up from all the excitement (although Space Mountain didn't help - he and a cousin were fertilizing the bushes), but after each episode, he would quickly reassure me by saying, "Thank you, Mom...I really love Disneyland".

Back to "Jedi Training Academy"...

Out of the stage...comes the bad guys...

It was intense...

Then, each Padawan goes on the stage to exhibit their skills against the Dark One...this is Squeakers...

And, here's Blurbles....he was bummed that he couldn't fight Darth Maul...but, he talked about being a Jedi with his cousin all day. It was like their dream come true. They also went to Star Tours two times during the day to prove their Star Wars prowess.

It was a nice vacation...we loved it...but, we were ready to come home and get some rest:

Advocacy

2011-07-03T23:44:00.000-07:00

I've debated many times whether or not to write this blog posting. My worry was that it would seem like I was ripping on our education system or specifically, our school district. Which, would not be the case. I come from a long line of hard working teachers, and I myself was once in the thankless job of being a hardworking educator. So, I would never want to malign that field. Neither, would I want to cast a negative light on our school district, because my children have received wonderful care there. And, I would be truly ungrateful in failing to acknowledge the great contributions they have made to my boys' progress.

With that being said, if there was someone reading my blog that benefited from this blog posting, I feel that it would have been a posting worth writing.

So, here goes.

All of my boys have IEPs. One for speech, one for speech and social skills, and one for autism (which encompasses many areas). Therefore, two of them have goals in the social area. This may seem funny to anyone who has a child with appropriate social skills ...because if you have ever watched a child acquire social skills, it's a very natural process. So, how would you "teach" it? Well, for two of my boys - that's exactly what has to be done - those skills that they cannot "see" with their natural eye, need to be taught to them. This can be done through social stories, scripting, role playing, friendship buddies (with more advanced social skills), prompting, modeling, etc. There are many ways to teach a child to interact with their peers. Frankly, we could probably all benefit from a little social skills instruction. :) I know I could.

Well, one day in March, I had a few minutes before I had to hurry to the next school where I would be student teaching (I student taught at two different schools). I decided to go try and find my boys. I knew it was close to lunch time. I walked past their lunch room, and saw a sight that literally ripped my heart out. Tears immediately filled my eyes, and I struggled to gain my composure the rest of the day.

Squeakers was eating lunch by himself. His entire class was sitting in a group, and he was sitting by himself, completely separated from the group. I knew this seating was his choosing, because if you give Squeakers the option, he will always choose to sit by himself. He just likes to be by himself. Then, I watched Lil' N. attempt to interact with his peers, and failed miserably at the task.

I cannot describe what that felt like, but I can tell you that I was woefully unprepared to manage such emotions. In my head, they would always have someone to sit by at lunch, because they would have each other. But, as I sat there, I watched one interact like a champ with his many friends, one try and try - but unsuccessful, and one completely uninterested in the entire task. It was unfair of me to expect them to socialize each other.

On the way home, I convinced myself that this was an isolated incident. But, I walked by their lunch room the next day, and saw the same thing. I began to watch them at recess, and found that each one picked an activity (swinging and monkey bars) and never deviated from those activities.

This is the point of my blog, and where I get on my little soap box:

They have an IEP - and on each of their IEPs - there were at least 3 social goals. Progress was being reported for each child on their goals. Lil' N. had "met" 2 of his goals by October. For all intents and purposes, they were socializing like all their other peers. But, if that were the case, I would not be observing them in every social opportunity - being anti-social (or trying to be social, and visibly struggling at the task). Clearly, these goals were not being met. I was assuming that it was, and trusting that what was being said - was the reality. I learned that month that it is my job, and my job alone (along with my husband's) to be my child's best advocate. Up to this point, they have been blessed with amazing educators, but I cannot "assume" that their needs are being met. I learned a valuable lesson that day - I need to make sure I am prepared to be my child's best advocate.

Without boring my readers too much, there were more than 5 meetings to discuss the correction of this problem. It seemed that every time I thought I was at the bottom of the issue, a new low would emerge. In many cases, I found myself reading case law, textbooks, and consulting with advocacy groups before I felt I could advocate for my children in the best way possible. In this case, even my education seemed to be failing me. They don't teach: how to fight your school district in the Universities. To my school district's credit, many members on the IEP team were very committed to making up for the lack of progress my children were making in the social area. And, immediately, upon the realization of the problem, changes were made at the school during those social times - to make socialization a stronger focus.

This summer, Lil' N and Squeakers are going on quite a few field trips - to improve their socialization. There are little data sheets to document their progress, and report on their improvements. I have already seen an improvement in their comfort level with social situations. But, I don't believe that it will fix all of their social deficits, and I will need to be more vigilant about their progress and sometimes, about the lack of progress I am seeing in the future.

It's hard to catch it all. I feel like I have so many balls up in the air that I'm bound to drop more balls than I ever catch. But, with that being said, I know that I need to do a better job of advocating for my children. I am committed to knowing all of their goals, backwards and forwards, for doing my own informal evaluations of the progress of those goals. And, if their teacher is reporting progress, that I myself do not see, I need to question it. Not because the teacher is not doing the very best she can, but because I have learned that IEPs are hard to write, manage, and keep up with. So, if I'm not double checking the veracity of the information...who is?

I...am my child's best advocate.

Happy

2011-06-26T21:00:00.000-07:00

When TPM and I were contemplating #6's name...we were debating between a few names....but, we kept coming back to Asher. We knew that Asher doesn't really do anything special in the Bible...that kind of stressed us out - since all the other boys are named after pretty accomplished people in the Bible (ie. prophets). But, the deciding factor for me was when we looked up the meaning of Asher, and learned that it means, "Happy". Our joke was that we can convince him that even after 5 boys - we were still so very happy to have him.

And, how right we were to name our little guy "Happy". He is by far the happiest baby we have ever had - and honestly - he's one of the happiest babies I've ever known. He is always smiling, laughing, clapping, waving, and moving. From the first few weeks of life, his face will literally light up when I walk in the room. That's definitely a change for me, since all of the boys have been daddy's boys. If I were to be totally honest with myself, I would see that his face lights up for a lot of people. But, I convince myself that he's just got a twinkling smile for his mama.

"Happy" turned one this past week.

What a joyous occassion for all of us. He is loved by everyone. He enjoyed the cakes, and his brothers enjoyed his toys. He's not walking yet...but, he's walking "around" furniture. We're so happy that he's healthy...that hasn't always been the case this year. I look forward to getting him every morning...he is a true joy in every sense of the word.

Decade

2011-06-19T01:04:00.000-07:00

Today, TPM and I have been married a decade. I tried to find a picture of our wedding day, and then I realized that was really before digital cameras...I have no idea where to track down an electronic copy of our wedding day. In ten years, we have gone through 8 moves, years of schooling, infertility, miscarriages, 3, 4, 5, and 6 children, 5 cars, 3 computers, and 8 jobs (between the two of us). But after one third of my life with this man, I have a very hard time remembering what it was like before him. Most likely, because I have no desire to remember a time when he wasn't right next to me. The past 6 months have been particularly challenging for our family. Not in a serious way - I know many more people with much more on their life plates. But, challenging for us. What I have come away with in the last 6 months, is the reminder that I am really pretty inept without him. He makes me want to try harder, do better, and smile more while I'm doing it. He inspires me with his patience, kindness, and commitment to our family. It seems appropriate that our celebration of a decade together would coincide with Father's Day. I am never more in love with him than when I watch him with our children. He is truly an example to our boys of what a man should want to be.

How blessed I am.

How blessed our children are.

How thankful I am for eternity.

Trip #1

2011-06-17T12:22:00.000-07:00

The reason I had a half finished blog posting all week, was because I wrote up this whole blog posting, and somehow, I lost half of it when I posted it. That makes me crazy. I was so annoyed, that I just left it. I will try and remember what I wrote:

We had two trips planned for the summer: both to California. The first was to bid farewell to #7 in my family: Bo. He is leaving to serve a two year mission for our church--he's going to Iowa. My boys have always looked up to Bo, and have talked for months about his mission and their desire to follow in his footsteps. He is a good example for them, and I'm grateful for all the time he has spent building his relationship with them. He left last Wednesday for his mission. He will be greatly missed, and Squeakers is already counting down the days (he's a numbers guy, and this is how he makes sense of emotionally hard things).

The other reason for our trip was that TPM's brother, his wife, and two children were sealed in the San Diego temple as an eternal family. That was a wonderful experience, and it's always so amazing to watch the children being brought into the room where they all put their hands together to seal them for a family forever. It was a beautiful ceremony and we loved the opportunity to be present for such an event.

The trip there and back was filled with crying (thank you, Frew), whining (thank you, Lil' N), screaming (thank you, Puppa and Squeakers), and vomiting (thank you, Squeakers). It's a good thing that the visiting is so enjoyable, so that we are willing to endure the great feat of getting to our destination.

And...we're doing it all again in two weeks. Wish us luck.

Puppy's Growing Up

2011-06-05T20:04:00.000-07:00

Puppy turned three last week (when we were on vacation...more about that later). I wrote a posting earlier this year about how he and I have a personality conflict. I'm happy to report that the last 6 months has been good on our relationship. Once he was a little better at talking (and not screaming) - I realized that he was HILARIOUS. He really makes me laugh. He has this dry, whitty sense of humor that is easy to miss if you're not paying attention. But, now that I can understand him better - I catch myself laughing several times a day. For example, during our month of the flu - he needed a lot of help in the bathroom. At one point, I was helping him and he declared, "Careful with me Mom! You almost knocked me into the potty!" I started laughing, and he looked up with a side-grin like, "Oh, she got it!" I think he's been joking around with me for a while, but I didn't get his sense of humor (and couldn't always understand what he was saying, and so it resulted in the oil/water conflict). Just this week at my parents' house, he was watching Lil' N dance on the Wii to the song, "That's not my name" - all all of a sudden, Puppy runs up to me and starts singing, "They call me Blurbles! They call me Lil' N! That's not my name! That's not my name! My name is Puppa! My name is Puppa."

See? He can be pretty funny, but I have to paying attention to catch it.

We're happy he's three - I think this year may be a better year for us. Two was not great for us. Three will be fun.

Happy Birthday Puppy!

Irony

2011-05-25T02:53:00.000-07:00

It's 3am right now, and I'm reading Memoirs of Madness while Lil' N is throwing up. Third child this week. Round 5 of the flu has begun. I put this book on reserve at the library when my friend told me it was interesting, and it came in last week. I just happened to be reading it this week when Round 5 began.

Ironic.

Uh-Oh

2011-05-22T20:34:00.000-07:00

Our sickly little Frew has been pretty high-maintenance on the medical side of things; but, has compensated by being low maintenance on the safety front. Every other baby we've had has been all over the place by this age. But, our little guy is pretty happy to stay put. I figured out this week, it is because he wasn't feeling great. Just yesterday, I was asking my friend who is a physical therapist if I should be worried that he is still creeping and scooting, and not crawling. She indicated that it is an important developmental step... I've really started to feel worried.

....and then we found this!

Little man just started climbing up the stairs. He also got up on his hands and knees and REALLY started to crawl...not an army crawl. A real crawl. It's almost like he knew I was worried about him. He's all over the place. But, it helps that he can breathe again (he had a respiratory set-back this week) - and that he doesn't have the flu. Being healthy is fairly essential to the whole developmental stuff of a baby.

He turned 11 months yesterday...and I don't think any of us can remember what it was like without him.

21 days

2011-05-15T20:33:00.000-07:00

21 solid days...of puke and diarrhea. I thought I would lose my mind. Seriously, there were several times that I was concerned about the status and future of my sanity. I just kept thinking, "How can this STILL be going on?!?" I have never heard of a flu bug that was that resilient. It would start with one boy and then go through all the rest, only to reinfect the first one again. The first two weeks, the epsiodes of vomiting only happened at night and then it would be diarrhea all day. But, at the beginning of the third week, we went on a super sterile kick, where we were disinfecting the entire house at the end of each night...and it got worse. The vomiting started occurring day and night, and diarrhea was pretty much a constant. At one point, James said, "I had a blessing, why aren't I better? Why won't Heavenly Father help us?" Had I been in a better moment, I might have said something wise...like, "Well, sometimes blessings don't come immediately, because we still have something to learn..." But, instead, my awesome response was, "I don't know James...I find myself wondering the same thing".

Nice work, Mom!

Finally, on Thursday, it hit me, and I was cleaning puke while joining in the fun...all at the same time. Luckily, it was towards the end of the day that it hit me, and so Brent was able to come home and he let me crawl into bed...and stay there...all night. I remember thinking when I crawled into bed, "I cannot take another day of this...when will it end?" And, then...it ended. I woke up - and it was done. I still had some boys with stomachs that were a little weak (3 weeks of vomiting can do that to you, I suppose), but the vomiting and diarrhea...stopped. Just like that.

We went to church today as a family. We have been able to enjoy each other again. We actually want to eat dinner together again. It just makes you a little bit more appreciative of the chaos of every day life. We started out April with the death of my Grandma, TPM's surgery, TPM's complications, and one day after he was cleared to go back to work, the flu began...and just stopped this weekend.

I'll manage the stress of every day life with a happier heart, I think.

Maybe that's what I was suppose to learn.

Happy Mother's Day?!

2011-05-08T20:53:00.000-07:00

I woke up this morning nice and early (see last year's Mother's Day blog to see how well I have pulled this off in the past), so that I could give Rebecca a bit of a break for the earlier hours of the morning--she had spent a decent portion of the night on sick kid duty (see the next paragraph for further details). I am writing her blog this evening as a final token of gratitude to her for all of the innumerable things she does for this family...and, in hopes that it might be a cathartic experience for me :) .

Let's start from the beginning. We are sadly aware that a major theme of our blogs is the topic of illness. But, seeing as how a person typically blogs about what is happening in his/her life, we would not do our lives justice if we did not blog about the myriads of viruses and bacteria that seem to find their way into our welcoming home. In fact, I have been pondering extending an invitation to an over-zealous microbiology Ph.D. candidate to go gangbusters swabbing down down the nooks and crannies of our household to see what fun things those petrie dishes can grow. I am sure there would be enough unique and reportable discoveries to appease the theses dreams of several Ph.D. candidates. (The true irony of this being how diligent and thorough Rebecca is at cleaning and sanitizing our household...but, with six boys who are germ magnets - it is a losing battle. I guess the odds really are in the germ's favor anyway since they out number us about a trillion to one.)

So, our most recent microbial nemesis has been mounting a frontal assault on our household for sixteen days--we will call him upchuckitus nocturnus. He is rather docile during the day, and will only afflict the lower intestinal realms (in which cases, he will induce momentary sphincter paralysis so that just enough "intestinal discharge" will come out to soil a pair of underwear and cause the afflicted to sprawl himself on the potty for long periods of time fearing that the minute he leaves it another pair of underwear are doomed). But, at night, he really likes to work his mischief. He will select a target (sometimes two), who will begin to suddenly vomit. He prefers the really late hours of the night and early hours of the morning, because he knows that reaction times are slowest then, and that it will disrupt the most precious periods of sleep acquisition. His other ingenious ability is that of mutating with each victim he infests. This means that a child's immune system can never really gain ground. In the past sixteen days, we have had only one night where there was not throwing up by at least one child. Last night, there were four.

That is the background on the story. Rebecca, my mortal angel, does not even wake me up to go and "deal" with the ordeals that occur each night. I think her reasoning is twofold: one, she benevolently wants me to get a full night's rest so that I am not a mental space cadet for the majority of the day. And two, she knows I will probably create a bigger mess than I actually clean up, thus necessitating a greater time investment than if she had actually taken care of it herself.

Our deal last night was that I would officially go on duty at six this morning so that she could get a decent chunk of uninterrupted sleep while I took care of the kids. I was excited to begin my fatherly duties, and held the grandest hopes of her not awakening until about 10:30 AM.

