A New Definition of Tiny

Long ago, we used to call Sabrina "Tiny." To the point that my cousin Boyd sort of forgot her real name. ("Sabrina? Who's that?" "Tiny." "Oh yeah.") Now I know what tiny really is. Okay, Sabrina was tiny, yes. But...

I took Raiden to his 6-month appointment (on his 7 month birthday. Don't judge me for this. You'll have a chance for judging later on). He has dropped to the 2nd percentile for height and 0.91st for weight. Right, under the 1st percentile. If he'd always been that way, that would be one thing, but he's plateaued in his growth. Three scary words: Failure To Thrive.

It's hard to even write.

Here's the deal. Raiden is cognitively and physically (other than in size, obviously) meeting and exceeding developmental milestones. Crawling by 6 months, tooth at 6 months, currently understanding some words, smiling, happy, sleeping through the night for a while at 2 months, all sorts of wonderful normal-baby things. Why is he tiny?

There are two options. I'm a bad mom and have not given him enough food, or there's something wrong with him. Lose/lose. It's pretty sad when you're hoping you're a bad mom, because that's less scary than the other option. The doctor wants to see him back two weeks from his appointment to check his growth, and has instructed me to stuff him like a Thanksgiving turkey (my words, not his, in his defense). So that's what I've been doing. And offering a lot of prayers that go, "Please, Father, let my baby get fat." I'd be grateful if you'd join me in this particular prayer. That and, "Please let me look back on this time and laugh at how much I overreacted." That's another prayer that seems to fit.

I'm now going to wipe the tears off my keyboard and pray that last prayer again.

On Becoming Unneccessary - or am I?

Today I had a lot of work to do in a relatively short time. Breklyn and I spent the morning working on our mother-in-law's present, so I had two projects to proof and one to type by 4. The kids and I got home from Breklyn's at noon. I gave Raiden a bottle, the kids lunch, put Raiden to bed, and rushed downstairs. I heard some crying, as per usual, and thought I'd need to come up and put Sasha down for a nap soon.

Before I could carry out my daring plan, Sabrina came downstairs by herself. Despite their fighting, the kids generally stay with each other. Sabrina is usually convincing Sasha to play tea party, watch TV, or go outside. I think she enjoys having someone to boss around, just like all oldest children (ahem). I asked Sabrina where Sasha was, and she said he was taking a nap. She had closed the door for him. Hum. Well, okay then. Tying the binkie to the bed really does make life better in all sorts of ways!

On the other hand, Sasha can't pour his own milk yet, so he needs me in the mornings. Phew.

I'm also needed in other ways. For example, Dear Zane has a most admirable goal of keeping the house somewhat humid. To that effect, he boils water on the stove. This works great. Until he loses track of time writing his book, stays up until 3 AM, and forgets about the water. Which has now all turned into steam, the pan is ruined (REALLY ruined), and there is impossible-to-remove black stuff in a 2-inch diameter around the stove coil. Where is my baking soda? I'll need a lot! It's gradually getting better, though. See? What would they do without me?

And, incidentally, happy birthday Sierra, who would have been 23 today. You are missed.

Michaels is not for Children

Yesterday, I needed to go to Michaels for a component of my mother-in-law's gift. Due to time and scheduling constraints, I took all three kids.

Bad mistake. But you knew that already, didn't you?

Sabrina and Sasha were literally rolling on the floor on top of each other. They were (also literally) running in circles around me. They were shrieking, screaming, and laughing. And then, because they were attacking each other with such gusto, they were crying.

Fortunately, the clientele at Michaels is all mothers and grandmothers. One refined looking septuagenarian laughed out loud at the kids' shenanigans. In hindsight, and even at the time, I appreciate her attitude, but I was too busy failing to corral my children, pushing a cart with Raiden in it, and CARRYING my purchase (it was too big to fit in the cart with Raiden even in the kid seat thingy) to truly appreciate the amusing points of my situation.

Anyway, I got out of there with my children intact, if not my sanity. Sabrina got hurt right before we got done, which was no surprise given their style of play, and I couldn't manage to give her a lot of sympathy. The best I could do was not say "See what happens when you are disobedient? Instant punishment! Yay Satan's plan!" But boy was I glad to get out of that store, lock down -- oops, buckle up -- my children, and peel rubber out of there.

Rise up and call him Blessed

If you want to suck up to your wife who can't tell the time and therefore was up until midnight last night, as well as at 5 with the baby, do the following:

Get up when the other kids wake up at the ungodly hour of 7:30 (remember about midnight and 5?).

When the baby wakes up, get up with him. Feed him bananas and a bottle.

Don't get your wife up until 9 (remember midnight and 5?)

And then your wife will rise up and call you blessed.


In other news, Sabrina dug her fingernails into Sasha's face. He was bleeding from one of the four scratch marks on his face. She got a stern talking-to, you'd better believe.

Mama's Boy

Raiden loves me. Not just a little, a lot. It's actually kind of flattering. Neither of my other kids was this attached to me. Sure, I had the milk, but they were happy to hang out with Daddy, at least.

When Zane is holding Raiden and he sees me, Raiden leans at me, pushes at Zane with one arm, and reaches desperately for me with the other. This morning Raiden was fussing and Zane brought him into our bed. He was perfectly happy, then he saw me. He ripped his fingers out of his mouth, squealed, smiled, and tried to wiggle toward me. It was enough to get me out of bed because hey, enthusiasm like that should be rewarded.

The other exciting thing Raiden has been doing is crawling. At 5 months! He's very advanced. Just in the last day he's been truly crawling instead of just getting up on all fours, rocking, falling down, and occasionally lunging forward (at me, naturally).

This talented mama's boy. Him so precious (to quote Big Sister).

Ninety....Eight Percent Boy

Sasha is a boy. For example: both he and Sabrina have one older brother. Sabrina, from time immemorial, has loved pink, princesses, baby dolls, and so on. Sasha makes guns and shoots badguys. He will brandish a stick/tinkertoy/finger at me and say, "I a SUPERHEWO. Kill da badguys. Pchooo pchooo." Sabrina does not make guns sounds.

Sasha is also physical. His default setting is "run," he was kicking a soccer ball before he could really walk, and he pushes his sister for fun. We bought a toy excavator at Costco that Santa will give him, and he held it all the way home. Twactow! he says, as we drive by a construction site.

So his answer when asked what he wanted for Christmas surprised me. "Pwincess bike," he said decisively. Zane was not amused. "How about a Diego bike?" Zane riposted. Frankly, Sasha's favorite show is Dora, so how about that?

On second thought, though, maybe I shouldn't be surprised. The first color Sasha learned was pink, and he always wants his fingernails and toenails painted. Having an older sister certainly has influenced him! Based on his other attributes, though, I'm convinced Sasha is simply secure in his masculinity and thinks painted fingernails looks tough.

Sick is Gross

Last night, looking distressed, Sabrina ran up to me. And proceeded to throw up on me three times. Poor baby. And also, gross. She had also thrown up on the stairs.

So, I cleaned up everything. Then I gave her some juice. After all, she'd also had diarrhea (she came running in: "I had diawwea!") and I was worried about dehydration and stuff. I put her to bed with a throw up bowl.

Then she threw up again. Pink throwup this time, since after four good vomits she only had juice in her stomach. Okay. Clean that up.

Because I had not learned, I was doomed to repeat my mistake. Here's some water, sweetie. Drink it slow. Annnnnd, more vomit. This time clear. Just stomach acid and water. Despite Sabrina's complaints about being thirsty, I denied her water. Which of you, if your daughter is thirsty, will give her a stone? Me, apparently.

Well, she threw up once more in the night, but she's better this morning. A six-hour flu. And while being a mom has its less glamorous moments, having her snuggled up beside me sure makes me happy.

Primary Program

Sabrina's first Primary program was the last Sunday in October. A few observations for your pleasure.

1. My daughter is the cutest child in the world. Hers was the first part of the Sunbeams. She said, "Jesus once was a wittow chiowd," with perfect poise. The next little girl said, with perfect diction, "A little child like me." Well, so what? Wittow chiowd is adorable!

2. When you have 11 o'clock church and Sacrament Meeting last, you should have treats for the kids before the program. Sabrina was perfect the first hour of church (practice), a little distracted by the second hour (practice), a full-on done by the third hour (performance). It's sad, because in the practice session she really knew the songs and actions, but she was Just. Done. Sugar would have gone a long way to making her more attentive.

3. 11 is way too old to do a program with 3-year-olds. That is all.

4. I'm going to love Primary programs for the next 11 years. Then they will get boring again unless I'm in the Primary or have grandchildren in Primary. That had better not happen for at least another 25 years or so (they have to be at least 3 to be in Primary, after all). I'd better enjoy it while I can!

Post-Baby Weight Loss

Right after Raiden was born, I lost 20 pounds. Then, for the next 3 1/2 months, I lost nothing. Zero. Not an ounce. Now, I know I just had a baby, but that baby is now five months old. Too long to be up 20 pounds from before I got pregnant with him and 25 from when I got pregnant with Sabrina. I reject being fat!

In my almost four months of pretending that this weight was just going to disappear, I've realized why so many fat people dress badly. It's because they don't want to buy jeans with that big number on them. "No," they tell themselves, "I'll be back in those pre-baby jeans soon. I'll just wear sweats until then. Where's the ice cream?" Apparently, this weight ain't gonna disappear that way this time.

Way back about 13 years ago, when I lived in Alabama, I ate lunch with about four women who, by the end of the year, were all on Weight Watchers. Because apparently people on Weight Watchers can only think and talk about food, I became very conversant in Weight Watchers' method. Here is is:

By some mysterious formula, you figure out how many "points" you get to eat every day. You then do some incomprehensible thing to assign the aforementioned "points" to food, making sure not to eat more than you are allowed. Got it?

Based on the internet (where everything you read is true), you get to eat about 25-30 points per day if you are me, because I am breastfeeding. Points for food are assigned thusly: 1 point per 50 calories, plus one point for 12 grams of fat, minus one point for 5 grams of fiber.

I know Weight Watchers' success is built mostly on meetings and stuff, but I think my brain just needed to say to my body, "You're eating how much of what?" My mom does this automatically. She sees a pound cake that is 800 calories a slice (this is a real number), and says, "Get behind me, spawn of Satan!" Apparently, I have to say, "Okay, 800 calories is (mumble mumble) SIXTEEN POINTS?! GET BEHIND ME, SPAWN OF SATAN!!!!" Once I have a budget I can do it, but otherwise I'm all, "800 calories? Whatevs." Which is why my 25 pounds have remained firmly attached to my thighs, apparently.

Now, I'm not getting all anorexic, because food, yum. And I'm not getting all bulimic, because, duh. But I am getting back in those pre-baby jeans, dangit!

Halloween Cookies

Back when I was a girl, we'd head over to the Larson household every pre-Halloween, where Dean, the dad of my best friend Maren, would have made homemade root beer with dry ice, sugar cookies galore, frosting, and have bought candy. We'd spend what felt like hours decorating the Halloween cookies. Ah, good times...

In the spirit of things, I thought I'd do the same for my kids. Now, they're too young to really get into it, so I decided not to invite friends over for another year or two. While Sasha napped, Sabrina and I made the sugar cookie dough. Then, when Sasha got up, we went to the store to get Halloween cookie cutters and candy.