At about 5:45 AM, I jumped out of bed to go "deal" with a child whose sphincter had succumbed to our friendly neighborhood microbe. After a quick cleaning and underwear exchange, I shuffled the kid off to bed and ran downstairs. Dangling the "warzone" underwear in front of me with the very tips of my fingers, I gingerly flung them into the washing machine and threw in the rest of the remaining dirty clothes (most of which were also soiled underwear), and a random pillow that I suspected of having been attacked by upchuckitus nocturnus. I have to admit, at this point, that there was a little voice in the back of my mind that cautioned me against throwing the pillow into the washing machine with such a small load. But, the hero in me thought of how great it would be if I actually did a load of laundry for my wife, and I did not want to leave any casualties behind.

Interestingly enough, at this point I actually sat down to write this blog entry for my wife so that it would be done before she even woke up in the morning. I had written about one sentence, when another boy started calling out for help because his sphincter had been attacked. I bolted upstairs in hopes that my wife would not be alerted or disturbed. Another underwear exchange, and I swiftly headed back downstairs in hopes that I would not be distracted again before it was time for the boys to get up. This thought was suddenly jolted out of my head when my feet flew out from beneath me as I slipped onto the lake of water that was somehow forming on our entry way tile. With sodden pants, I sprung up and ran into the laundry room in an attempt to discover where this water was coming from. I will be honest at this point and acknowledge that I was really worried this would thwart all of my attempts for Rebecca to have a good Mother's Day, because how was I ever going to get all of this cleaned up without her help? Something steeled within me because I knew that she had been dealing with crises like these on a weekly, and sometimes daily, basis for who knows how long. And, it's my turn to finally chip in, and actually do a little disaster resolution.

I snuck into our room and grabbed some towels (after I had turned off the washer) and headed back down to do a little sloshing. The first thing I learned was that our carpet cleaner is not actually effective as a wet vac. The second thing I learned was that towels are a fairly inefficient way to clean up a pond of water that encompasses the laundry room, bathroom, closet, pantry and more than half of the kitchen. Despite their inefficiency, towels can effectively absorb water...so, to work they went. About two minutes into my "mopping experience," I heard the door open and another child was complaining of an underwear casualty. I ran up to deal with this kid, he needed to use the bathroom as well; but, the hall bath was taken, so I had to sneak him into our room because I did not want him to have to wade through kitchen. I ran back downstairs to start splashing around again, when I heard another voice at the top of the stairs that had had another episode. Now all three of the triplets needed to use the bathroom...at the same time. The third one also hands me a bucket in which he had just vomited (there was a surprising amount of vomit for him having already thrown up earlier in the night). I had to have the child on the potty in the hall bath move briefly aside so that I could dump the bucket. I then flushed the toilet, and watched in horror as vomit and poo began to surge toward to the top of the toilet because it was plugged. I said a really quick, desperate mental prayer (I could not begin to imagine having to sop water on two fronts at once--especially since one was going to have floating particle of unpleasantness attacking me from every side. The Lord heard my prayer and had a little mercy on me (I am pretty sure He was already doubled over with laughter at this point (I know I would have been), and knew that this one would tip my insanity over to a point from which I might not recover). Boy number three had to role up his pants and go plant himself on the downstairs toilet while I snuck in to our room again to grab the plunger. I plunged the toilet just in time for boy number one to plop himself back down on it. I should point out at this point, that my wife slept through all of this, in fact, she never even stirred each time I went in the room; which means she must have really been exhausted. She was, in fact, later ticked off at me that I did not wake her up to help with all of this. I also want to point out that 6 pair of underwear were soiled during this whole event. Yes, my children are potty trained, but this bug can attack an intestine like nothing I've seen before.

I shuffled back downstairs and recommenced my efforts. The true victims in this scenario are our boys who had to be constantly told to be quiet despite the fact that it was an hour past their normal waking time. Every 3-5 minutes I would hear someone shout or scream or laugh and I would dash back upstairs to calm the restless natives and kept holding on to hope that Rebecca would not awaken at their eruptions of discontent. I can gratefully say that I was able to sop up the entire pool without her ever waking up. I even had time to do a quick mop job with actual cleaner. By the time I finally had the boys come downstairs after their imprisonment (I bought myself a little time by having them write Mother's Day cards), it was nearing 9:00.

Not two minutes after the last child touched the tile on the floor downstairs, in came my dear sweet Rebecca. She looked quizzically at me when she saw me hurriedly pulling out cooking implements. She probably thought I was going to start working on lunch since it was two hours past our children's normal eating time. Then she saw all of the junk on the back porch, and I had to confess the interesting events of the morning. So, for Mother's Day I was able to give Rebecca a clean kitchen, pantry, laundry room, and bathroom (well, not necessarily "clean" by her standards; but, sparkling by mine). What I got for Mother's Day was an even deeper appreciation for how truly tough a job mothering can be...how grateful I am for her complete dedication and love. There is no way we could do this without her.

High Aspirations

2011-05-04T19:27:00.000-07:00

This morning at breakfast, Blurbles was trying to gauge how long this school thing was going to last. He was asking me, "So, after 1st grade, when am I going to be finished?" Ya, he's in kindergarten and we are already having this discussion. He just stayed home the last three days of school with the flu, so he was thinking this school thing isn't as cool as staying home. I kindly explained that school will last for many, many years. Then, Bug asked, "When am I going to work?" So, then we talked about when they will work, which prompted a discussion on what they would like to be when they grow up. Squeakers was super excited to learn that there is a job that plans and makes "roads" and exclaimed, "OOOOooooo, I want to be an ENGINEER!" And, then Blurbles exclaimed, "I want to be a trash man, because I really like trash!"

Huh? Since when do you like trash? And, what happened to being a paleontologist? Not that I have anything against trashmen, but...you know.

This discussion continued for a few more minutes when Blurbles excitedly asked, "Hey Mom! I have such a great idea! When I get big, and I'm a trashman...you can make me this really cool Spider-Man costume, and then I can wear it at my job as a trashman, and all the people will like me cause I will be the Spider-Man trashman!"

Wow...I don't even know what to say to that. Where do you begin?

The Smackdown

2011-05-01T20:16:00.000-07:00

TPM and I went to dinner on Friday night with some friends. At one point in the conversation, we discussed how many youth these days don't know how to work. Our friends have all boys - and we have all boys - and so we ended up talking a lot about how much we want our boys to know how to work.

On our drive home, we began discussing what we were doing NOW to make sure our boys are hardworking in 10 years. We discovered that there is very little we do now to ensure hard working boys in the future. And so, began the evolution of the smackdown. The conversation on how to create hard-working boys turned into a discussion on how spoiled our boys have been acting lately; and how they haven't been making the best choices either. We devised our smackdown. Which, the need for the smackdown was confirmed when we got home, took our babysitter home, and then discovered that they were upstairs with their room light on, jumping around. Yep, the smackdown was coming down the pike for those boys.

Here's how the smackdown went down:

All children were instructed to go downstairs and sit on the couch, and that we were going to have a "discussion". We discussed our concern over many of their choices of late. We explained to them that donuts (a Saturday morning ritual) would be suspended for the next few weeks. The Wii would be off limits until the following Saturday. And, TV would only be earned on the basis of VERY good behavior. Any child that got more than three strikes (our discipline system) would earn them an early bedtime. And, each child was going to have to complete two jobs on Saturday before they would be allowed to do any activity of their choice. At one point during the smackdown, the boys were giggling so hard from the discomfort of the whole experience, that they had to return to their rooms - to clean their bedrooms and prepare for a more respectful discussion.

My walls got washed, the windows got cleaned, one bathroom got wiped down...and 75 weeds were pulled.

We felt like better parents than we've been for a while now. Funny thing is...it's the happiest I've seen our boys in a while too.

Hmmmm....

Isaiah's Social Story

2011-04-27T12:24:00.000-07:00

I have been writing Isaiah social stories for a while now...my aunt suggested I try them when I was having lots of issues with Isaiah at about three years old. I reluctantly tried them (it seemed too simple a solution for my BIG problems), and they worked like a dream. Consequently, Isaiah has a social story for everything from "how to deal with the boy who cries in class" to "how to behave in PE". He actually really loves reading them and has been found hiding them in his bed for some quality night reading. They are basically stories, with pictures, that follow a pattern that makes sense of a problem he may be having.

Well, remember the Sunday that he was good at breakfast (two posts ago)? He was having a tough day that day. In Primary, he wrote this social story (his teacher brought it to me a few days ago):

I could do things I learn.

I listen to my friends.

I could listen to my teachers.

This is one of my favorite pages, "Sometimes when I'm nervous, I need to get my hug vest".

Sometimes when I'm happy, I can listen.

This page is hard to decipher, I think it says, "When I am sad, and I need help, I can say, 'I need help'."

Sometimes when I wait, I can be good.

My favorite page, "I like Jesus".

I would like Sister Foutz (his primary teacher).


I'm happy.

Now I can be happy.

I can go home with Mom. The End.

I was so excited to read this - he knew he was having a hard day - and he was trying to sort out the solution. Sometimes you wonder if anything you are doing is even sticking in that little brain of theirs - and then they do something like this - and you realize it has had an effect.

Thank you, Aunt Tressa for all the guidance. It's worth is more than I can express. :)

"There is None"

2011-04-24T20:34:00.000-07:00

I know every entry has been about Sqeakers lately, and this week will not be any different.

Today, I went to Primary to help their teacher. The primary leader was describing the events that lead to the crucifixion. She had a several children come up (one by one), open an egg, and in it - would be a clue of what happened next in the story. We discussed the thirty pieces of silver, the crown of thorns, the scarlet robe, Gethsemane, the cross, the tomb, the rock being rolled back, and then Squeakers was asked to come up and open the final egg. He opened the egg, peered inside, and then looked up with the saddest eyes and said, "There is none." For some reason, his simple statement hit me so hard (and others too, I think, because there were a few tears in the room). It made me think about that moment when the women who loved Jesus so much came to the empty tomb and discovered he was gone....and how they must have felt...and then the joy to discover he was alive.

I wish I could say we had a sweet Easter, filled with love and peace. But, it was like any other day - loud, stressful, and tons of commotion. But, at the end of the night, we read the story of Easter again, and then that sweet, peaceful feeling came back (even amongst all the loud, stressful commotion), and I felt like...maybe...the day wasn't a complete failure.

And, our boys loved searching the house for eggs, and our baby loved his bunny - which he needed to love something after his 24 hour flu.

Quote of the Month...

2011-04-17T22:59:00.000-07:00

Quote of the month goes to Squeakers....

After a heinous week that ended with TPM back in the hospital due to complications from the aforementioned surgery...I took the boys to church by myself. Every one was pretty good, as I think they understood the importance of keeping Mom's precarious sanity in tact...and, so everyone behaved...except for Squeakers who decided to sing, "We Wish You a Merry Christmas" all through Sacrament Meeting. After a long and hard day with him...I finally put him to bed early in our den. I explained that he needed to sleep alone tonight, because he really needed to rest, "because you did not have a good day". He replied, "Ya, I was not good. Maybe I will be good tomorrow." I replied, "Yes, it would be good if you were good tomorrow...and if you sleep...I think you will do a good job tomorrow." He yawns....lays down on the bed, and whispers, "But, I was pretty good at breakfast today."

Yep...that...my friends...is the perfect summation of our month. We just have to find the silver lining somewhere...and Squeakers was right...he was pretty good at breakfast.

7 Stages of Grief

2011-04-13T20:16:00.000-07:00

When you find out that you have a child with special needs, there is a process of grieving – much like the process of grieving a death that must take place. You have to grieve the child you thought you had – and accept the child you actually have. I’ve seen it in myself, and I’ve observed it in others that I have known who have gone through the same process. The first stage: denial. That’s when you tell yourself that “he’s just taking longer to talk then others” or “it’s okay – he’s just in his own little world.” Eventually that turns into, “Well, maybe it’s Aspergers...” It usually also turns into, “Well, we’ll just get him some help, and maybe we can make this “go away” or “cure it” (which, anyone who’s heard Jenny McCarthy say that autism can be cured…it can’t. It can be managed well, but it is cannot be “cured”).

Second Stage: Pain and Guilt. That’s when you rack your brain to figure out where something went wrong. One of my greatest comforts is that Squeakers was different on day one. I remember the nurse handing him to me one morning in the NICU and said, “He’s been crying for the last three hours – your turn". He’s always been a little different…and I love him for it. But, I know I didn’t create this in him. It wasn’t a shot, prenatal care, in vitro, environment, the water, or anything that we did. It’s just – his little challenge in life. He’ll manage it…I know he will. We were all born with difficult things…his is autism.

Stage three: anger. That’s the feeling you feel when your little guy is melting down in Wal-Mart because you didn’t go down the aisle in the right order, and he’s flipping out and the old woman riding her go-cart looks at you like you’re a lousy mom. And it’s that moment when someone laughs at him when he’s giving a talk in church that he spent 4 days working on, because he’s shouting his talk, rather than “giving it”. Stage three: anger.

Stage four: Depression and lonliness: I do feel like I have felt real deep sadness at times…just because I know he has been dealt such a complex set of trials. I dread the day that I see him hurt, because he realizes he’s a little different.

Stage 5: Upward Turn. You begin to see that there is normalcy in this set of circumstances and that with good strategies, he can do quite well for himself. You begin to see what is uniquely him, and you decide you wouldn’t trade his uniqueness for any set of “normalcy.”

Stage 6: Working Through. That’s what I’ve been doing the last year or so…figuring out what I need to do to make sure I am “working” as well as I can be – so that he is given the best set of circumstances to work with. Because at this point…his family is his best hope.

Stage 7: Acceptance and Hope. Basically…you find yourself at an autism walk. You register without too much thought, and then you drag all the kids down to the University…and you walk. We walked a 5K, and the boys were so happy the entire time. Thanks to good friends, the boys were given tons of attention and love, and it became such a symbol of acceptance and hope for me. You look around you and see autism everywhere - in so many faces - and the pride and the love that their family has for their child. It made me introspective, and I looked at my little guy and realized just how blessed our family has been. He is one special little boy. And, he tries so hard every day to live up to our very high expectations. He makes me so proud. Sometimes I feel awe at the trust Heavenly Father has placed in us to raise Isaiah to be the best man he can be. I’m thankful for the process we have gone through… and I feel we have come through the first few years of this stronger, better, and with unlimited hope.

The unpredictable vicissitudes of life

2011-04-10T17:36:00.000-07:00

Last Sunday, Becca blogged about the recent loss of her grandmother. This was definitely a hard loss for her. We did not expect her to pass for a few more years, and she appeared to be in rather good health despite the 88 years she had under her belt (we had even been contriving ways in which she could come and stay with us (in a different house of course...anyone that has seen our current house knows that we have the current arrangement which could meet the living needs of a dormouse)). Becca's grandma has been a special woman to me over the past 10 years that I have known her. I met her when Becca and I were courting in the Spring of 2001. It was Easter, and she was so accepting and loving it was impossible for me not to become attached right away. She was such a special lady.

One of the difficult things about death is that it is rarely expected or planned (which, is a good thing). Unfortunately, the news came at a time where we already felt our daily chaos quotient hitting obscene levels on a weekly basis. We awaited the details on the funeral service date, and looked at our schedules attempting to see what we were going to have to finagle in order to be present at this extremely important event. On Monday, we heard the funeral was going to be Friday. We decided that I would cancel work on Friday, and leave right after I got home from work on Thursday. On Tuesday morning I was going to contact the company scheduler and have her block out my schedule for that day (and add little notes on each patients file so that I could apologize to them the next time that I saw them).

To make a long story short. When I woke up Tuesday morning I did not feel well. My personal motto is "no puke, no pillow." So, I muscled my way into work anyway and submitted my request for Friday off. My illness went from bad to worse and I finally had them cancel my patients for the rest of the day and went to the ER.

Illness also has a way of being rarely expected or planned. I had an appendicitis and needed surgery. So, where we had already assumed our lives had hit a rolling boil, we added large dose of salt and pumped that temperature up a few notches. We thought that I could still, possibly, go with Becca on Thursday if the surgeon released me on Wednesday. The surgeon decided to complicate life further still...and made me stay another day. Fortunately, I was discharged Thursday before the family left (with definite urging on our part), so that I could show my children that I was still physically alive (there was some doubt on Blurbles' part in this regard...especially considering the recent passing of his great grandmother).