Snag 1: no Halloween cookie cutters. Sold out yesterday. Fine. Juuuuuust fine. We therefore made vampire bunnies (Bunnicula), fat bats, fairies, and rotund spies. Because I DO have Easter bunnies and butterflies, and Christmas angels and snowmen. Don't laugh.

Snag 2: Sasha is too young. I frosted him one cookie, which he promptly took a bite out of despite my "Put candy on it!" speech. He then ate a ton of candy and licked the spoon of frosting.

Snag 3: Sabrina is too young. Oh, she can frost cookies and put 18,227 pieces of candy on each one, but after 6 cookies she was done. Done with a capital D. That left approximately 87,926 cookies left to decorate. I did a credible job with the first half, but the last 10 (that's a real number this time) got slathered in frosting and had random candy dumped on them. They're good, at least.

Snag 4: Raiden screamed the whole time. That is all.

Still, it was a fun time, in theory and (more importantly) in memory. Happy Halloween!

In Which we go to Manila

Do you know where Manila is? Me either, and I've been there. Wait...Okay I checked a map. It's at the very northern part of eastern Utah, right inside Wyoming at the cut-out part of the Utah. To get there from Ogden, you drive into Wyoming, then out of Wyoming, and there you are.

Manila has one street, access to Flaming Gorge, three hotels, and (most importantly for our discussion here) one courthouse that is open once a month. Zane had a client who needed his services there, so we made a mini vacation out of it.

Zane called me up at about 3:30 and asked if I wanted to go on a trip to Manila. My first response, of course, was "no," and maybe even "hell, no!" if I were the swearing type. My reasons were these: I didn't want to. My day the next day was planned! Cleaning, going to Victoria's house. HOW COULD I CHANGE THESE PLANS, DAMMIT?

So, after being all reluctant, I put off the decision. Then I got used to the idea and remembered it would make Zane happy and I could be okay with not cleaning on Friday. So, we left at 6 and arrived at the swarming metropolis of Manila at about 9.

After Zane took 23 minutes (I timed it) to check in from a very thorough and friendly owner, we established ourselves in the swankiest hotel room in Manila. I know this doesn't sound like real praise, but this was a NICE place. It was a suite with super plush towels, soft bedspreads, and a sign that said "No gutting fish on property. $500 fine." Well, there are always spoilsports.

I made up a bed for Sasha on the floor, because I guarantee he would've fallen out of that very high bed. Raiden got the hideabed, and Sabrina got a queen-sized all to herself. So she curled up into a tiny ball and went to sleep.

The next day went as expected. Zane's "hour max" hearing went for three and I waited for him in the car, since the Manila park had three swings and a broken teeteer-totter and we had to leave our nice hotel room with Direct TV by 10, right when the hearing started. Still, it was a nice family outing to a place I've never been before. Anyone else want to go? (crickets)

Trianglation, Manipulation, and other Ations

Normally I don't do pissy posts. That's because a) mostly I write about my kids, and b) I don't want to make people mad. BUT I AM MAD, DARN IT! Phew.

So, here's the deal. She Who Shall Remain Nameless is a tattletale. She called my mother-in-law to tell tales on Zane. (See that? Triangulation.) MIL, for whatever reason, decides to call Zane up and yell at him without getting his side. Meanwhile, Zane and I are in the middle of an epic fight. We're in the not-talking-to-each-other stage, so he's free to have his ear chewed off. Nice night for him, right? Result? We did not see Spencer for almost two months.

Now, could Zane have been more of a grownup? Sure. He could have gone to Spencer's soccer games, which he did not. I wasn't sorry, since there are two a week, sometimes as far away as Lehi. It's really tough not having Zane around, and it's hard to drag three kids to the games, even the closer ones. But he should have gone.

Anyway, this had gone on long enough. We all knew how it would end, too. Spencer would come over and regular visitation would resume. The end. It was getting stupid. So I texted SWSRN and told her I would pick Spencer up at 5 today. Naturally (because she's a triangulater) She texts ZANE about this. Whatever.

So, I got to their house today. SWSRN's husband opened the door, and Spencer was right there, practically catapulting out to the car. Everything was fine, casual. Chat about school, soccer, whatevs.

Here's the icing: SWSRN has been pretending she's been all encouraging of Spencer to come here. Well, Sabrina and SWSRN's younger son play in the same soccer league. Until the blowup, Spencer came to their games. After, SWSRN wouldn't let him come! Spencer told Zane he wanted to come, but wasn't allowed! How do you like them apples?

Needless to say, I'm irritated. This is crap,and can't happen again. Next time, I'm playing dirty. Yeah yeah, when you roll in the mud you both get dirty and the pig likes it. It might be an interesting experience to be a jerk instead of hoping we can all get along. Because apparently? We can't.

Happy Birthday to Me!

Saturday was my birthday. I'm now old enough to be President! I guess that likely won't happen this year, but a vast write-in campaign...nah. I'm pretty busy this year with three (count 'em!) kids 4 and under. Still, it's nice to know it's possible.

I'm feeling more and more like a grownup. It's not always true. Sometimes it's hard to believe "mom" is ME. Sometimes I realize I need to be the grownup when dealing with my kids, because geez, I am the grownup. I can't cry when the 2-year-old screams at me, or ignore the crying at 3 am, or yell at the 4-year-old who makes more messes than she's willing to clean up by a 10,496 to 1 margin. Still, I have more and more confidence that I can deal with the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.

Still, sometimes I want to scream and yell. Raiden's so cute I'm usually not too tempted to ignore him at 3 am.

The birthday itself was nice. Sabrina had a soccer game, after which we ran a few errands and went to Mom's house. Zane had several presents for me, almost all bought at least a week ahead of time! Go Zane! He bought a hair drier for me the day of my birthday, which is nice since mine gave up the ghost, but he already had super sexy shoes (he's a good shoe buyer) and a kitchen scale so my bread loaves can be the same size. I'm bad at making stuff like that even. It won't be worth it for cookies, but will for bread.

Also, Facebook is awesome on your birthday! Everyone's like, oh hey, good time to reconnect! Happy birthday! Plus a bunch of nice emails from good friends...I love you all!

Birthdays. Good times.

Heck, Darn, Shoot, and other Swears

Remember my three angelic children, who sleep through the night? They are ALL MISSING!

Let's start with the most forgivable, the youngest, and work our way up, shall we? Raiden has just learned a new trick, rolling over from back to front. Weird, right? You'd think the other way would be easier, because you have your arms to push you. He's rolling over, getting stuck, getting his arms through his crib bars, smashing his face into a blanket fold, whatever. I've heard that when kids learn a new physical trick, their sleeping can be affected. They can get stuck in a sitting or standing position (HINT: use gravity) and not be able to get back to sleep. I'm hoping he'll be back to good sleep soon. He woke up three times last night.

Sasha woke up twice. He's a little sick with a cough, so he coughed out his binkie, couldn't find it, and cried, "Binkie. Biiiiinnnnnkkiiiieeeee. Binkieeeeee." Once Zane was up and found it, and the other time I had to turn on the light to find it under his bed. Sigh.

Next, Sabrina. She was only up once, but came into our room holding her pillow. I knew what she wanted. I pulled a blanket onto the floor, blindly searched in the linen closet for another one, and she slept on our floor for the rest of the night.

ZANE was up around four times. Now, I didn't have to find his blankie or anything, but every time he got up, I woke up. Especially since I was sleeping lightly anyway, with the kids' troubles. Why couldn't he have timed his desperate need for a drink with one of the kids getting up (more than once, anyway)? The mysteries moms want to know.

Overall, I was up three times between 11 and 2, then from about 3 until 4:30 I just dozed, since I was too certain I'd have to get up again soon to go back to sleep. And I was right! Then I slept until 8:45, thanks to everyone else having a restless night's sleep as well, plus Zane getting up around 8:30. I have one thing to say about that: Thank goodness I didn't have to get up at 6:00 to teach school! I'm sure my prospective students would agree with me.

Drinking Game

I don't drink. That is, I drink milk, water, and the occasional root beer. Not alcohol. However, I thought it would be fun to create a drinking game for the foreign policy Presidential debates. Take a drink if... Romney says: Libya, nuclear, Chavez, China. Obama says: Osama bin Laden, Afghanistan, Osama bin Laden. Either that, or create your own Bingo card! Winner gets to choose a red or blue cup from 7-11!

Ahhhh...

The other day, I "borrowed" Mom's carpet cleaner. No, I didn't ask. She's in India, what do you want me to do? WAIT? But I want to clean my carpets NOW!

I have two colors of carpets upstairs, cream and green. Guess which carpet the dog likes to pee on? You'd think that since we have a DOG DOOR the stupid dog could go outside when she needs to pee, but no, the carpet is too soft underfoot. Oh, and we also have children.

It wasn't a "move all the furniture, Mabel! Carpet cleaner's a-comin'!" type cleaning. No, I just did the TV room, hall, inside the bedroom doors (dog-pee central) and the living room from the hall to the TV room. It was really quite awesome, although it didn't get all the stains. Fortunately, I also got some spot-cleaner.

And speaking of getting stuff, what is about Target that turns my children into screaming, tantruming hooligans? Except Raiden, of course, who is perfect and calmly waited out his siblings' wildness. It wasn't lunch time, nap time, or any other easily explained time. I think I have the answer, though. The devil lives at Target.

296.01

Why is 2 such a Bipolar age? This morning, Sasha came into my room at 7:30 (Zane had to leave before 7 this morning, so it was just me) and snuggled for 15 minutes. For him, granted, "snuggling" means turn over, stand up, look out the window, fall down into my head, get under the covers, adjust the covers, get out of the covers, get in the covers, etc. Still, so sweet. Smiles, loves, totally manic. Well, maybe hypomanic. Then, a half hour later, he's screaming, hitting, and throwing a tantrum. Depression! What brought on this tantrum? Well, I don't know. Maybe Sabrina moved the chair with his blanket on it, or he said her stuffed animal was his and she said "no mine," or maybe Sabrina was sitting close to me and he wanted to. Right now, he's upside down kicking his feet in the air. He's wearing his super...hero shirt, and just kicked me in the head. He said, "Sowwwy, Mom," and turned right-side up. I don't trust it. At any time he could turn into a wild, screeching version of 2. What if I give him the wrong shoes? Being a mom is hard. It's not that I don't love it (especially during the hypomanic phases), but when I have to play the "AAAA" game to deal with Sasha's tantrums (that's when he scream, so I scream, so he screams, and eventually he's smiling), it's hard. Although the pouty, fold arms, run to couch and stick out lip part is pretty darn cute.