But, before my Wednesday return was totally ruled out, Becca had a conversation with our children about how, "Daddy has an owie, so we need to be really careful and not climb on him, or try to get him to hold you, or punch him in the stomach." The responses of the children varied, and are noted here below:

Lil' N: I will give him my Seal. That will help him feel better.
Bug: I will let him have Lion.
Squeakers: I will give Daddy a drink of water.
Blurbles: Daddy will sit on the couch, and I will give him my blanket and protect him.
Puppy: I am going to make Daddy happy.

I know that I am in good hands. We'll have to see if their promises hold true since they should be showing up at home in about 3 hours.

TPM

Home

2011-04-03T22:41:00.000-07:00

10 years ago, I found myself on a plane back home from Argentina. I had lived out of the United States for 15 months as a missionary for my church. As I sat on that plane, I was emotionally, physically, and spiritually exhausted. I felt that I had served my Heavenly Father with all my heart, and I loved the people of Argentina... but I longed for home. When I heard the pilot announce our arrival, I sat there. I slowly stood up and grabbed my carry-on. I wanted to run...run through the tarmac, but all I did was move...so very slowly. As I walked the long hallway...I began to see people. I saw my parents and siblings and I fell into their arms. I was completely overcome with emotion. The rest of the afternoon is hazy to me. I know somehow we got my bags, walked to car, and headed on the freeway. We exited the familiar streets and turned into my Grandparents' driveway. We walked in, and once again, I was overcome with the joy of my homecoming. My Grandma quickly got us settled with some warm soup (my favorite kind) and her warm, perfect rolls. I looked at the soup and the tears began to flow. Out of concern, my Dad asked me if I was okay. All I could say was, "I'm just so happy".

Of all the places to go...after 18 months away from my family - was Grandma and Grandpa's. They have always been a place of comfort and love. My Grandpa went back Home 3 years ago. My Grandma has looked forward to the day she would go Home ever since. I know she loves us, and enjoyed the time we had together, but her heart longed to go back Home. About a year ago, on our way back from the temple, my Grandma told us all about my Grandpa. He's one of my most favorite people, and so I thought I knew him pretty well, but she had so many stories I had never heard. She told me about their courtship (with new details), and after an hour or so of this, she concluded memory lane by explaining, "He was the most wonderful husband every day since. There has hardly been a cross word in all our years of marriage". I knew this to be true. I have spent a lot of time with them, and I have always known my Grandpa to adore my Grandma.

I have dreaded writitng this blog posting. If you look at the intro to this blog, you'll notice in Brent's explanation - that I wrote this posting for my Grandma. She enjoyed the antics of the triplets and later the antics of 6 boys under 5. Often I would find myself exhausted and worn out at the end of a long Sunday, but I knew my Grandma would turn on her computer the next morning to read a blog posting on our little chaotic world, and so I would make myself sit down and write. I owe my children's written history to my Grandma - and her sweet interest in me and my life.

A little over a year ago, I went to lunch with my Grandma.  We talked and talked. We talked as women and mothers. We talked infertility, pregnancy, and loss. I remember going home that night and telling Brent how much I never wanted that afternoon to end. I told Brent, "I felt like she really let me know her in a way that I have never known my Grandmother before".

She went back Home Thursday night. I think it was peaceful...quietly in her sleep. In life, she had a shuffle to her walk, but I bet she ran down the tarmac back to Grandpa.  When I heard the news, I wanted to weep for my loss, but all I could imagine was the reunion of all reunions. I wish I could have seen it. In my mind's eye - it is filled with so much light and beauty.  When I told my children about Grandma's passing, Blurbles replied, "I think she's happy, because she gets to be with Heavenly Father".

Out of the mouths of babes. I smiled and added, "Yes...Heavenly Father...and Grandpa".

Baby's Back!

2011-03-27T20:16:00.000-07:00

This week was Spring Break. We all totally needed Spring Break. I had these grand plans to take the boys someplace every day, and by Tuesday, I realized that really we all just wanted to stay home (or, I just wanted to stay home and the boys made that a very easy decision considering how totally obnoxious they acted when we left the house on Monday and Tuesday). So, we stayed home most of the days - played Wii, watched some movies, and enjoyed the nice weather. Frew got sick again this week, and I felt so discouraged to hear Baby Vader again. I took him to the pulmonologist, preparing myself for the worst. But, Frew's lungs were surprisingly clear, and he's improved so much in the last two days...he's crawling all over the place...and LOVES to hang out with his brothers (and put anything he can put his prying little paws on into his mouth--which in our house is a lot more than we had possibly conceived of a couple of months ago). All in all, it's been a good week.

Bug is 4

2011-03-20T20:21:00.000-07:00

So, our little Bug is now four. He has been preparing for this for a while. A few months back, he decided that being four meant that he needed to do a lot of things by himself. He really has decided he's ready to be big. It's a great thing...he's even tried eating dinner more lately....

He's still into robots (see blog posting "Robo-Bug" last summer). We thought this phase would come and go quickly; but, it appears to be here to stay. So, I attempted to make a robot cake...yes, that is gray frosting. Who knew that they made black food coloring?

His favorite present was the frog boots...you would have thought he won the lottery with the frog boots. They immediately went on (notice the robot pajamas?) and they haven't come off since (I heard a noise at 5 in the morning...went to go inspect and found Bug going to the bathroom with the boots on (hence, the loud tromping noise)).

Even Blurbles had a good birthday...he ended up falling asleep with Bug's toys and a balloon....

Oh...to be 5

2011-03-16T19:43:00.000-07:00

So, I was going through James's bag last night, and I found this spider-man picture. It said, "To: James, Frum: Jessica" (names have been changed to protect the innocent). The next morning...I asked James about it.

Mom: Did Jessica give you this picture?
James: Yes!!
Mom: Oh, that's nice...is it because you are friends?
James: Ya, we're friends...and the other day...Parker was going to get her - with his friend. But, Brandon and I were going to protect her.
Mom: Oh, if someone was going to get Jessica...you should have gone and told a grown-up...
James: Oh, I was going to protect her...she was okay.

Hmmm...didn't know quite what to say to "Mr. Knight in Shining Armor" - but I'm a little concerned it's starting in Kindergarten.

Then, today he gets off the bus - so excited that he was having a hard time talking.

James: Mom! Mom! Guess What? Brandon shared his powers with me!!!
Mom: Oh, wow - what powers?
James: Now...I can be HULK, a flying wherewolf, AND I can lift up a bus!!! But, I'm not going to do it right now, because it will make me tired.
Mom (dumbfounded): Wow...that's really cool that you have such awesome powers!
James: Ya, isn't that so nice of Brandon to SHARE his powers with me? I think that is really nice...

Then, later that day - he shared the exact same thing to Brent - like he really thinks he can be Hulk, a flying wherewolf, and lift up a bus.

Oh...to be 5. I often watch the life of a 5 year old and think how profoundly simple it can all be.

"Special" kids

2011-03-13T20:47:00.000-07:00

There are a couple of common definitions for the word "special" employed routinely for use with children and people in general. But, we would like to proffer one more definition into the lexicon of "special" kids. It is that of children who somehow find every possible way to enter the hallowed halls of medical specialists throughout the communities in which they reside. Each of our children happen to be the embodiment of this new definition. Now, we know that this is really not their fault. When it takes "going to a specialist" just to have your children, your progeny are doomed to a life of staring at the walls of sterile waiting rooms throughout the entirety of their existences. So, our having had to employ in vitro fertilization in the case of 4 of our children started them down this path at the earliest time possible: conception.

One might think that the other two "non-specialist" babies might have gained some exemption from this fate. Alas, they have been endowed with their own subset of "specialness" (probably so that they would not feel gypped when they saw how much Mommy/Daddy bonding time that each child gets when he has the "opportunity" to go with his parent(s) to the specialist). So, let me do a quick rundown of how delightfully "special" our children's first few years have been with regards to medical specialists. (For the sake of diminished redundancy, I will just list each specialist type in alphabetical order and name the children and maladies that required intervention):

Allergist: Squeakers (allergy to eggs)
Cardiologist: Bug (benign heart murmur) & Puppy (apnea episodes)
Developmental pediatrician: Squeakers (autism)
Maternal Fetal Medicine: Frew (pregnancy concerns)
Neonatologist: Squeakers, Blurbles, Lil' N (premature birth and NICU admission)
Otolaryngologist: Squeakers (adenoidectomy), Blurbles (ear tubes), Lil' N (ear tubes), Puppy (ear tubes and soon adenoidectomy)...we are putting his kids through college.
Pediatric Gasteroenterologist: Lil' N (intestinal issues)
Pediatric neurologist: Bug (sacral dimple that required an MRI to rule out spina bifida occulta)
Pediatric surgeon: Squeakers, Blurbles, Lil' N (bilateral hernia repairs on all 3)
Perinatologist: Squeakers, Blurbles, Lil' N (high risk pregnancy because they are triplets)
Pulmonologist: Frew (lung complications because of RSV)
Reproductive endocrinologist: Squeakers, Blurbles, Lil' N, Frew (conception)

Now this list does not include all of the emergency room physicians, urgent care doctors, and pediatricians that our boys have visited throughout the past 5 years. Before we had children Becca and I had talked about how we would gladly take any child that our Father in Heaven would give to us...each one would be special to us in their own way...we are just beginning to realize just how far reaching "special" can be.

Survival

2011-03-06T18:31:00.000-08:00

I learned two valuable lessons this week.

The first: Working Mom I am not.

Second: Survival mode is not an effective means by which to navigate your way through a challenging situation. I think when I started student teaching (AKA leaving my home for 8 hours a day); I subconsciously decided to trudge through. Don’t stop, don’t think…just keep going. Don’t think too far in the future, and don’t think of what just happened. I was afraid that if I stopped to think at any point, I would become overwhelmed and start to think that I wasn’t up to it all. I felt like my instincts would be good enough to get me through it all. Until this week, I think I had myself fooled. At one point this week, I finally acknowledged the realization that it wasn’t working. If I live my life in survival mode, I leave no room for Providential help, because I have taken Him out of the equation. I refused to stop and think, to stop and feel, because I was afraid of what I would find. But, what become apparent is if I had stopped to think or feel at any moment, I might have found myself on my knees, asking for help. That might have been a good place for me to have been through all of this. I might have been a better version of me for all of the people with whom I was interacting. And, most of all, I may have been surprised to see all of the blessings of strength, patience, wisdom, and energy raining down upon me. Instead, I decided to trudge through the self-imposed fog…never wanting to see more than a few feet in front of me.

Some good friends of mine watched the boys for me, so that I could go with TPM to Scottsdale for the weekend (I’m sure they could see I was losing all grip on sanity). TPM had a conference, and I determined to go with him and sleep all weekend in a dark hotel. I did sleep, but that is not what replenished me. On our way home, we stopped to go to the temple. I found myself sitting in the temple, with peace all around me, and I was left to think. Thinking in a peaceful place is something I have been avoiding the last few weeks. But, as I thought, I realized how much better the last month would have been – had I asked for some help. If I would have acknowledged the challenges of juggling it all, and asked for His guidance in dealing with them, I know things would have turned out better. Some situations may have had the same outcome; but, I would have experienced a peace and strength that could not have been self-generated.

Allowing myself to “feel” may have compelled me to ask for strength – enabling me to be more than I could ever be in survival mode. I could have been the better version of me…the version I could be with Him. Ironically, today at church, we talked about what it means to yolk ourselves with him, and trusting He is aware of us. Sometimes I wonder if that’s what I was suppose to get out of this experience – that divine intervention is the only effective way to get through hard things. Sheer determination and instincts is not good enough. Too often, I live life in survival mode. I am at my best, when I find myself on my knees – asking for guidance. I am at my best, when I can acknowledge to Him that I am unable to do it without Him.

2011-03-02T19:19:00.000-08:00

Question I am often asked: How do you keep your house clean with 6 little boys?

Answer: I don't.

See below for a close up of a chief master of disaster caught in the act

(Blurbly catipulting himself in a sea of cushions)

Baby Vader

2011-02-27T19:19:00.000-08:00

I jinxed my baby. All in good fun, I made him "Baby Vader" for Halloween (see Halloween posting in November), and then Frew got RSV in December, and has sounded like Darth Vader ever since. A few weeks after his delightful stay in the hospital, he still seemed to be struggling for breath. I called the pediatrician's office and described how labored his breathing had been. The nurse tried to blow me off at first, and told me that as long as he was not taking more that 24 breaths per minute that everything was perfectly fine. Three minutes later, when I called the pediatrician's office back, her tune quickly changed when I reported that he was breathing 56 times a minute--and that was his "typical" breathing. The pediatrician instructed me to give a few more puffs on the inhaler, and it should improve. Well, if anything, it might be a little bit worse: 6 weeks later. He is the noisiest breather, and he really struggles for every breath. Finally, this week I took him to the pulmonologist (which, I have to admit, I had no idea that the "breathing doctor" was called a pulmonologist, before my little guy started having breathing problems).

The specialist suspects that our baby is suffering from RSV-induced asthma and acid reflux. Little Vader has to go in for more testing. Once we have the results of the testing, the specialist will better be able to determine an appropriate treatment strategy to help our baby work through this health challenge.

So, as it stands right now, Baby Vader gets to don his breathing mask 4 times a day so that he can be "nebulized". That is when we see the true Vader emerge (grumpiness and all).

Perspective

2011-02-20T20:28:00.000-08:00

I confess that about 2 months ago, I thought my life was pretty crazy. I would often think how tired I was, and look foward to the "day I would sleep again." Yup, it's funny how every time you think your life is kind of unmanageable...it quickly changes in the definition of unmanageable. Now...I cannot get anything done. I stay up past midnight...often...just to get the basics done. You know, "My kids need clean clothes tomorrow... and food...my kids need food. That is what I will do tonight." I tip my hat to any woman who does it both: work and manage the house. I can't do it. I confess that I am totally incapable of managing a home, nurturing children, and being gone all day. I think I would lose my marbles if I knew this was my new norm. Luckily, I know this is just a short little "reality check."

Last week, I couldn't teach, because I had already made an appointment to take Puppy to the ENT. Puppy needs his adenoids taken out (I knew it!). Anyway, I was still in my pajamas at 8:30, and then I loaded three kids in the car so that we could sit in the ENT's office for 2 hours. (I had several good friends offer to take Bug, but Bug replied, "You always leave me" and the mother guilt engulfed me, and I decided to take him with me.) But, the whole time I was enduring this morning that would have made me crazy two months ago, I was thinking, "What a beautiful day! I am so happy to be able to be here with my little guys." I miss staying at home. So, when I go back to it in 5 weeks (and counting) - I hope I will allow my perspective to remain changed...that I will often remind myself that my life is pretty nice and that I have the best job in the world: staying home with my little boys.

I just needed a little perspective...

A Decade of Valentine's Days

2011-02-14T22:17:00.000-08:00

After ten years of marriage, my man has really learned how to romance me. For Valentine's Day, he:

Gave Puppy a bath at 6am because he didn't stay dry all night (that's happened two times this week!); so that I could keep sleeping.
Cleaned my laundry room out...swept it and everything...that room hasn't been cleaned since we moved in 4 years ago.
Changed the battery in my car - I was worried my car wasn't going to start the next day.
Wrote my blog posting for me so I could get to bed early on Sunday.
Managed to have a conversation with me during dinner with 5 boys running around like monkeys high off conversation hearts.
Cleaned the toy room and folded laundry.
Downloaded my two favorite songs for me...and brought home some tulips (my favorite).

Yep, that's some serious romancing in my book!

I love you honey! ;)

Methadone

2011-02-13T20:28:00.000-08:00

As one of my Valentine's Day presents, Brent wrote my blog posting for me this week, so that I could get to bed earlier (he is really good at trying to take things off my plate...a true Prince Charming. ;)

There are certain treats that you don’t give to your child. Not because he would not like them, or because they are going to make him bounce off the walls, and not even because he might spit it out and you have just wasted a perfectly good treat. No, there are a few (well, maybe not just a few) special dessert items that you keep from your child because they will beg, borrow or steal to get more, OR (even more appalling), they would not relish them with the same gusto that you, yourself, would.

This brings me to the crux of my post (and, possibly, blossom and bane of my existence): Samoa Cookies. At about this time, every year, cute, happy girl scouts strategically position themselves at grocery store exits, mall kiosks, and even at your front door. They smilingly tell you about their delectable wares, and explain how you are helping to fund programs that will aid them in becoming good and productive members of society. Their pitch is sweet and difficult to turn down. It would probably be successful even if they were selling me rocks from my backyard. What makes it so much worse is that these adorable little cherubs are peddling heroin in cookie form.

Let me now say that I am not exactly a coconut-o-phile. Coconut is not bad, I just can’t think of many things I have eaten that contain coconut where I found myself thinking, “Wow, I love coconut.” Pina-colada is not too bad of a flavor, and I don’t mind Almond Joy in a pinch; but, those scheming Girl Scouts have found a way to combine coconut with rich, dark chocolate, chewy caramel, and short bread and have created the Betty Crocker equivalent of a highly addictive opioid.

Not only that, those Girl Scouts must be having serious economics summits (and I'm not talking about home economics). Supply-demand curves are probably plastered all over their walls, with charts demonstrating how making smaller cookies, putting less in a box, and then charging much more for them will make buckets more cash. Those cookies cost twice what they did 5 years ago, and contain 25% less cookies. But, they can pull it off easily enough because the demand curve demonstrates that I will probably still be coming back for more if I had to pay $20 for a box that contained only two cookies (well...I'd be coming back until I got busted for sticking up a convenience store with a squirt gun in an effort to support my habit).

This post, itself, began its genesis one evening when we had a couple of friends over to be mauled by the boys (and for dinner as well). Becca had recently picked up a bunch of Keebler Cookies that were on sale at the grocery store. Two days prior to that evening, Becca had arrived home with the cookies cache, and I rifled through and discovered a cookie variant that looked eerily similar to Girl Scout Samaos (some desperate VP at Keebler must have gotten hooked on Samoas and dragged those little Elven bakers out of their tree and forced them to reverse engineer this baked ambrosia). After tearing open a package and inhaling half of it, I realized that the little Elven bakers were not exactly correct in the derivation of the Samoas' recipe . And so was born the name cookie Methadone because I did not feel compelled to eat the entire box without taking a breath...only half. At this point, I felt it was safe to admit to Becca that I had purchased 3 boxes of Samoas 3 weeks earlier (with full intentions of bringing at least two home). Of course, that intention ended up being hollow and empty (just like the 3 boxes of Samoas that lasted about 2.3 seconds in my hot little hands). She stared at me aghast, deploring my utter selfishness in not bringing them home and allowing her to indulge in cookie nirvana for those fleeting moments while there were still cookies in the boxes.

Back to methadone. So, when our friends had finished their meals, I made (what I deemed) the penultimate sacrifice and offered them some of our Keebler knock-offs (the ultimate sacrifice would have been offering the true Samoas...I think maybe with a couple decades of therapy I might be able to arrive at the point in my life where I could possibly be able to vocalize those words to another living person). When I asked them if they would like to eat some, the precise words that came out were, "would you like to have some methadone laced with chocolate?" My subconscious found voice for the reality of my situation: I was addicted to Samoa cookies, and I had finally found something that might wean me off of the sweetest and most addictive opioid ever created.

We have still been ingesting obscene amounts of these Keebler knock-offs; but, our intense, insatiable desire for Samoas is slowly beginning to fade. And, hopefully, we will be able to quit our habit completely...someday.

One Down...Seven To Go

2011-02-06T20:17:00.000-08:00

Most of you know that I started my Master's in Special Education almost two years ago. When I started, I knew that the worst part about my Master's was that there was a student teaching component that could not be avoided. I had to do it. I felt strongly at the time that I needed to go ahead with the Master's and that the student teaching part would "work out" somehow. Anyone that knows me, knows that I struggle with leaving anything to "work out". I like to have everything planned with its corresponding solution months before it ever happens. So, leaving the solution to some undefined point in the future was quite stressful to me, and I have been dreading it ever since.

I decided to get my Master's now...with 6 kids...all under the age of 6, because of my little Squeakers. Two years ago, we found out that he has autism, and I immediately set off on a quest to understand this condition about which I really knew nothing. I wrote about it at the time...you can find my thoughts on that on the sidebar entitled "autism". I wanted to make sure I was as educated as possible, so that we could make the most progress possible with him. The education I have acquired has been an enormous blessing in our lives. I've been able to take 3 classes on just autism...and that has given me so many tools by which I can begin to help Squeakers. Also, it helps me to feel more confident with my instincts when I am in a meeting with 8 other professionals in the field...that I am just as knowledgeable about what is best for him, and that my opinion is valuable. I like to know that I am comfortable with the process of assisting Squeakers.

So, I started the Master's...with the student teaching looming over me.

Recently, the good opportunity to fulfill this dreaded prerequisite presented itself--and I jumped on it.

Last Monday, I walked into a classroom of 4 year olds with varying issues and I attempted to put what knowledge I have gathered over the past two years to the test.

I saw my little guy in almost every face.

They had behaviors that reminded me of him.

They had facial expressions like him.

They had similar fears.

They responded to a lot of the same interventions that he responds to.

And, I loved being there. I truly loved it.

Only problem?

I had to leave my three other little guys that aren't in school in order to accomplish this. It about killed me. Luckily, the solution also presented itself and two very dear friends offered to trade off. They are even coming to my house. I trust them immensely, and I think (in some weird way) my children are probably going to be better with their new caregivers than with me.

I came home on the first day and she was reading with them. I came home on the second day, and the boys were running to show me their paintings. On the third day, they had brownies for the letter "B", and the last day, they were excited to show me the new game they learned.

They were painting, reading, learning, and playing with them.

I have never painted with my kids (I had always pictured having to replace my carpet and repaint my walls after such an event). And yet, there was no mess. The boys were absolutely thrilled. It made me realize how much I need to value the time I have with them. I left them with someone else so that I could paint with someone else's kids...while my friend came over and painted with mine.

I'll be done in 7 more weeks. And, I have a goal. I want to pull myself out of this fog I've been in for the last 6 years. You know the fog of "I am exhausted because I am either pregnant or nursing a baby. I cannot even see straight, much less read one more book. The TV has been on for how long?" Well, it's time for me to respond with "What mess? Who cares! It's time to paint...." (And hopefully not have to repaint :) )

That's my goal. In 7 weeks...I have a date with my boys...and we're going to paint.

Words Gone Awry

2011-02-03T20:25:00.000-08:00

Lil' N is in this "vocabulary expansion" phase. He loves learning new words and then finding bizarre ways to apply it to his immediate surroundings. Consequently, I have been striving to break free of my baby babble and mono-syllabic toddler talk, and throw a few verbal gems out there for Lil' N to pick up. One such occasion occurred just the other night. Lil' N was ardently applying his moves during his earned game of "Just Dance". He was really feeling it, and scored the highest score I have ever seen him pull off. I belted out, "that's great Lil' N...you got a humongous score!"

Lil' N looked gleefully up at me and repeated, "humongous?!"

And, I explained, "yeah, you did awesome."

Basking in the glowing praise, Lil' N soon made his way with his bustling siblings to the bathroom to brush his teeth. I got in the "tooth brushing, put the smack down on the shinnanigans" zone (you would not believe the inane forms of entertainment our children can devise when they know that bedtime is imminent and they desperately don't want to go to sleep). At one point, Lil' N smiles up at me and says, "Mom, you are humongous."

I was totally caught off guard, and immediately went on the defensive. "Lil' N, we do not call Mommy humongous. In fact, you should never call any woman (or even man) humongous, because it's rude."

Lil' N, ever the most sensitive as far as feelings go, transformed and said, "I don't like you. Get away from me. Don't talk to me." And, threw a few other hurtful phrases my way.

Peeved at his response, I commanded him to finish brushing immediately and get in bed.

A few minutes later, after both of our emotions had cooled, I was bowing my head near Lil' N while he said his prayer:

"Father in Heaven, thank you for letting me play just dance. And, that I got a humongous score. And, I'm sorry I called Mom humongous, but she needs to be nice to me and not say mean things to me. In the name of Jesus Christ. Amen."

About the point where he started talking about his humongous score, it dawned on me that Lil' N was trying to pay me a high compliment by calling me humongous. I couldn't contain my giggles and I burst out laughing. After the prayer was over, I explained to Lil' N that I did not know he was trying to be nice to me by calling me humongous, and explained that humongous meant really big and should only be used when referring to things and not people.

I then explained that when we are referring to people, especially mommies, we can use words like, "nice, wonderful, pretty, svelt, and compassionate." He looked at me with a big smile and said, "You are the prettiest mom of the whole world".

That's more like it....

Blook & Blog Modifications

2011-01-29T20:48:00.000-08:00

A, seeming, long time ago, we blogged that Rebecca’s birthday present last summer was going to be a blook—a blog book containing the postings and pictures which comprised our first year in the blog-o-sphere. My hope, at that time, was that Rebecca would have that book in her hot little hands by the end of August (at the latest). So, here we are, at the end of January, and her blog book is en route as I write (granted, it was also en route a month ago…and ended up in a different part of the country…but, I digress).

I am excited to put this exploit behind me (and probably need to start working on our next blog book so that she might actually have something to open up on her birthday).

The major change that took place in the transition from blog to book was the substitution of our children’s names for the monikers they have acquired as being part of our family. This modification goes back to a conversation that I had with a good friend of mine a little while ago where we were discussing the joys and ills of social networking. (My facebook experience lasted all of 2 weeks, when Rebecca and I had heard some disconcerting stories from friends about some of the things that they had heard and experienced while social networking. We decided it was wise to no longer pursue that activity.) I made the comment to my friend that I had stopped using facebook, when he countered, “What?! You are afraid you are going to be stalked by 13 year old girls?” And then he followed with, “You’re worried about your privacy and exposure on facebook; and yet, you have an open blog with your family’s names plastered all over it?” This immediately set off my blaring Safety Kid alarm system. So, when I edited our book, I changed the names and had full intentions of changing the names on the physical blog as well. As you are no doubt aware, those changes have not become a reality (I guess the craziness of our lives (or, rather, end-of-day fatigue and laziness) has delayed such blog modifications). But, that should soon be changing with this posting.

In addition to the alterations of names, we are going to add an updated info page (that includes the fact we have 6, not 5 children), and, if I am really ambitious, I might actually change our background and banner.

I guess that is a long and meandering way of stating that our blog book is done and that our blog is being modified. Also, if the monikers are puzzling to you, the posting below should clarify (or further confuse you, I'm not sure).

My wife will post later this week. But, she is in a catatonic state of stress due to her plunge into the taxing world of "working mom". If I can resuscitate her in the evening some day this week, she will blog about this interesting change in our lives.

Sincerely,

The Parenthetical Man a.k.a. Safety Kid

Munchkin Monikers Meanings & Origins

2011-01-28T10:39:00.000-08:00

You will observe an odd moniker assortment among the main characters of this blog—I assure you that there is a reason behind this: I, the Parenthetical Man (T.P.M.), have always had a bizarre penchant for nickname creation (I think I counted up a total of at least nine nicknames that I employed for my youngest sister when we were growing up). So, here are the stories behind the names (hopefully my children will forgive me for their creation…and, subsequent dissemination to the population at large).

Squeakers- Oldest of the triplets by 1 minute (born in the Summer of 2005). His nickname was the most difficult to create. As a baby, Squeakers had no problem telling people how he felt—especially when he was not happy. Unfortunately, Squeakers was not that happy...a lot of the time. His piercing screams (which were supposed to be cute little baby wailings) kept reminding me of banshee shrieks and emergency sirens. Neither of which lend themselves to an endearing nickname. Finally, after months of experimentation (I won't expound on the discarded names), the name of Squeakers was discovered. The variants of the nickname include: Lil' Sweet Squeakers, Squeaks, and couple of others on the same vein. A little while after Squeakers had acquired his name, I was watching “The Incredibles”. At the beginning of the movie Mr. Incredible has to rescue a cat from a tree while he is in desperate need of assisting the capture of violent criminals. The cat was a bit resistant to his attempts, and ended up clinging for dear life to the tree while it screeches in displeasure that the efforts to dislodge it. The cat's name was Squeakers; and, our Squeakers should feel honored to share the same name.

Blurbles- Second oldest of the triplets. Blurbles started the unique nickname implementation because his interesting behaviors would just lend themselves to new name applications. Foremost of these behaviors, in his first few months of life, was this odd grumbling sound he would make. It wasn't a sound of discontent...or content. It was almost like a baby snore; but, he would make it when he was wide awake and when he was asleep. At first, I called him Grumbly. But, the sound was a little more pleasant and adorable than a grumble. So, it became a “blurble”. Once the word had found voice, it jumped all over in delight and became nicknames like: Blurbles, Mr. Blurbes, Blurbly, Little Mr. Blurbles, etc.

Lil' N- Youngest of the triplets by 2 minutes. Lil' N's nicknames started out completely different from where it ended up. When Lil' N was just a few months old, I was watching the movie “Monsters Inc.” (Do you notice a trend in watching the Disney Pixar movies? I will not deny it. I am an unabashed fan of nearly everything Pixar. But that is for a different post.) One of the main characters—or, rather monsters—Mike Wazowski is referred to by his girlfriend as Googly Bear. As soon as I heard that, I thought immediately of my cute Lil' N, and felt it was a perfect fit: he had brown, fuzzy hair, a sweet, cuddly disposition, and liked to open his eyes big and wide. The Googly Bear name stuck around for a little while; but, eventually got a little tedious. There is just something about four syllables that makes it hard to employ all of the time. Shortening it to “Googles” just did not seem to work. So, we also started calling him “Lil' ___” (his real name). But, for purposes of blogging anonymity, we did not want to have his real name listed. Therefore, Lil' N is employed

Bug- Child number 4 (born in the Spring of 2007). Bug's nickname was actually given by Becca's mom. When she saw him when he was a couple of months old, she said, “Isn't he just a cute little bug.” Since Bug has always been small (he is still searching for the growth chart), and has large, penetrating blue eyes it seemed quite appropriate. His name permutations became: Bug, the Little Bug, Bug Bug, and so forth.

The Pea- Number 5 in the lot (born in the Spring of 2008). The Pea's origin became a play on words. A name we have employed on a few of our babies, at random, has been Sweet Pea. Like others before him, we began to use this on The Pea as well. This evolved into Sweety Pea; which, interestingly enough, is a homonym for Sweet E. P.—The Pea's initials. Once that was discovered, he owned the name. It has been modified to: Pea, The Pea, Puppa-pea, Puppa, Pup-Pea (Puppy), and most recently Hop-Along Puppity (or just Hop-Along for short).

The Baby (Frew?)- Number 6 (born in the Summer of 2010). Since he has been with us such a short period of time, is nicknaming has not hit official status. As of the time of publication, he has acquired the names of Buddy, Little Buddy, Little Buddy Frew Frew, Frew, and Sweet Sweet. It remains to be seen which of these will stick (if any).

Becca- The renowned mother of the munchkins. No explanation of her name is required. Attempts have been made at the creation and/or discovery of a suitable pseudonym. But, alas, none can adequately describe what the name Becca so accurately conveys.

The Parenthetical Man a.k.a. Safety Kid- The father of the crew in question. My nicknames find their origins within the pages of this blog. The Parenthetical Man comes from the post “I'm a Parenthetical Man...”. And, Safety Kid is first employed in “The Joys of Paternity.” I will probably go by TPM (The Parenthetical Man) or SK (you can figure that out) depending on the nature of the blog post. But, mostly I will go by Dad—a title that has no parallel in my mind (especially when it is lovingly chorused from my munchkin masses when I arrive home from work). Nor, would I trade it for any other title...no matter what honors, privileges, and/or riches it my bear.

Sharing...and Manipulation

2011-01-26T21:47:00.000-08:00

Blurbles wanted a toy that Bug was playing with yesterday and so he tried this line, "Bug, you know you can't go back to Heavenly Father if you can't learn to share..."

Wow...that's some serious manipulation.

Bug gave him the toy.

I just sat there speechless.

Several minutes later, Puppy was happily bouncing around with an object that suddenly caught Lil' N's fancy. He quickly pulled it out of Puppy's unsuspecting clutches, and ran the other way while Puppy threw himself prostrate upon the floor and began wailing. Surprisingly enough, this was done just a few feet, and in the direct line of sight, of TPM. In short order, Lil' N was apprehended and the toy returned. Lil' N's rationale for his actions? "Hey, I thought we were supposed to learn to share."