Islam and Freedom of Speech

I've been engaged in a brief internet conversation with a Muslim who calls himself ALAA A. He claims to be an Egyptian who defends the riots that are happening in the Middle East in part as a response to the 14 minute YouTube video no one has actually seen. Our first comments were more flippant, but here is his last comment, and my response. This whole situation sucks, but I still think freedom of speech trumps people being offended. As I have realized this week, this is a very American point of view. It's the best point of view, though. I'm comfortable saying that, although there are definite disadvantages. Not for me the relativity of culture. Ours is better, and I don't say that with any joking or sarcasm. Where else would you want to live? If you have a serious answer of somewhere else, you just haven't lived there. "Molly, what do you want me to say? you guys only hear your own voice so, in order to hear our voice we should kill one of you. then you will ask, why that one killed and then you hear us. We are the product of you dream to control the world." ALAA A, it is sad to me that this is your point of view. Here's the problem: We believe, more than any other country, that speech is allowed. Western European countries may censor hate speech and Holocaust denial, but we do not. What I do not think you understand is that in the US, we believe if you are offended by speech, that is your problem. That does NOT mean the government of the US is complicit or agrees with the things it cannot censor. In fact, I'm sure they wish this and all other hate speech would disappear. As do I. But in our country, you cannot prohibit speech, even if it is very offensive to another. On the other hand, my understanding is that the maker of the video is a Coptic Christian. I'm sure you can understand that, after the abuses his people have suffered in Egypt over the past few months, he is not feeling friendly toward Islam. He lashed out in what he knew would be a hurtful way, and Muslims responded with violence and murder. This response is not going to make Americans at all sympathetic to Muslims, or willing to listen. What is your true goal in the murder of innocents? (I say "your," not accusing you personally of anything, but as you defended the murders, I attribute your sympathies to them.) If your goal is to get us to listen through these riots and murders, it will fail. It will make us more Islamophobic, more willing to write off all 1.5 billion Muslims as crazy fanatics who are willing to kill over what we see as the unimportant work of one angry and impotent filmmaker. If you engage in a discussion with us about why this is offensive, some people will still do it, but others will be genuinely curious of the beauty that your culture and religion has to offer. Again, what is your true goal? As they say, an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.

Sasha's Birthday

Emily's good for me -- she peer pressures me to get posts up in a timely fashion.

Sasha is 2 today. It was almost exactly two years ago this hour that my doctor told me a c-section was in my future, and as the anesthesiologist said, I "comported myself well." He was born a giant, honkin' baby at 9 lb. 2 oz. and perfect.

Sasha has recently become a good playmate for Sabrina, although he tends to hit more often than anyone would like. He's still struggling a little to deal with a new baby brother, but he adores baby Raiden, and still calls him "Jemonis" at times. He frequently demands "hold him" and squeals with delight when Raiden smiles adoringly at him.

Sasha's talking is very strong, and he has recently began longer sentences, four and more words. He's also working on more complex thoughts than "Daddy's boots," and working on "Be...right back," and "Sabrina bit me." Fortunately, she didn't break the skin.

Sasha has been asking for a lot of snuggling at bed time. He says, "Sleep with me" and wants me to lie down with him in his tiny toddler bed. I usually manage to lie down for a few minutes, balancing myself on the mattress without making it fall between the bars. It's nice, because he is usually so full of energy that he doesn't want to stay still, and I just love to hold his little body!

We had family over for his birthday, and received some recycled toys from cousins (genius! I love all hand-me-downs), a Hot Wheels bath toy, and the piece de resistance, the stick horse and cowboy hat. Zane said "I know what Sasha's going to be for Halloween!" I just need to buy him some jeans. What American kid doesn't have jeans?

Sasha, I love you. You are my sweet boy, and I'm so glad you are my son.

Raiden's Blessing

Last Sunday was Raiden's blessing, and I have been very delinquent in doing an "all about Raiden" post. And there is so much to say for a 3-month-old!

First, I always hated it when people talked about how SPECIAL and AWESOME their baby was because he slept through the night, because I always thought they were bragging on their own awesomeness. I mean, let's face it, babies mostly wake up in the night. A lot. And mostly, there's nothing you can do until they're 6 months old, or more.

My baby sleeps through the night.

But it's not my awesomeness, it's his. Raiden started doing this magical sleeping thing at about 2 months old, and I really didn't tell anyone for a week or so, because it seemed like it MUST be a fluke. Then I was cautiously telling people, and heck, now I'm posting it for the world to see! Truth: he sucks the two middle fingers of his left hand, so he self-soothes. This is why he sleeps through the night. This may be a problem later, because although you can cut the tip off a binkie or throw it away, neither of these are practical options if you want your kid to stop sucking his fingers. Still, maybe he'll be like my brother, Benn, who sucked his thumb and gave it up on his own at 6. He is rumored to have said, "Mom, I didn't suck my thumb at all today, and I only licked it twice!" May I have such a child. Still, not being sleep deprived (comparatively speaking) for these months is GREAT.

So, Raiden's blessing was very nice. Dad wasn't able to be there, because the next time he was a) home on Sunday and b) we had regular church (no Stake Conference, General Conference, temple dedication, primary program), Raiden would have a joint baptism/blessing. This was sad. Still, it was a nice time with hamburgers and special brownies for all. Now when I say "special," you must understand that this was a Mormon event, and for Mormons, Ghiradelli brownies with mint frosting are SPECIAL. SUGAR IS NOT MENTIONED IN THE WORD OF WISDOM!

Here is the text, more or less, of the blessing. I didn't hear any of it except the part about a good relationship with me, because the second the blessing started, Sasha ran up to the front and I had to bribe him to be quiet with Zane's phone. These sorts of events are not conducive to listening in church, even to your own child's blessing. Thank goodness for Mom and her dictaphone! Sadly, the screams of Sasha and a few other kids drowned out a few words, so I've done the best I could.

Our dear Heavenly Father, by the power of the Melchizedek priesthood, I give this child a name and a blessing. The name by which he will be called is Raiden Zane Froerer. I bless you that you will feel Heavenly Father’s spirit and feel his calling, that it will lead you back to him. I bless you that you will love to serve others, serve your family, serve those around you, and serve those to whom you are guided. You will serve them physically with your labor, and with your heart. I bless you that you will have a testimony of the gospel and that you will use that testimony to bless your family and through your family you will bless others. I bless you with health and strength and a sound mind, and that you will be able to come to church and for the benefit of others be able to find your own path, lighten your own way, to express Heavenly Father’s will. And I bless you that will have a good relationship with your mother and father and enjoy the company of your brothers and sisters, and that those around you will enjoy your company as well. I bless you that in your endeavors, both in school and in work, that as you have faith in your Heavenly Father, and as you turn to your Savior for guidance and for salvation, you will find success. I say these things in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Sasha

I figure it's only fair to do an All About Sasha post.