We don't think the "sharing message" has been appropriately internalized.

At Odds

2011-01-23T18:03:00.000-08:00

I'm going to go ahead and confess it: I get along with some kids better than others. I know we are not suppose to admit it, but we all know it's true. I used to have a theory that you just have kids that you get along with better at certain times...like...two years old are difficult, but five year olds are great. But, no, sometimes, you just have a child with whom there exists a personality conflict. Enter: #5. That boy and I have major issues. Pretty much from birth. When he was a baby - he screamed all the time. And, often when I would nurse him...he would scream his head off. I figured out later that he constantly had an ear infection. That kind of made me feel bad when I figured that out. So, I ran him to the ENT in hopes of fixing our personality conflict with ear tubes. No, that just fixed the constant ear infections...we still have a personality conflict.

I'll give you a sample conversation between us (just so you can understand what I am talking about):

Mom: Puppy, please stop throwing that ball.
Puppy: (ignores me)
Mom: Puppy, I said please stop throwing that ball in the house.
Puppy: But, I WANT A CRACKER!!!!

You're thinking: what does a cracker have to do with throwing the ball in the house?

Exactly my problem.

Here's another example:

Mom: Puppy, come here so that I can put your clothes on.
Puppy: No, I no want to.
Mom: I didn't ask if you want to - come here.
Puppy: I WANT MY DAD!!!!

Yep, all day long. ALL DAY LONG.

So, I've been pondering for some time what to do about this problem: our personality conflict. It seems that we will always be a little at odds with each other. So, when I emerged from my haze of illness, I tried an experiement. I sat around and read books with him. I told him how smart he was, and how much he can make me laugh. And, he became so much more reasonable. It didn't fix our problem, but at least we had a few good moments mixed with the illogical interactions that end in outbursts.

This is not rocket science. I've pretty much known that a little more patience and a little more effort would improve the problem; and yet, I find myself short on patience and lacking in effort constantly. The only hope I have is that my mom and I had a personality conflict when I was younger. And, I'm pretty sure she wondered if we would ever be able to get along. And, now - we enjoy any chance to visit and one of my true joys in life is lunch with my mom.

That's what I'm holding out hope for: that when we get through this all...Puppy and I can look forward to a lunch once in a while. That we can laugh at our personality conflict of many years ago. And, that I will grow to be a more thoughtful, patient, and more committed mom in the process.

Until that distant, hypothetical dream can somehow become a reality (and it really would be miraculous), I am going to have to implement my experiment with a little more frequency...otherwise our sanities will never survive his childhood (much less his adolescence...eek!).

AGAIN!

2011-01-16T19:52:00.000-08:00

There is no escape. I try and and I try; but. it is no use...if it is winter...our family must be SICK!

It all started a week ago Friday...Squeakers woke up throwing up and continued to ralph for the next 3-4 days. He ran a fever, had a bad cough, was lethargic, and was all around miserable. By Sunday morning, he had itchy, red spots all over him. He actually had all of the symptoms for the measles - which made NO sense to us. By Monday, the spots were gone (just in time for our group visit to the pediatrician...which, of course means we still have no idea what those were); but, the fever, cough, and nausea remained. I had some friends who took Frew for me - in hopes of protecting him from whatever was going around (since he JUST got out of the hospital for respiratory issues). And what did our 5-boy adventure to the doctor yield: they did not have strep and "have a bad cough." No medicine, no reassurance as far as what they have and when it will go away.
Thanks....

She didn't explain the spots, the fever, the cough or anything...just...no strep.

Okay....

For the next few days we just managed to survive. Everyone in the family had it...fever, cough, nausea, and fatigue.

By Wednesday, I realized that our family hadn't been out of of their pajamas since Sunday (although clean pajamas were cycled in every evening). We had likely watched a hundred hours of TV (I'm so tired of Mickey's Clubhouse) ...we were all laying on the floor or the couch wallowing in our misery. I spent my days on the couch with the boys, and my nights laying next to Frew's bed making sure he could breathe. By Wednesday, I thought I was going to lose my sanity. TPM got called into work at 3:30 am early Wednesday morning (an emergency patient) and didn't come home 'til 8pm that evening. Thankfully, many friends came to the rescue. They took Frew for a few hours...brought by meals...and several friends even braved the den of sickness so I could run an errrand or to help me at dinner time.

I realize now...when we are sick...we are literally just surviving until it's time to sleep and recover. I feel like our family has just been in survival mode for months. It's times like these that I just long for the 100+ degree heat of the summer...at least we are healthy.

Peer Pressure

2011-01-05T19:56:00.000-08:00

I have to say - that I hate potty training. It is really not my favorite thing. It's the whole, "I really need to take a shower, but if I leave this room (with the naked potty training kid) there will be urine all over the couch". I feel trapped in my kitchen and family room. Usually day 1 and 2 are happy with treats and drinks (lots of drinks!). The kids loves all the snacks and I'm feeling pretty patient with the whole process. Usually on day 1 and day 2 - there is even a little bit of success. But, by Day 3 - I have no more patience left, the child is fed up with the potty, drinks, and treats - I am just about to give up - and then we strip the kid (a really scary thing to do), and then it usually clicks. There is no rhyme or reason to the process. But, it's worked with 4 kids before, so it's just the process we use.

The first day of Christmas vacation - there was a lot of rain. So, I knew we would be stuck in the house watching movies and playing video games. So, I decided to make myself feel better about the whole day by potty training Puppy (potty training also involves lots of movie watching). I don't know if I had really prepared myself emotionally for this, but he's been asking me for a couple of months to "be a big boy" and I kept putting if off. So, I decided to do it. We busted out the drinks, treats, and underwear. And, the first day - went pretty well. Not very many accidents and I was feeling good. By day 2, he only had 2 accidents. On day 3, I still was feeling pretty patient with the whole process, but we still hadn't mastered all the aspects of potty training. We stripped him - which helped, but our friends had to endure the nude boy when they came over for dinner. :)

By the next day - he was pretty much potty trained. Peer pressure is a great thing. He wanted SO badly to be big - that he really worked so hard at it. He was truly the easiest child I have ever potty trained. After Frew went into the hospital, we experienced a set back (LOTS of accidents - sorry Grandma and Graddad!) ....so, I kind of had to go back to square one, but within three days of getting back from the hospital - he got it - and he's been dry ever since.

But, with this being my 5th boy in less than 3 years for potty training - I have figured something out. The child being potty trained is SOOOO happy. Puppy has been the happiest of his entire life (remember - he is not my happiest kid?)...but, it's because they get SOOOOO much attention! The rest of the kids in the house - not so happy. They act out and grumpy. Because all of my attention is on this one child. So, I try to mitigate that as much as possible. Make it a family party...when Puppy has success - I make sure I reward all the kids (with popcorn, trips to McDonalds, juice, candy - with whatever would be motivating), because I've learned that the greatest motivator - is peer pressure! At one point, everyone was jumping around chanting Puppy's name and giving him hugs and kisses.

Puppy was in shock...he hasn't gotten this much love...EVER!

Peer pressure - can be a beautiful thing. :)

Christmas Week - Part II

2011-01-02T19:10:00.000-08:00

Besides our sick baby, we had a wonderful Christmas. The boys were SO excited about Christmas this year. They couldn't stop talking about Santa, and they were interested in every aspect of the holiday. On Christmas Eve, they made sure to put out cookies and hot chocolate, and they checked to make sure it was all gone the next morning. We had a Christmas Eve program, and we talked about what gift we wanted to give the Savior this year. They seemed to understand this concept much better than last year(last year they were trying to give him a new ball), and they wanted to talk about the Baby Jesus, and how much they loved Him. By about 6:30 in the evening, they decided to head to bed (I was pretty excited about that!), and as we were heading up the stairs, Lil' N looked at Blurbles and said, "Blurbles, you really need to be good tonight..." I responded, "I think you should be telling yourself the same thing". To which he replied, "Well, we know I'm going to be good".

Hmmmm....

The next morning, they were so excited that they could hardly stand still. It's a good thing we had Grandma and Granddad here - they helped with the unpacking, the unwrapping, and the excitement of the whole morning. It was a wondeful morning.

Here is the rundown of what they deemed their favorite "gifts":

Squeakers says his favorite present is this light-up stop sign, but it's really the zhu zhu pets...he laughs his head off every time one of them makes a noise - and I'm starting to feel like the little creatures are going to send me off the cliff of insanity. Squeakers also loves everything everyone else got - especially Lil' N's karaoke machine. The same song...on repeat...over and over again.

Blurbles really can't pick a favorite present, because he pretty much loved everything. But, we narrowed it down to the "Star Wars Spaceship" and the "Iron Man from Costco".

Lil' N picked "Just Dance 2" because he could dance all day and all night if you'd let him. But, he also loves to sing to his karaoke machine and he got a hula hoop he's pretty excited about.

Bug loves his "Bat-Cave" and scooter...he hasn't stopped playing with either item since Christmas.

Doesn't Puppy look joyous over Christmas? Well, you know him - he can't actually smile about it - then you might actually mistake him for a boy who's happy, but, he does quite enjoy his car garage.

And, Frew got some stuff, but he was really just happy for some love and attention:

Grandparents are great for so many reasons; but best of all - they know just how to capture a boy's heart:

The boys have already started counting down to the next Christmas...it's a good thing I have a few months to recover. :)

Christmas Week - Part I

2010-12-27T19:26:00.000-08:00

Our week began like anyone else's - kids out of school, driving me crazy, too much to do, not enough time, and sickness. A good friend of mine offered to take the boys on Tuesday morning so that I could run some errands. I got Frew up that morning and thought he seemed sicker than the norm for this sick season, but I really, really had to run one particular errand, and so I went and dropped him off anyway (what a great mom!)...my friend had her husband carry around Frew, and he seemed fine. When I got him home that afternoon, I layed him down for a nap - and I had to wake him up after three and a half hours. I was starting to get worried. When I got him up, he didn't look good, and he was pulling at his ears. He was refusing to eat, and so when TPM got home - I told him that we needed to take Frew to Urgent Care after the boys were down. I thought he had an ear infection. I was finishing 5 dozen cookies and trying to get my house clean, so TPM left with the sick boy. An hour later, he called me to tell me that Urgent Care had called an ambulance and that Frew was going to the University Medical Center because he was not breathing consistently, his chest x-ray looked a little worrisome, and they were concerned that he had pneumonia or RSV.

When our triplets were in the NICU, the nurses told us over and over again to protect our children from RSV...one nurse instructed us, "RSVcan kill little babies." So, I knew RSV was not a good thing. Another dear friend of mine (see a trend here? I am constantly rescued by dear friends) came over to finish my cookies and sleep on my couch while I drove down to University hospital. When I walked in - I didn't recognize my little guy. It's amazing what a few hours can do. He was lethargic and was laboring for every breath. He gave me a weak smile when I walked in - but I knew he was very, very sick. I began to feel panicked. It seemed that nobody could decide how sick he was. One resident thought he could go home after some oxygen, and the ER doc wanted to put him on a breathing machine. His RSV test came back positive and everyone agreed he had to stay in the hospital. As the hours went on, he continued to get worse. I don't know if he was just giving in to sheer exhaustion, but his chest sunk with every breath. He wouldn't eat and wouldn't sleep. They got us into a room, and I just held him in my arms for hours. If I layed him down, he would cry, and if he cried, his ability to breath went down. His cry was barely audible - you just knew he was crying because his mouth was open and he looked so mournful. I can honestly say, I have never been so worried for our children - and I had babies in the NICU for two and a half weeks. At around 5am, I let myself cry...either from sheer exhaustion or worry, I'm not sure. At this point, the mound of presents hiding in my bath tub seemed silly, and all I wanted for Christmas - was my baby back.

The next day, things stayed about the same. He was breathing on his own, but it was not easy and he was struggling for every breath. He looked completely wiped out. Another good friend (I am so blessed!) came over to watch the boys while TPM took Squeakers to Urgent Care for bronchitis and an ear infection. TPM's parents made it into town (just in time to do some more rescuing), and then TPM headed over to the hospital.

(Squeakers in Urgent Care)

I can't say that I felt like my residents were very helpful, but my nurses were lifesavers. This particular illness is a lot of hit and misses...you never know what might work, and they were always on board for trying something that may help little Frew to breath. It seems that the nurses could understand my need to try everything while the residents were focused on what the "studies say". We finally found a combination that seemed to be working for him. If we vacuumed out his nose and gave him a particular breathing treatment (that the doctors didn't like) then he was able to breath well enough to eat and then sleep for about an hour. We continued this program until he was able to leave the hospital the next day.

When we brought him home, he was still very sick. We didn't get much sleep for the next few days, because we were always worried about his breathing (although in the hospital, he was able to maintain the necessary numbers to come home). By Christmas Eve, he was smiling again. He was coughing a lot, and he still struggled to breath, but he was beginning to get his sweet disposition back. He has improved quite a bit, and I am happy to say that we are past the scary part. He played on the floor today for more than a hour. And, he is all smiles again (with a coughing fit here and there).

Thank you Santa...for giving me just what I wanted for Christmas.

Blasphemy Squared

2010-12-19T21:09:00.000-08:00

A couple of Saturdays ago, an event occurred which I look forward to all year long: college football’s rivalry weekend. The game I most anticipate watching is that of Brigham Young University vs. University of Utah (followed closely behind by Ohio State and Michigan). My boys happened to have the opportunity of watching a little football with their father. (Although “opportunity” is probably not the term they would use—“endure” would be more appropriate since they were eagerly anticipating the end of the game so that they could view something with more educational and enlightening value…like Toy Story 3.) Bug and Blurbles happened to be the only two who stuck around after the first 5 seconds of football mania—granted, they are the TV-heads of the family and would probably be transfixed watching static for 24 hours straight as long as it was on television.

During the game, Blurbles started saying that he liked the blue team and wanted them to win. I wholeheartedly embraced his decision and lauded him on his wise selection. I thought for sure that Bug would soon echo his brother’s sentiments considering the level of praise I was laying on him; but, Bug decided to defy family honor and tradition and belted out, “I like the red team!” I think that is the first time I have heard true blasphemy in our home since we moved in 4 years ago. I about swallowed my tongue during the reflexive shudder that coursed through my body. Once I collected my senses, I tried to cajole him out of his ludicrous statement. I sweetly said, “The red team? Don’t you mean the blue team…look how nice their uniforms are.” He responded, “No, I like the red team. They are cool.” Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind the color red. In fact, had Bug been watching football with me two hours earlier (during his nap), I would have rejoiced at his propensity towards red since Ohio State was playing Michigan (sorry Ms. Jean and Ms. Jill). Now fearing that the situation was spiraling out of control, I countered, “No you don’t, the blue team is where Mommy and Daddy went to college, and it is the cool school.” Undeterred, and with a little more spunk, he exclaimed, “The red is better and I am going to be a football player for the red team!” My tongue made a second lurch for my esophagus…not only did my son like the red team, but he wanted to go to school there and even help their football team to beat my football team. I didn’t know there was such a thing as blasphemy squared, but now I know there is.

At the end of the day, Bug’s red team won. I did not choose to mention that fact to Bug (he had finally lost interest in the game and had wandered off to do whatever Bugs do). But, late at night, when I know his little eyelids have been shut for quite a while and he is caught in the embrace of deep sleep, I sneak into his room and quietly whisper, “the blue team is the best. You want to go to BYU.” Desperately hoping that a little subconscious conditioning might draw to a close my little boy’s aspirations to don the red and white.

Lil' N's Weather Report

2010-12-15T23:57:00.000-08:00

I sometimes don't even know where Lil' N gets some of his stuff. The other day he told me, "Mom! I was talking to my friend today at lunch and then someone came over and startled me!"

Hmmm...startled.

Anyway, the other day - we walk in the room for his weather report:

That says, "Monsoon and Typhoon".

The best part is the Transformer that looks like he is about to pummel the ninja who is waiting around for the morning's official weather report.