Sasha doesn't currently have any new stuff going on that's outside of himself. He is, however, having a lot of internal changes. First, he's really mastering the three-word sentence, and even four worders are coming out of him. Take last night. 3:47 AM. "Mom! Mom! Mooooommmm!" I stumble into his room. Then he says, "Mom! Binkie! I found it!" and rolled over and went back to sleep. Great. Glad I got up for that newsflash. Still, despite my drowsy state, I was a little prideful about his advanced sentence construction.

Sasha is also having a much easier time lately with Raiden's existence. It was hard for a while, although he was always completely sweet and loving to him. He's down to about two tantrums a day, a vast improvement. Usually he just needs food or sleep.

Speaking of Raiden, Sasha asks every day to "hold him." Then he smiles at his little brother as his head lies on Sasha's lap. He will also get right in Raiden's face and says, "Hi, Rai-den." So pre-cious.

Sasha also loves nursery. He runs right in (he never walks anywhere, it's always full speed ahead) to play with the kitchen or cars. He's a friendly little guy who isn't afraid of much. Plus, he's so cute! Check it:

(Okay, it's an older picture, but dang, he's CUTE!)

All About Sabrina

There are just some kids who just shouldn't play soccer. You know who they are, they're the flower pickers, the kids who are so busy with dandelions that they forget there's a ball on the field. Zane and I call them the "flower pickers." Yes, that is a creative name. Anyway, Zane and Sabrina were practicing soccer in the backyard a couple days ago, and as she was running to the ball, she pointed to the ground and said matter-of-factly, "I need to pick that flower." I was laughing so hard I was crying.

Sabrina started preschool today. I have no idea how it went. She happily went right in and downstairs with the other kids before I could even say goodbye. When I got there to pick her up, she just about cried (We don't need to cry, Sabrina) because I was 10 minutes early and they were playing I Spy. I could wait, I told her, and the tears went away. At the same time, she refused to put on her seatbelt, fought with Sasha the second we got home, and threw a tantrum when I pulled her out of her room so Sasha could take a nap. So, she has fun but is also stressed with the change to being a big girl? I think so. She also woke up in the night, which I attribute to the same thing.

Next week Sabrina also starts preschool tumbling. She already likes to pose in the front room (Mom! Look at me!), and I made her a ribbon stick like in the rhythmic gymnastics in the Olympics, and she's getting really good (Mom! Watch my dance!) at swirling it around without stepping on it. Basically, she's getting to be her own little person, and it's scaring us both!

A week without

For the past week, Zane, Sabrina, and Spencer have been in Lake Powell. Not wanting to be home alone, I stayed at my parents' house from Saturday until Wednesday. Here are some random thoughts.

Sasha sleeps better in his own bed. Two nights he insisted on sleeping with me instead of on a bed of his own. Both nights he fell out of the bed onto strategically placed pillows, where he remained for the rest of the night. Sadly, he woke up early due to his position on the floor.

My parents have easy-open doors. Sasha learned to open them. Sasha can now open doors here. Goodbye, nap. (sob)

Raiden sleeps through the night wherever. Just give him his hands to suck on, and he's good. Love that boy.

Although I like having my own house and all, there are benefits to living with your mom and dad. For example, home-cooked meals I didn't have to cook, free entry on a grandparent season pass to the zoo, a one-to-one ratio of kids to grownups at the zoo (no Sabrina + no Zane + one grandpa = yay!), and more adoring adults to love my kids.

I have sort of felt like I was on vacation as well, what with Sabrina gone and Zane on vacation. I really need to establish my own identity, or something. But I have not wanted to clean or do other work-like stuff since I've been home. I have, though. Props to me. (BTW, "props" is short for "proper respect." Yeah, I didn't know that either.)

With luck, Zane will be home in a few hours. The house is clean, Spencer's bed is set up (for the THIRD TIME. I TOLD YOU SO), and I'm all ready to do laundry. I miss my family.

Olympics

Thought this post was going to be about the London 2012 Olympics, right? Well, they have been very exciting, and I don't care what people say, I'm all about Oosa pride. I even taught Sasha to say "Go oosa." I tried "Go USA" at first, but he didn't really get it. He's only to 3-word sentences now, so it was too much. And I've been following Gabby Douglas a lot too. She trains at the same gym Karen, my sister-in-law, occasionally works at, so I feel all connected with her. And also, every time we pull away from China in overall medal count, I get all excited. I mean, do you know how many national resources they put into beating us? And yet, we totally hang with them. Except in diving, where they are freaking amazing. And table tennis and badminton. But whatever. We win at volleyball.

Regardless of the previous paragraph, I've been depressed about our Froerer Family Olympics. These are an annual tradition at the Froerer Family Compound. Since I've had three kids in 3 years and 10 months, I've been pregnant for two of these Olympics, and then this one, 8 weeks postpartum. When I was pregnant, I was okay with being the slowest runner, the most awkward jumper, whatever. I also was okay with winning the soccer kick and (most importantly) the dessert competition.

This year, I was feeling good enough, recovered enough, to not be okay with any of these things. I didn't even take part in the situp competition, and a good thing too. That night, I tried do do some. Eight. And that was with severe cheating. My abs didn't burn and ache, they just DIDN'T EXIST. They weren't there. "But Molly," one might say, "you had just had your abs stretched out and CUT IN HALF. It's okay." Yeah. But I'm not that girl. I'm not the girl who can't do nine situps. I reject that girl.