The Gift of Sleep

2010-12-12T20:15:00.000-08:00

This past week has been rough. It started out with the worst flu I've had in years. Really, so bad. I'm the only one who didn't get the flu shot, and ironically, the only one to get the flu. So, maybe there is something to be said about that dang shot. The problem with me getting the flu this week is that I also had a huge final project due in one of my classes. So, I had to play catch up when I got better. I didn't get more than 5 hours of sleep each night. My project ended up being 35 pages long, and I was utterly exhausted by the end of the week. I ended the week with a bladder infection (thanks to the lack of sleep), and a little bit residual nasea. I was truly feeling wasted.

In...walks the greatest Christmas present ever.

Two of my really good friends asked me if they could "take the kids" Saturday morning so that they could make a "present" with them. They first met me at the park, so that they could take our family picture (Christmas cards will be late this year), and then I was suppose to leave the house for the morning. But, I asked them if they would mind me sleeping all morning. And, with an understanding smile, they agreed. I slept all morning while my kids had the time of their lives. They've been dying to tell me all weekend what they made, but they know they can't. It's killing them to keep the secret.

Greatest gift for a mom of 6 kids...a morning of sleep. :)

Thank you...

Super-Bug!

2010-12-08T22:17:00.000-08:00

Bug came to me today with a very serious face and this picture:

He explains to me that he needs to look like "David" (the kid in the picture). He tells me that he needs something on his eyes and he needs a cape...just like David. And, then he reports, "Oh, and I need boots. I really, really need boots". I explain that I can probably come up with something for the eyes and the cape, but I inform him that I can't really help him with the boots.

He gets really quiet and then responds, "But, you have boots - in your closet!" Knowing that he was eyeing my knee-high heeled black boots on Sunday - I explain that he cannot have any boots out of my closet.

He explains, "But, I REALLY, REALLY need them!"

Me: Sorry, you cannot have them.

Bug: Okay, then you need to buy me some boots...I really need boots for my Super-Bug outfit.

Me (perplexed over how we are really discussing this): Okay, if I find some boots some day at the store, I'll think about buying them".

Bug (in deep thought): Okay, at Costco. Next time we go to Costco, we have to buy me some red boots.

Me: Right, next time we go to Costco - I'll look really hard for some red boots.

Bug: Oh, and Mom?

Me: Yes

Bug: Please, only call me "Super-Bug"!

P.S. The mask he is wearing is just the "practice" one I made. I made a better one - and he refused to wear it...I guess this one fit the "Super-Bug" profile better.

Conflict Resolution

2010-12-05T21:22:00.000-08:00

Lil' N wore the hat that Aunt Christie made him to school (a little snow hat). He came home and declared that everyone loved it and thought it was cute. Then he explained, "But, "George" took it off my head on the playground and threw it in the dirt, and got it all dirty." Lil' N seemed more upset about the hat being dirty than the fact that "George" took it off his head, so I decided not to be too concerned about the story.

Blurbles suddenly jumped up into his "fighting stance" and declared, "If 'George' throws down your hat - I will push him and say, 'You don't throw down Lil' N's hat'!" Blurbles seemed pretty charged about the whole incident. To help mitigate this somewhat, I replied, "Well, no - Lil' N could just say, 'George, please don't throw my hat in the dirt; it makes it dirty'." I thought this was a good way of handling the situation, but Blurbles responded, "No, mom - kids aren't like that. They don't listen when you talk nice to them about it. I'm going to say it the right way."

Hmmm...I know he has a point. I didn't want to encourage the fighting stance response, but I knew in my heart, that the "please don't throw my hat on the ground".... response wasn't likely to be very effective. So, I pretended not to hear - and continued to load the dishwasher.

I think I could hear Kenny Rogers singing, "Coward of the County" in the background, but I'm not sure.

Buddy Frew Frew

2010-12-01T20:35:00.000-08:00

Grandma - we promised you a current picture of Frew. Here you go.

Back From Vacation

2010-11-28T21:00:00.000-08:00

We're back...sorry for the long pause in postings.

Webster defines vacation as: a period spent away from home or business in travel or recreation. That seems like a good definition; but, when you have kids (and I mean a lot of kids), the definition changes somewhat. It would probably read something like, "a period spent away from the normal day-to-day chaos, replaced by the unique chaos of trying to maintain an acceptable level of chaos in someone else's space while attempting to not drive the other party with whom you are staying into a chatatonic state of chaos".

This vacation definitely fit the second definition to a tee. It was filled with great stuff. The boys loved the non-stopped video-game playing. They found the Disney channel on Grandma's TV and were extremely stressed out over commercials (we only have PBS at our house - no commercials - so, they kept exclaiming that the program was "skipping"). Lil' N and Squeakers danced for hours a day on the Wii. Blurbles and Bug played outside for hours with cousins. Puppy cuddled up with his "best friend" Grandma. TPM drove up to San Fransisco with my dad and brother. Then he golfed and golfed. I visited with everyone that I hadn't seen in months. And, Frew...well, Frew cried and ate and tried to sleep, and then cried a whole lot more...the whole week. If you know me - you know that I am not one to get up many times a night with a baby; but, there were 18 people sleeping in the house at one point, and I didn't feel like it would be fair for them to deal with my fussy baby. Therefore, I fed him - many times a night. After 7 nights...I was a walking zombie, and Frew was a crying zombie. So, we left. The day before Thanksgiving. Sounds dramatic, I know. But, I was utterly wasted. Late Wednesday afternoon, we crammed our car full of all of the stuff it requires to maintain us when we leave our humble abode, strapped our boys in, and headed for home. Of course, it wouldn't be a true vacation without some sort of illness being passed through the family. We had hoped that maybe we had narrowly escaped it this time. And then, 2 hours from home, Bug woke up from a dead sleep and began throwing up all over himself. He continued to throw up for the remainder of our journey. (Sound familiar? This happened in June on the way back from California.) He threw up 6 times, poor guy. And, everyone else got a bout of it at one time or another over the weekend. This picture we took of Puppy pretty much sums up the vacationing:

At some point during the night at Grandma's house, he sought shelter and sanctuary under the bed.

So, really, we need a vacation from our vacation. But, it seems that that is always the case when 6 kids are involved with the vacationing. When we got home, Frew slept 14 hours, got up for 1 hour slept for 3 hours, got up for 1 hour, and then slept for 4 hours. He has maintained this schedule continuously for the past 3 days. We think he is almost caught up from vacationing. We are hoping to join him sometime before next year.

But, even with all the stress of vacationing - we still take away what's most important. Today the boys were playing upstairs and I heard one boy declare, "I get to be Grandma! She's cool." And, another boy announced, "Okay, then I get to be Grandpa! He has a big TV!" And, they continued to pretend that they were at Grandma's house. Squeakers later asked me when we were going to go back to "Grandma's house". And, later this evening, they were all declaring they were going to go on a mission with Uncle Bo. We love seeing family, and miss everyone when we're gone, but it's always nice to be home.

Miracles and Love Notes

2010-11-14T20:34:00.000-08:00

I must apologize for my lack of writing this week - the "season" kept me out of commission all week. Fevers, snot, sore throats, and whining were in play most of the week (and that was just TPM... ;) ). And, I was recovering from my own exposure to the season. Although, I should warn you that it's probably indicative of the weeks to come - I wish the season of "giving" did not include germs of all shapes and sizes.

So, a few miracles came about this week. I know that I've talked about Squeakers so much lately; but, it's amazing the changes we are seeing in him. Two weeks ago, we changed his schedule so that he is with his general education kindergarten teacher all day. He was leaving in the afternoon to take a "break" in the SPED classroom, and we felt that he was ready to make the change to all day. He has been so happy with the change. At one point, he told me, "I got to stay in my class all day today!" I asked him if that made him happy, and he replied, "Yes! So much!" His teacher is amazing. I showed up to volunteer last week, and she had all kinds of supplemental work for him to do at home (and at school). She is constantly trying to figure out ways to challenge him. And, one of our goals for him this year is that he will initiate conversation with his peers and look them in the eyes. I was observing their circle time, and she had the children look at their neighbor to describe their favorite part of the book. When Squeakers just sat there, she walked him through talking to his neighbor. It was so sweet to watch him talking with a peer. She made sure that he looked him in the eyes.

So, the other night, I was going through all the boys' backpacks (always a bit of an adventure), and I found this:

It says, "Ms. Nicholas, I love you. Squeakers". And, she answers him back, "I love you too Squeakers. Love, Ms. Nicholas".

My little boy is writing his sweet teacher love notes. Isn't that adorable? It's amazing if you remember that emotions are not his strong suite, and I've been waiting 5 years for a love note...and have yet to receive one. :)

And, TPM picked Squeakers up from piano lessons the other day. TPM asked Squeakers how school was and what he did. After stating the exact schedule of the daily events, there was a short span of silence. Then, Squeakers took an inititiative that we have never witnessed (unprompted) before and asked, "Daddy...how was your day at school today?"

That Squeakers initiated the conversation wishing to know how someone else was doing was a huge step!

When I realized Squeakers had autism...we had 5 boys under the age of 4. It's easy to see how Squeakers could have been lost in all the chaos. But, I have been so blessed with amazing people around me...all of whom love my children and want what's best for them. All of my boys squeal with delight anytime we are able to spend time with those individuals that have worked so hard to help our children be successful at school (even our small ones that are too young for school adore them...Frew included) - we have been given such amazing support. That is really the only way that our children have been able to make the progress that they have in the span of 27 months.

I owe them all the gratitude of my mother's heart - for the miracles...and love notes.

Tis the Season

2010-11-07T19:35:00.000-08:00

I know what you're thinking, "Rebecca's joining Wal-Mart in welcoming the Season already?!!?" No, the season to which I am referring...is SICK season. The quote of the week goes to Lil' N who asked TPM, "Dad, doesn't Mom look sick?" Wow. I know that I am not feeling all that great, but I have still been showering and putting on normal clothes. Obviously, it's still not enough for my acutely observant children (who often do a better job than TPM on commenting on how nice I look in such-and-such shirt, pants, or skirt). It's ridiculous how much like a leper colony we become between the months of November and April. TPM has been considering constructing a giant "Quarantined" sign out side of our house to warn the people that we like (and also keep the sales people away). I used to have a great immune system. And now...I catch everything coming and going. By the time an illness reaches the last of our household occupants, it has mutated 50 times and is no longer recognized by the now healthy individual's immune system. So, it just makes the circuit around our house like a cherished family member. The older boys don't get too sick anymore, but the younger three and me are always a mess. The other night Frew was up all night--crying off and on--because he couldn't breathe, and wanted me to know it (I was going to add a picture of him, but blogspot is not being agreeable tonight, so I promise, Grandma, we'll get one up this week...preferably one without mucus plastered all over his face).

So, this week we were sick--all week. Bug woke up this morning and explained, "Mom, I just don't feel good today".

I know how you feel.

Obi-wan Kenobi meets the Itsy Bitsy Spider

2010-11-03T22:45:00.000-07:00

For five minutes on Friday night, Squeakers didn't have autism. It was a truly beautiful experience.

He has the most wondefully patient, kind, loving, and talented piano teacher. She brings the best out of him, and he always come home grinning from ear to ear (and she picks him up to boot! How did I get so blessed?). Well, she got him into a piano recital on Friday night. He went in his costume (Obi-Wan Kenobi), and we were curious to see how this would all play out. Theoretically, performing shouldn't be his strong point (after all, he has autism). He was the fourth one to play, and the previous three did very well with long, complicated pieces (Mozart, for example). Then it was Squeakers' turn.

I'm posting the video of the performance, but the video misses his introduction where he stands up, walks over to the piano, announces in a clear voice, his name and the title of his piece, "The Itsy, Bitsy Spider". Then, he sits down and arrives at home. He was beaming. You will notice that he looks over the audience and smiles (he also misses a note or two, but I was so AMAZED that he was trying to connect with the crowd!). He finishes his piece, and then starts over. Then, he finishes and starts over again. Finally, his teacher has to come over to inform him that his piece was done. TPM is convinced that Squeakers wanted his piece to be as long as everyone else's. Then, he stands - and bows with complete satisfaction on his face.

When we got home, he announced to the boys, "I did SOOO good on my piano!" And, the next day, we watched the video of his performance as a family. He then responded, "I want to watch 'Devin' play Mozart." I said, "What?" And, he repeated the request. I went back to the program and saw that a child named "Devin" did indeed play Mozart.

Kids with autism aren't suppose to want to perform and certainly aren't suppose to enjoy connecting with the audience. Squeakers seemed completely at ease with the whole process. The piano has been one of the greatest blessings in Isaiah's little life. He loves it. And, it often brings him solace when nothing else will.

And, for me...it was complete joy.

Halloween 2010

2010-10-31T21:24:00.000-07:00

If you are bored, you can scroll back to last October where I chronicle the Halloweens of our past. But, if you do happen to view all of our other Halloween costumes, you will see that my mother is a wonderful seamstress and so creative.

And I, on the other hand, am not (see the posting "Sewing Machine Sees the Light of Day").

But, my mom is also a school teacher and really shouldn't have to spend an entire Saturday (or two) at the beginning of her school year making my costumes. So, this year, the boys informed me that they wanted to be jedis for Halloween. I dusted off the good ol' sewing machine (and made sure that it wasn't missing essential pieces that had been scavenged for toy accessories), and began reverse engineering one of their Star Wars action figures cloaks. A glimmer of hope dawned in my mind and I thought, "Maybe...I could do this". So, here is the result:

I just made the robes (and my dress). Everything else, we modified or borrowed (Puppy's Ewok costume is the modified three blind mice costume which then became the three bears costume and Baby Vader is modified from our little cat costume).

Here's some individual shots:

Obi Won Kenobi

Qui-Gon Jinn

Yoda

Anakin

Little Ewok

and...Baby Vader (he hated the helmet) with Darth Sidious...

I didn't include an individual shot of me because I felt it was fairly obvious from the group shots.

And, the other day...we went to the zoo and encountered the enemy:

My costumes are not as good as my Mom's (TPM thinks I am showing some definite potential though--he wants me to start tailoring his suits and making clothes for the kids--keep dreaming El Cheapo)...and I hope I didn't give her the idea that I'm prepared to make my own costumes every year...but...I was pleased to know I could make a brown robe...if our Halloween depended on it.

Acceptable Level of Filth...

2010-10-27T19:53:00.000-07:00

When my parents took my kids for the week in June...the first thing I did was clean my house from top to bottom. Yes, I was having a ton of contractions, but I wanted my house clean. So, I would clean one room...sit down...clean one room...sit down. The lesson of that week was just how CLEAN my house can stay sans 6 boys (the other thing we learned is that sanity does return, and we are not going to be institutionalized when our final child leaves home). The house remained spotless all week. It was so nice, and reminded me of what it was like before I had so many kids.

Now...

....we just maintain an acceptable level of filth.

TPM and I both like things clean; although our definitions of clean can vary drastically. TPM likes things tidy and picked up. He could probably not scrub the bathtub for a year and be completely oblivious. But, if there is a light smattering of toys spread out on the floor he will not be able to focus on anything else until they are picked up (well...he used to be that way--hence the reason for this blog). I, on the other hand, shudder in disgust every time I walk into the boys' bathroom because I can tell that their aim is still lacking. And yet, am able to actually fall asleep if Mt. Rebecca (TPM's endearing label for my heap of clothes) is still lying happily by the closet. If you combine our two forces we become a cleaning power to be reckoned with. Unfortunately, our children have worn down our tenacity and perseverance, and our standard of cleanliness has slowly ebbed from stellar to acceptable (worsening significantly after the birth of each child(ren).

Every night, after marching our children off to bed, we return to the disaster zone and commence our evening cleaning ritual. So, when we go to bed our house is, at least mostly, clean.

...and within a brief 2 minutes after the masters of disaster have awakened...it's filthy again.

You kind of start to wonder why you even work so hard. But, TPM made an important point the other night. He reminded me that if we didn't clean it every night...within 2 days we would not only not be unable to find our children in all of the mess; but, when we did find them - CPS would take them away from us again because of the squalor in which we would be living.

That's why I clean...to maintain an acceptable level of filth. Because my house won't actually be cleaned...for about 20 years.

Ahhhh....