In that spirit, I've been doing situps every day. I'm up to 35! More than my age (barely). I've also started exercising every day on our former clothes rack, the exercise machine. I'm still plateauing with my weight, but whatever. I'm getting sweaty almost every day, and soon the weight will come off. You hear me, weight? You're coming off! And next year? I'm totally kicking everybody's butt in situps. Even Karen. (fingers crossed)

Candy's Wedding

So, Candy got married to Ben on Saturday with the reception the night before. A good way to do it, I think. Then you're not so tired for the wedding night!

The reception was really nice. But that girl does not mess around with her wedding colors! (Wedding colors always make me think of Steel Magnolias: "My colahs ah blush and bashful." "Yoah colahs ah pink and pink.") Her colors were pink, teal, and purple. There was a candy table with candy of those colors, streamers and ribbons in those colors, and a purple chocolate fountain. Ben is a good sport.

The wedding was at the Bountiful temple. With Salt Lake closed for 7 (seven!) weeks and Ogden being remodeled, there were approximately 64,000 weddings at Bountiful. Still, it was very nice. I found out Ben's full name is Benjamin Joseph Alexander Neals (sp?) Nicholls. Whoa. Also, MY brother's name is Benjamin Joseph, and my son's name technically is Alexander. Double whoa.

Ben was very sweet at the ceremony, and sadly most of us are sympathetic criers. Good thing I had waterproof mascara. However, I was a little bugged by the sealer. He gave a talk at the beginning, and that's just what it was. It was totally a memorized, rote speech. Not really what you want at a wedding. Well, not really what I want. Fortunately, Uncle Don sealed me and Zane, so I got personal, loving advice. "Candace and Benjamin" didn't, so much. Also, there was so much talk about children! What if they have trouble getting pregnant? Or want to wait a few years? And (not to complain too much), the sealer was very traditionalist, talking about the joy that Ben will have bringing forth his lovely wife in the resurrection, just like he (the sealer) will do for his wife and sons. But not his daughters. THEY will be resurrected by their husbands. It all felt very "women are property-ish" to me.

The wedding dinner, however, was nothing less than stellar. The tables were all set up as African animals, as Ben is from Zimbabwe. Or "Zimb." So, there was the baboon table, giraffe table, zebra table, and so on. We all got a little zebra or giraffe key chain, handmade from wire and beads. The food was great, the company was great, and the speeches made everyone cry. What more could we ask for? Just that Karen did not have to leave right after it.

Congratulations Candy and Ben! Welcome to the family, BJANN.

Happy Birthday Baby Girl

Four years ago today, Sabrina came into the world. For the previous nine months, I had controlled what went into her, what she heard, what she felt. I've heard children have a hard time differentiating themselves from their parents until they're about 2, but it was the other way with me. I could not tell a difference between us. When she had a milk sensitivity, I was confused. We love milk!

Now, I know we're different people. (For one thing, I was never that snotty at 4, I'm sure.) But that doesn't mean I truly feel separate from her. Someone tells her they won't play with her? My heart breaks in two. She cries because Daddy is making her eat her noodles? I want to hold her and tell her she only has to eat one half of a noodle. She is afraid of the water? Just let me hold you. Don't be scared. I know I can't give into these impulses, but I feel her pain like mine.

Of course, there's the other side, too. She goes down the water slide? My heart bursts with pride. Her squealing delight at successfully completing Fruit Ninja on the Xbox Kinect makes me laugh out loud. "Mom, I DID it!" when she sounds out mmmmm and sssss is so unbelievably joyful.

I don't want to be the mom that makes her children think it's their job to make her happy. It's not. It's my job to be happy. But dang, girl. You make it easy.

Happy birthday baby girl. I'm so glad you're my daughter.

Family Reunion

A few weeks ago, we went to a Sargent family reunion in Washington. (We were near Forks, but we didn't see any vampires. Probably because it was miracle weather with sunny skies every day. Not common, I understand.) It was great in almost every way.

It was great because the setting was amazing, the beach was fun, and the food was great. It was fun to have Mom and Dad there to take the older kids, especially. With a newborn, it was nice to have some other grownups delighted to take my kids. Who am I kidding? It's ALWAYS nice to have grandma and grandpa around to spoil my kids! I also loved the airshow Uncle Wayne did, seeing Amanda in her helicopter, and watching the little kids.

It was also really great to see all my family that I haven't seen in years. Here's the problem: I wanted to hear more about Uncle Jerry's new business, Aunt Gay and Uncle Peter's new stores, my cousin's new jobs and kids and houses, and sit and visit with all the aunties (and Uncle Dale, honorary auntie). Sadly, I had kids with unreasonable demands, like wanting dinner. It meant I just didn't get to have the same reunion as my childhood: playing on Grandpa's hay, making tiny dollhouses, doing talent shows, making capes (i.e. having a cape made for me), and so on. Those were the days, my friend.

Random Catch up

I know it's been awhile since I've posted last. There are two reasons for this. 1) I have a new baby, which probably should actually make me post more, and 2) I've been depressed sad. I guess "depressed" is a loaded term in our family! I don't think I diagnosable, just feeling like I have a mountain to climb. It turns out our car was totaled, because it's all aluminum. Why does that matter? I'm so glad you asked! Turns out, you have to have a whole different, specially-designated set of tools for all-aluminum cars. So, instead of $45/hour for repairing the little car, it was $125/hr. Well, that took the car from being repairable to being, well, not.

So, Zane went car shopping. I tried to abdicate responsibility completely, but he forced me to voice my opinion, which was mostly "that sounds fine," or "that's maybe more than we wanted to spend." He ended up with a Mini (precious!) with only about 90,000 miles, which is considerably less than our poor totaled Insight. However, the day (THE DAY) we got it, the power steering went out. $1,000. See why I've been depressed sad?