Irony

2010-10-24T20:26:00.000-07:00

My last blog post addressed the issue of how Blurbles doesn't want to crack his head open...because then he won't be able to read. Well, this was kind of funny to me for several reasons, but one of the main reasons - is because we have never had a true head injury in our house (unless you count Bug Bug who had bumps and bruises all over his head from about 9-24 months and Squeakers' summer incident at Grandma and Grandpa's house). No cracked heads....

....until the day AFTER my blog posting.

Hop Along was horsing around at the table Thursday afternoon (some form of gymnastics...as usual). He didn't look like he was endangering his life too much (as a parent with 6 boys, you learn to assess the danger level of certain activities very quickly: juggling butter knives--not so dangerous, juggling butcher knives--much more dangerous). So, I continued my conversation with TPM (on the phone). The next thing I knew the boy was wailing...because his shinnanigans landed him on the floor. That is not an unusual event in our house (performing dangerous stunts...getting hurt...wailing a lot), and so I got him up, brushed him off, and told him to stop "horsing around". I resumed my conversation with TPM without a second thought. A few seconds later I looked over at Hop Along and there was blood everywhere.

Our first cracked head.

Adrenaline kicked in and I was able to get it all cleaned up, but I let the medical attention be TPM's responsibility.

We didn't need stitches because the doctor on call (TPM) deemed it "not too serious". Steri-stripping is awesome. But, now he has the coolest haircut in the household (think of a homeless dog with mange).

Later on, Blurbles came over to me and whispered quietly, with true concern in his voice, "Too bad that Puppy will never be able to read...he cracked his head".

...Cause I Read

2010-10-20T22:56:00.000-07:00

Last night, I was pulling Bug out of the tub, when he decided to do a little jig. I got after him and explained that he should never dance in the tub, because he could fall and crack his head open.

Pretty dramatic, right? But, my kids respond to drama, so that's where I went with it.

Then, Blurbles responds, "You know what Mom? I don't want to crack my head open. So, I'm not going to fall down the stairs, because then I could crack my head open...and I don't want to do that...because I READ!!! And, if I cracked my head open...I would not be a good reader anymore...and I don't want to do that, because I LIKE TO READ!!"

So, there you go...one more very important reason why we should all be careful not to crack our heads open: because we read...and we would not want that to change.

Sometimes my children's wisdom is just...astounding. :)

What a Mess...

2010-10-17T22:02:00.000-07:00

This week was Fall Break...all the kids were home. I tried to keep us as busy as possible. I had the greatest plans to document it all with pictures...and then...I never remembered the camera. Suffice to say: we played play-do, made Halloween cookies with friends, went to the zoo with a friend, played Wii with some more friends, and went swimming with the best of friends.

It was such a great week.

And, I can't wait to send them back to school.

I did take this picture...

Yup, that's a yummy ice cream bar...all over Hop-Along. I think this is probably a good depiction of my week - because my house was disgustingly dirty all week...and I just gave up...I can't keep up with all the mud, dirt, cookie sprinkles, play-do, and ice cream bars. So...I tried to relax and enjoy them. I...maybe, sorta... succeeded...cause I did enjoy them...sometimes.

Connect Four

2010-10-13T19:28:00.000-07:00

On Sunday night, Blurbles (the only one who had managed to not strike out for the day) elected to play Connect Four for his game. TPM was chosen as his playing partner. After a couple of rounds, Blurbles became a little exasperated and said, "Why do you keep blocking me? I don't like that...." So, TPM had to help Blurbles understand that the point of the game was to win, and part of winning - is blocking your opponent. Then Blurbles got into the blocking groove and was trying to block everything TPM started, which was good. Finally, it came down to the point that there was only one place to go and Blurbles had to drop his token into a slot that would enable TPM to win. Realizing his situation, he attempted to "pass", and told TPM he didn't want to go. TPM explained that he had to go. To which Blurbles responded, "Why? Cause you just want to beat me all the time?!" Oh the joys a parent can experience by mercilessly routing his children at games. (This brings up a wonderful memory that I had as a child where my father demanded I continue to roll to my death in Risk. My pitiful little army continued to dwindle as he commanded, "Roll...roll!")

Supplications to Above...

2010-10-10T20:21:00.000-07:00

We had a really rough morning this morning. Everyone was acting like they slept for about 2 hours max last night, and everyone needed to go back to bed and start all over again (parents included). But, of course, it was Sunday, and so we were in the middle of the church hussle (possibly the reason for the Sunday morning drama). Fighting and sassing were constantly dispelling any hope we had of having a nice, quiet, spiritual Sunday. Finally, we got everyone's clothes on and knelt down for morning prayer before we piled in the car (typically one of the most un-spiritual events of our Sunday mornings (we should probably blog about that sometime--we need a little catharsis)). We asked Lil' N if he wanted to pray, he was excited to offer it; but, then started squabbling with Squeakers over who got to sit next to Daddy. After two minutes of attempted interventions, Blurbles was asked to say the prayer. Once Blurbles concluded his prayer, Lil' N really wanted to say a prayer as well (what kind of parents would we be if we told our kids that they couldn't pray...especially on a Sunday morning...and, when we already so desperately needed a little spiritual intervention in the very un-spiritual chaos that was constantly erupting?). The prayer went something like this:

Lil' N: Heavenly Father, please help our family to start making right choices. Please help Squeakers to start talking nicely. Please bless that Bug will not go to time-out for not getting dressed. Please help Blurbles to not bite or hit me....

Blurbles: You forgot to bless that YOU don't hit!!!

Lil' N [pointedly ignoring Blurbles' prompt]:...and please bless Mommy that she will not make wrong choices at church and pull our shirts...that makes me really cross....

This prayer went on and on and on and on.... TPM kept "encouraging" him to end the prayer. Finally, I had to not-so-discretely prompt him so that we could actually make it to church today. The entire prayer was all about supplicating for the righteous behavior of those around him. What a guy. I have no idea what the shirt thing is about...I don't remember pulling his shirt, but...apparently Lil' N thinks I did. But, he's still harboring some deep emotional wounds from Frew "scratching" his arm yesterday...so, I don't think I'm going to lay awake tonight worried about Lil' N's comment about the shirt....

The Things I Learn...

2010-10-06T22:57:00.000-07:00

This month, I've learned an important reason why Squeakers was sent to me: So I could learn to keep my mouth shut. For any of you that know me...that's a difficult thing for me to do. Early in my life, I decided my mouth could fix a lot of things. I remember being bullied a little in middle school...and I found my voice...very sassy, sometimes cutting - and it worked for me - the bullying stopped. And, I have been a big mouth ever since.

But, my mouth cannot take pain out of my little guy's life - as much as I wish that it could.

I decided to make a surprise appearance to my boys' school - to observe Squeakers. We've recently implemented a "plan of success" for him. It seemed like it was going fairly well, and so I decided to go observe for myself how he was doing. I am so grateful for Squeakers' teacher. She has been such a blessing in my boys' life...all of them. She makes them smile, she makes sure they behave, she inspire them to be respectful...just a wonderful teacher. I've volunteered in her class several times and I always leave feeling happy about the world. But, I showed up just in time for reading. I don't know Squeakers' reading teacher. He has only been going to her for a few weeks. So, I thought this would be a good time for me to observe how our "plan" works in other settings...like reading.

I'm not sure if his teacher knew who I was. She has all three of our boys for reading. But, I think maybe she thought I was from the district or something? She never asked me who I was...for that matter...she never even looked in my directions. Which was fine with me...I was trying to be incognito. She did her intro and then instructed Squeakers and Blurbles to sit at the reading table with her (and another boy), and everyone else was instructed on their centers. I was so excited to see them in action. What I watched unfold over the next 45 minutes made my blood boil. They all sat down and she asked Squeakers to start reading. He did. She got up and walked away. She finally came back (after a few minutes of roaming the room) and asked Squeakers a comprehension question. He didn't answer her (this is not uncommon for Squeakers) and so she just asked someone else in the group and moved on. Squeakers completely checked out on her. She got out "character cards" and he started making angles with them. She would ask him a question...he would focus on his cards...she would move on to someone else. This pattern went on for a while...have him read...ask a question...move on....read...question...move on. Then, she decided she was annoyed at his lack of attention and so she started talking loudly at him. He would ignore her (it's working pretty well for him...he hasn't had to answer a question in reading yet...and he's been in there 30 minutes), so she starts talking louder. Every few minutes she would say in a loud voice, "SQUEAKERS...YOU ARE NOT ON TASK. YOU ARE NOT FOLLOWING DIRECTIONS." He would continue to make angles with his cards. So, what did she do? Started talking even louder, "SQUEAKERS...YOU ARE NOT ON TASK...PAY ATTENTION!!!" He continues to look at his cards. At one point, she looked at the other kids in the group and said, "Squeakers is not being a good listener." And, I just thought, "If she'll do this in front of me...what does she do when no one's around?" It was clear that she thought he was clueless and she did not want him in her class.

This is when I was contemplating action. I could:

A. Rip her head off.
B. Politely inform her that my child is not hard of hearing. He is ignoring you because it works for him.
C. I could walk over and say, "Squeakers, look at me - your teacher wants to know who the main character is..."and he would most likely look up at me and say, "the lion" and then go back to his cards.
D. Give her a little tutorial on children with autism and joint attention.
E. Or keep my mouth shut.

With all my heart, I wanted to do A. And, I wanted to do with all the flair of a girl on fire. But, I knew that the days of spouting off at anyone that teed me off were gone. Sometimes, it's best to keep your mouth shut...for the time being. I held it together. At one point, I thought I could cry. But, I just watched all this continue to unfold for the next hour...and I took meticulous notes.

Then, I walked out and had him out of her class by the next day.

It wasn't as fun as ripping her head off. But, I had to think about the other two boys (who are still in her class and I need them to stay with that reading group).

But, I swear the hardest part about being a mom...is watching all the stuff that happens to your kids...and knowing that jumping in to fix it...is rarely the best approach.

It's such a shame...to let all those years of honing my sassy skills go to waste. Truly tragic.

The Cry of Hop-Along

2010-10-03T20:25:00.000-07:00

So, TPM's new nickname for Puppy (a.k.a. the Pea) is: Hop-Along Puppity...because he does a LOT of hopping around these days (jumping would probably be a more appropriate term--jumping off of anything that has the even the slightest chance of potentially breaking important appendages). I've blogged about Hop-Along's penchant for sassing; but, I must also add his tendency to start bawling at the slightest provocation, because that is one of the only ways that he has found to get some attention (I know, poor parenting on our part, but if it's not on fire--sometimes we can't smell the smoke). Anyway, he especially loves to start wailing if it might get someone into trouble. Today, was one such morning...A LOT of screaming by Hop-Along, but the explanations of the other boys are what really made the morning:

Puppy: WAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
Mom: What happened Puppy?
[No response but more wailing. Both parents look toward Squeakers (a repeat offender) who is in the immediate vicinity. And then a pointed question to Squeakers.]
Mom: Why is he screaming?
Blurbles: Um, because I did nothing.
Mom: What? That doesn't make any sense...what did you do to him?
Blurbles: Hmmmm....

[In runs Bug declaring in such a sweet voice]: Here, here Puppy. Here's your favorite lunch box...here you go.

Mom [thinking]: Hmmmm...Bug never does that...unless he has done something wrong. And is trying to quickly appease Hop-Along before he spills the beans.

Mom: Bug, what happened to Puppy? [At this point, the wounded puppy is curled up on the couch enjoying Daddy's attention for being injured.]

Bug: Um, I don't know!
Mom: Did you hit him?
Bug: Hmmm [with his finger to his mouth]...I think it might be Squeakers....
Squeakers: Nooooo.
Mom: Bug, did you hit Puppy?
Bug: I don't think so....
Mom: Puppy, who hit you?
Puppa[curled in Daddy's lap nursing his wounds with his fingers in his mouth]: Um, Bug Bug.
Mom: Bug, tell the truth, did you hit Puppy?
Bug: Ummm....Yeah, I think I did....I sorry Puppy!!! [This is stated in Bug's gleeful, angelic way. Hoping to mitigate the level of punishment hanging over his guilty little head. Sad to say, it works like a charm and he is able to pull out with just a mandate to "apologize."]

And, Hop-Along leans over for his kiss and hug.

No Girls Allowed

2010-09-29T20:33:00.000-07:00

Last week, Blurbles sat down and crafted this little sign, and posted it out in front of his playset:

Seeing as how there aren't any "girls" who live even remotely close to the vicinity of the playset, do you think he could be talking about me?

Reptile Madness

2010-09-26T20:27:00.000-07:00

Triplets are kind of tricky, because if you want to invite one of them to do something, you kind of feel like it's a package deal. My really good friend did the greatest thing: she dared to invite one. She had an extra ticket to the reptile show, and rather than crossing my boys off the list (because they come in a package of three)... she called and asked if there was one that would really enjoy the reptile show. Anyone that knows my kids -knows that would be a joyous day for a little guy named Blurbles.

He got to touch snakes...

See many, many snakes...

Hold a lizard...

But, if you ask him...the highlight of the day was the spider balloon.

Thank you, Joi, for taking just one.
He loved it.

Our Children's Sports Aspirations...

2010-09-22T20:22:00.000-07:00

We have taken a new step in parenthood: children's sports. In an effort to mitigate the costs and the intensely competitive parents (...I mean children), we started our kids in a local recreation dept program where the kids get some instruction, but mostly kick haphazardly at anything moving in front of them (the ball, kids legs, other kids legs...you get the drift). TPM had been derelict in his responsibilities as a sports dad, and had given his children little to no preparatory training prior to their initiation by fire.

He took the four older kids, as well as a friend of theirs to their first day of soccer last week. When he wandered in with an aimless stare and unable to complete intelligible sentences afterward, I could not understand what brought him to such a state. He incoherently mumbled things which I still have yet to interpret completely. Suffice it to say, he will need a couple of counselling sessions to work through it.

When I gave him the report of my adventure as a soccer mom he nodded a vacant assent that it was fairly similar to his own. So let me give you a brief breakdown of our children's current sports undertaking:

First, our children are all on the same team...they are the only ones on their team. There was another girl on their team last week who is unaffiliated with our clan. From TPM's report, she could actually kick the ball and go in the right direction. Her parents had her moved to a different team after last week's showing if that says anything about the level of chaos our kids bring to the field.

Let me break down the players for you:

Squeakers was probably close enough to kick the soccer ball once during the entire hour. It was an accident because the soccerball happened to cross his path as he was bolting blindly for the dog that was lingering a little ways away. This was Squeakers' only activity for the entire evening--running after the dog. Last week Squeakers went missing 4 or 5 times while TPM was desperately trying to help his other children understand that a soccerball is for kicking and not laying prostrate over.  Squeakers pretty much needs to be goal keeper so that we can leash him to a stake in the middle of the goal posts and maybe...just maybe he will accidentally block the ball from going into the goal while he is attempting to escape in order to beeline for the nearest dog.

Lil' N does not know that soccer is an action sport. He decided to bring his sunglasses (unbeknownst to me) to the field with him. When I commandeered them, he threw an unending tantrum and refused to do anything but wail in the middle of the field.

Bug has, somehow, become my most out-of-shape child. I watch him run endless circles around our house--jumping off of tables and chairs. But, once he makes one attempt at getting even close to the ball he stumbles back to me panting, "I so tired Mom...I so tired." For some reason the car ride home has this mysterious energizing effect on him and he is backing to running around like the Energizer Bunny on caffeine injections.

Our boys' friend, the lone remaining girl on the team, has pretty good intentions. She is very sweet and obedient and very easy to manage; but, she gets a little intimidated by the fact that she is one of the only players on her team who actually knows that there is a ball and that you need to kick it. But, since only Blurbles is there to help her against the opposing six players who actually know what they are doing, she tends to get a little fearful and overwhelmed and does not want to risk potential  injury (I can't say that I blame her). So, she spent most of the time next to me. But, at one point...she ran in...kicked the ball into the goal and ran back out of the game. That was our only goal of the night.

And finally, there is Blurbles.  Blurbles is the only kid who is truly committed to trying to do with a soccerball what it was intended for: kick it. But, since he was often the lone force attempting to prevent the offensive barrage by the other team, he finally embraced futility at the end of the game and cried in desperate defeat. The quote of the day goes to Blurbles who, between shuttering sobs, managed to squeak out, "Mom, I think I just want to be the cheerleader."

Even At Church

2010-09-19T20:17:00.000-07:00

So, Squeakers spent all week memorizing this scripture for primary:

"Yea, and cry unto God for all they support; let all they doings be unto the Lord, and withersoever thou goest let it be in the Lord; yea, let all they thoughts be directed unto the Lord; yea, let the affections of thy heart be placed upon the Lord forever."

When he was preparing it, he actually asked me about, "when the kids start laughing," because invariably, the kids start laughing when my kids get up to give talks/scriptures. I'm not sure why, I've been in there plenty of times when they don't laugh, but my kids are automatic laughing gas to the primary, and they all just roar (I'm still trying to figure out why).

Anyway, he really did work so hard on it, and he marched up to the microphone (got a little too close to it...that might be part of the problem), and started reciting his scripture, and like we expected...the whole primary started roaring.

Seriously, the mama bear in me wanted to start growling something fierce. I couldn't totally keep my mouth shut, I said something on the order of, "You know, Squeakers worked really hard on this all week, and when you laugh, it makes it hard for him to remember it all..." to which Isaiah responded, "Yeah..." into the microphone.

Sometimes I just wonder, if there any safe place for your kid? You'd think they could go to church without being laughed at, but I guess kids will be kids...even at church.

His Two Loves Meet

2010-09-15T20:03:00.000-07:00

For those of you who know Squeakers...he loves letters. He also loves numbers. And, we are adding a new love to the list (I have blogged about this before): the piano. He has the most amazing teacher who is able to get him to do some pretty exciting things. When Squeakers is having a hard day (which is quite often), I ask him if he needs to go play the piano - and he will beeline straight for it and begin to play (and occasionally pound). It is a very calming thing for him.

Anyway, the other day, he was playing the piano, and I went to go check on him...when I found this:

His two loves meet. (Just like his rear met the time out corner.)

Lost...Forever

2010-09-12T20:54:00.000-07:00

I love shoes. But, the problem is...that I cannot get rid of them. Even when I know a shoe is no longer in style (or its match is missing and it no longer even resembles a shoe) and that I needed to donate it to a worthy cause, I just can't bring myself to do it. It just ends up going to the back of the closet. Consequently, my closet is a bit of a mess. TPM tried to help me a few years back and he bought me shoe racks so I could stay organized. The only problem was that the racks only fit about 20% of my shoes on them. So, I thought I'd put my favorite ones on that the racks...but, it didn't even cover my favorite ones. So, the intervention failed and I went back to a messy closet. Anyway, the last few Sundays have been awful, because I can't find my shoes. I've had to wear whatever shoe happens to leap out my closet into my outstretched arms, and that leaves me feeling frazzled all day. This morning was a similar story - I ended up wearing different shoes than I had intended. But, I just couldn't find the right shoes. Bug, however, loved my shoe choice (gold heels) and walked around in them all day.

I was starting to get stressed out about it, and so I finally suggested that we take them upstairs to put them away ("we" meant TPM because I am such a sucker for that little Bug that I didn't want to crush his jubilant clogging). Bug refused to part with them and demanded, "I will put them away upstairs". So, TPM followed him to make sure it would actually happen. When they entered our room, Bug Bug said, "I will put them right here" (next to my side of the bed). TPM explained that they needed to go in the closet, and Bug Bug said, "No, they can go right here (on TPM's side of the bed)." And his father, with waning patience restated that they belonged in Mom's closet. Undeterred, Bug countered with, "how about in here", placing them delicately on top of a pair of TPM's shoes on the shoe rack in TPM's closet which, surprisingly, actually fit the total quantity of TPM's shoes (with room to spare). With a sign of exasperation, TPM explained, "No, they need to go in Mommy's closet," to which Bug exclaimed, "But, then they will be lost in the dark FOREVER!!!!" I have to say...he has a point.

This picture was not staged - it really was a rough morning.

Puppy-isms

2010-09-08T22:04:00.000-07:00

So, Puppy has become quite the opinionated, sassy child of late. I think he's always been opinionated and sassy, but now that he has a few more words in his vocabulary - he's throwing the attitude around a little more. For example, on Monday, we were enjoying pizza and a swim with some good friends of ours...when I noticed him scowling at his pizza. I told him, "Puppy, eat your pizza." He looked up and me and mumbled, "I no want to eat it...it wook like frow-up." Huh? That's a new one...pizza now looks like throw-up.

On Tuesday, we were eating dinner and he started cheering as he shouted, "Yea!!! I all done! I all done!" He was working towards an ice cream cone for dessert. We looked over and noticed his plate flipped over. We pick up his plate and notice a pile of peas and corn. TPM said, "No, you're not done Puppy...eat your peas and corn." He looks at TPM so matter-a-fact and replies, "But, dat yucky!"

This morning, I was visiting with a friend, and he decided he needed some attention, so he gets one inch from my face and ask, "Mom, Mom...where is my Woody?" I explained that I didn't know where his Woody was, and suggested a few places he could look. He replies, "He hiding...in the potty." I gave my sternest face and replied, "Woody better not be in the potty or you'll be in big trouble." To which, he promptly replied (while looking at the ground), "Oh, ya, he probly not in da potty."

Finally, this afternoon, he gets up from his nap and says (yawning), "Mommy...I so tired!" To which I responded, "Tired? Didn't you sleep at nap?" And he answers with a smile, "No, I no like sleep. I played."

Well...there you have it...wisdom of a terrible two.

Girls...Just Wanna Have Fun

2010-09-05T20:11:00.000-07:00

So, girls are becoming much more frequently referenced in our household, as the boys are finally figuring out that there are lots of girls out there...and that...girls...just wanna have fun.

The other night, at dinner, Lil' N called Blurbles a name that contained a popular book title (because his name is part of the title. TPM and I laughed (because how do they even know about that book?)...and Blurbles responded to Lil' N, "you cannot call me that...only Suzie can call me that (names have been changed to protect the innocent)." So, we asked Blurbles who Suzie was, and he replied, "My friend who's a girl." Evidently, he already has a pet name from a girl that is off-limits to other parties.

A little while later, Lil' N decided to broach the topic of females again with the comment, "Mom, girls...Just wanna have fun (Lil' N's favorite Wii game right now is "Just Dance" and he loves to dance to "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" - I promise a blog post with video on this subject in the very near future). Anyway, this got Bug Bug thinking and he stands up and declares, "GIRLS?!? I WANT TO HAVE FUN WITH GIRLS!!!" Oh, great...here we go again with the kissing inquisition....

So, the rest of the night, the boys were running around the house declaring that they want to have fun with girls. We are in BIG trouble...imagine...10 years from now...5 boys within the age of 12-15.

Is Nothing Mine?

2010-09-01T22:42:00.000-07:00

So, you all know that TPM is pretty cheap. I have to start campaigning MONTHS before I am able to purchase anything that is over $50. So, when we were trying for children, and not having very much success, I would always tell him, "When we finally have kids, I'm going to decorate my nursery any way I want...just so you know." He would just smile, because we couldn't get pregnant to save our lives, so I think he felt pretty safe in not arguing that one. Then, we spent our life savings on in-vitro (which, we really got our money's worth on: Squeakers, Blurbles, Lil' N, and Frew). And, so I think TPM thought the argument was a moot point. But, it wasn't. I started shopping for my furniture when I was pregnant with the triplets - and what could TPM really say? I was carrying triplets! So, I got to decorate my nursery the way I wanted. It's the nicest room in our house - no kidding. Well, less so now, because our boys have really been rough with our cribs, but they still look nice, and I love to go in the room when it's all clean...it just has a sweet feel to me...I'm reminded of three cribs, sleeping babies, and a full house.

Well - I didn't know we would have all boys - so I did my nursery in the gender neutral theme of Classic Pooh. And, TPM has gotten me different figurines for it over the years. For some reason, I just kept adding them to the shelf in my nursery. But, I failed to notice that my nursery cannot be the "baby's room" when it houses two toddlers. Of this fact, I was reminded on Tuesday morning when I went in to get them and found this:

Yep, a few of my figurines were all in pieces on the floor. I burst into tears. Seriously, all the boys were so freaked out, because Mom was crying. That does not happen very often (although it's happened in my doctor's office a few times in the last couple of months...).

I turned around and walked out...I couldn't even handle it. But, Bug Bug and Puppy were both crying... because I was crying and Lil' N kept asking, "Mommy, what are you going to do?" Then, Blurbles said, "Don't worry Mom - I'm going to be real mean to them, because they broke your stuff." Hmmm...great...Blurbles.

I finally let the boys come down for breakfast after I could calm down, and during breakfast, Puppy said, "I sorry Mom...I real sorry." And, the rest of the day, Bug Bug would say, "I'm sorry Mom, I broke your stuff. Maybe I could fix it tonight...after bath...I can get a band-aid and fix it...huh, Mom...we can fix it...."

TPM stopped at the craft store on the way home to buy some really good glue...I don't even think he thought twice about the price.

I guess this is just the life of a Mom. Nothing is ever really yours.

Year 1

2010-08-29T20:29:00.000-07:00

It is the end of August, Becca's birthday was back in July, and I will (possibly) have her present to her before Thanksgiving. The reason her present is so belated is that it is a compilation blook (I did intend to write the word "blook"--meaning blog book) for our first year of joy-riding in the blog-o-sphere. Back in May, when I commenced this project, I could be observed hovering in dark corners of our house, jumping at slight noises, and praying that Becca would not surreptitiously surprise me while I was editing and compiling our year's adventures. When the middle of June rolled around and I realized that there was no possible way I could finish with the blook before her birthday (and she had come pretty close to catching me and had given me some of those odd looks that said, "is there a reason why you are staring at a blank wall with a guilty expression on your face?"). So, I finally confessed my plans so that I could actually work at normal hours and normal places. The book is 160 pages long and would probably only be entertaining to the 8 people that live in this house (and maybe a grandparent or two), but who knows...maybe one day, a great-great-granddaughter will publish it and call it, "These is a whole LOT of kids" and the audience will expand a little.

Here we are, two months after my deadline and I am "getting close" to ordering an actual book. Happy birthday, My Sweet.

(I figured I would throw a picture of the front cover in here because it took me forever to make something I actually liked.)

TPM

SHA-WOO!!!

2010-08-24T14:26:00.000-07:00

I got this email from my spy after my last posting:

...So I just had to ask Miss _________ about all of this kissing. Apparently they sing some song about 5 little monkeys and at the end (I think they are singing to an alligator) they say something to the effect of "missed me, missed me, now you have to kiss me" and then they blow a kiss. Mystery solved. No budding romances that I have uncovered yet. But don't you worry, there are lots of eyes on those boys of "ours." :-)

So, I'm just going to assume that all of that kissing business was just a true infatuation with singing and not anything to do with the pretty little girl that sits next to Lil' N. Is that okay? Do you approve of me letting this little drama go...for now? We can tackle this one in 2nd grade...or 3rd...or maybe when they're 21...but I just don't have the energy for it this week. Besides, it's just a song about a monkey, right?

On another note...Blurbles told us at dinner last night that Ms. ____________ is going to call troublemaker's mom because he was pooping in the bathroom for "WAAAAYYY too long".

Seriously...I don't even want to know.

It's Getting Better...All Hugs and Kisses

2010-08-22T21:17:00.000-07:00

So, I think we are all adjusting to the shock of all-day school. I don't think anybody in the family LOVES it; but, we are getting used to the whole thing. Lil' N is really adjusting well to school, in fact, he has come home with a few "kiss me" chants (yep, they are the same songs of thirty years ago..."miss me...miss me...now you gotta kiss me"...). I finally had to ask, "Lil' N, are you kissing at school?" I asked this in jest because who in their right mind would believe that one of my little kindergartners would be smooching behind the slide. My response...that sidelong look of guilt that says, "how in the world did you know about that?" This was then following by much more directed and unjestful questioning, "Um, Lil' N...are you kissing at school?" No answer, as the wall suddenly becomes the most interesting thing the boy has ever seen in his life. Since the questioning did not yield any verbal responses, I figured I would launch into the first lecture (of probably many) on how kissing is not an appropriate activity for children and why. Lil' N was NOT happy with me. He marched off up to his room to sequester himself from the kissing inquisition.

Because there did not appear to be a "no-kissing commitment" forthcoming, the conversation continued at dinner. We asked Blurbles if he was kissing at school (no need to ask Squeakers - we don't think he has even realized he has classmates yet, much less had an inkling to plant a nice, juicy wet one on one)...and he gave us the guilty "let's look at the ceiling" look. So, we continued to talk about how we do not kiss when we are 5. Blurbles wanted to know when he could kiss, and so we talked about how we don't kiss until we're twenty-one (here's to hoping, right?)...and so later we asked the boys if they could kiss when they are younger (they answered "no," - quite begrudgingly I might add). Then, we asked if they could kiss when they get bigger (I don't want to make kissing sound bad...). To which Blurbles jubilantly exclaimed, "YEEEESSSS!!!"

Great.

At least my baby started sleeping through the night. I'll need a full night's sleep to handle all the kindergarten drama.

Lil' N's New Friends

2010-08-18T23:40:00.000-07:00

Lil' N came home from school on Monday and asked me, "Mom, do you want to know my friends' names?" I said, "Yes, I would love to!" I'm thinking, "How exciting!! My little kindergartener already has friends!!!" Then, he names every single child in his class (unless there are more than 23 kids in his class...I think that's what I counted...) and then he proceeded to tell me at least 10 birthdays....Tommy's birthday is March 22, Angel's birthday is November 9, Aricela's birthday is June 10, Dalin's birthday is January 6....

...and so on...he even knows his teachers' and aides' birthdays.

He's working on the other 13 kids' birthdays...apparently that lunch conversation is pretty interesting, "What's your birthday...what's your birthday...what's your birthday..."

We really need to work on our family's social skills.... It's so obvious that they are products of TPM and me. They were doomed from the start....

We Made It Through...Barely

2010-08-15T19:46:00.000-07:00

We made it through the first week of school, but we had our rough moments....

The night of their first day of school, they were brushing their teeth, and one of the boys asked conversationally, "So, Mom - what are we going to do tomorrow?" I replied, "Go to school..." and they all looked at me like, "What?!?! You mean we have to go again?" Apparently, I did not do a good job of explaining that school goes on FOREVER...'til you're in your twenties (and for some of us...our thirties).

The second day of school, we asked each of the boys the best and worst thing that happened to them that day. Blurbles responded, "The best thing was that I didn't get sick (he got a little overheated the first day)...and the worst thing was that my teacher turned ______________'s name yellow (for the privacy of the troublemaker, we won't say his name, but it was rather bizarre (most likely he could not understand his name when his friend told it to him - the boys thought the name Ryan was Lion for two years)). Then, I asked Blurbles what his friend did, to which Blurbles replied, "All he did was go, 'bloo,bloo,bloo (imagine a monkey with a mouth full of cactus spines)'..." So, I followed with, "Why did that make you mad?" "Because he's my friend!" Okay, so let me get this straight...by the second day of school, my son has already made friends with the troublemaker who likes to act like a monkey, and to boot - my son feel protective of him and his wrong choices. Great.

The third day of school, the bus didn't come 'til almost the time of school starting, which sent Squeakers through the roof...and I had to fight with Bug all morning to get him in the car to go to preschool.

The fourth day of school, I threw my Bosch beater across the room (into the sink), because it broke (because I wasn't paying attention to how much flour I was putting in). This happened because I had three of the boys trying to throw each other across the room from fighting, and Squeakers was standing at the sliding glass door screaming at the top of his lungs (he couldn't get the door open), and I was trying to finish my dough. TPM had just walked in talking to someone on his cell phone and had his other ear tuned to "mute" - he appeared to have no idea that there were even any children in the house at all (TPM added this detail...I was trying not to blame my inability to handle the chaos on his inability to hear the chaos). It culminated into this chaotic, awful moment. Not my best moment.

The last day of school, Blurbles spent all morning trying to convince me he was too sick to go to school (I can't wait to see what is going to happen in high school - Ferris Bueller part II), and Lil' N came home with a pair of strange shorts on (different than the ones he went to school wearing) with no explanation as to what happened.

And we get to start it all again tomorrow....