Add that money issue to this one: Zane has too many clients who think they have a right to free legal care. Newsflash: that only applies to criminal cases, and then guess what? The attorney STILL GETS PAID. By taxpayers. The attorney DOES NOT WORK FOR FREE!!!!! Stupid non-payers of their legal bills. It's stressful to own your own business.

In happier news, Raiden is still being called Jemonis by his big brother and sister. He's sleeping better, or maybe I just can't find the baby monitor. Whichever. He only woke up once the last two nights, which does not suck, and might be why I feel like I have the energy to blog this morning!

Sabrina and Sasha are gradually getting used to having a baby. They've always been perfect with Raiden, but Sasha has bled a couple of times from Sabrina's fingernails, and Sabrina's done her share of crying about being hit. I think they're getting better.

The final happy news (for now) is that my sister-in-law Karen is here! She lives in Iowa, where Austin goes to medical school, which is too far away for regular visits. My kids are loving playing with her five kids, and I'm loving talking with her and watching her do fancy gymnastics tricks. By the way, have you ever been up close and personal when a real gymnast is doing tricks? Whoa. They are real athletes, which you don't realize as much when you see them wearing sparkles and hugging each other after a routine. Between the sparkles and the hugs? Some serious strength and athleticism going on there.

So, that's most of the last month. Upcoming: The vacation to Washington!

Friday (every day) night fights

Sabrina and Sasha are both SO CUTE with Raiden. Some comments from Sabrina: "He is so precious," "Oh, little guy," "He so cute." Also, when I went to put Raiden to bed last night, I found his bassinet already taken -- by a baby doll, covered by a burp cloth. She also drove her doll in a stroller to the "car," where a car seat was waiting for the doll to be transferred.

Sasha's language is less developed, of course, but he will pet Raiden's little head and say "Monis." For Jemonis, of course, which both kids insist on continuing to call him.

Right now, Sabrina and Sasha are giggling and playing together. I give it three minutes before one of them is crying. Either that, or they'll wait until I am feeding Raiden, at which time they will start hitting each other. They have this instinctive sense of when they can render me the most impotent, **crying** and take advantage. I confess I've done a version of "wait until your father gets home," but that also renders me powerless.

I know their fighting is just a way of getting my attention in this new world of precious little guys. I'm trying to give them positive attention, I really am. Mom is also **crying!** coming up a lot to give special attention to the two depraved deprived ones. **more crying -- ooh, and hitting!** It really does work, although Grandma is now their favorite person on the planet. **lotsa crying** I wish she were here now.

Lagoon, take 2

Last year, I took Sabrina to Lagoon. She positively sobbed in terror going on the boats. Y'know the boats? Where six boats get pulled in a very slow circle in very shallow water? Thanks to her cousin Kellen, she managed to not jump out of the boats. That and a seat belt that needed a key to unlock.

This year, in hopes of not repeating this particular scene, I told Sabrina how fun it would be, but also how she needed to help Sasha not be scared. I think it was natural for her to not be scared of the boats this time, just because they're not scary, but it was more than that. Zane took them to some insane spaceship ride that was really fast and spinny, and frankly, I kind of worried about how they'd do. Sabrina held really tight to Sasha so he wouldn't be scared (or because she was scared, not sure which), but then wanted to go on it again! She also went on the planes, and also Puff, the kiddie roller coaster, with Zane. Puff was the least successful, but after the first go-round, in which she tried to become one with Zane, she even seemed to be having fun. Sasha was less scared, but he was also sort of comatose-looking due to it being way past his bedtime.

Now, although Lagoon is no Disneyland, there are compensations. For instance, we didn't have to wait 1 1/2 hours for any ride. Kiddie land has some really good rides for the Sasha and Sabrina crowd, and Lagoon-A-Beach is a fun water park. Here's where Lagoon is not as good as Disneyland: the happiest place on earth can pay a pittance for smiling peon to make sure your kid is buckled into the whales. Lagoon cannot. They get slow, apathetic teenagers who don't CARE that you've been waiting for 10 minutes just for the d*mn boats to get loaded! I mean, really, get a move on! The ride is only 6 boats, 12 kids MAX, and you're taking 10 minutes to load the boats, 5 to get them unloaded, and 3 for the actual ride. Move it!

Other than that, it was a very successful outing.

Perfection?

Well, it's official. Barring a miracle (or not getting on BC fast enough), our family is complete. I feel really lucky. All of my children have the following areas of perfection: 1. No colic (is it too soon to be sure of this, with only a 1 1/2 week old? Maybe. But he hardly cries at all.) 2. No sensory issues 3. No sticky-outy ears 4. Circumcisions are okay -- I was pretty sure this would be the case, but there are too many TV shows about boys that had to be raised as girls for me to be blase about it 5. No NICU 6. No developmental delays so far (again, Raiden is pretty young for me to be satisfied that there won't be ANY developmental delays, but he's a very advanced 10-day-old) 7. No torticollis (flat head) 8. Good sleeping habits (for a 10-day-old, that's still getting up 3 times at night, but 3 times ain't too bad!) 9. Very rare bathtub pooping 10. Very little spitup 11. Good nursers I do have one complaint, though. Sasha was never a peer, meaning he never peed on me when I changed his diaper. Raiden, though, has peed on me three times so far. The first time, I was so surprised I didn't react quickly, which meant a complete change of clothing for both Raiden and me, as well as a new blanket and cleaning the carpet. I've been ready for him the other times, so it's just been my hand that got it. Still, I was hoping to avoid this little problem. I now get to worry about the following things (NOT AN EXHAUSTIVE LIST) 1. People being mean to them 2. Them being mean to people 3. Bipolar Disorder 4. Never learning how to read 5. The Teenage Years 6. Three teens at once 7. Three college tuition bills at once 8. Curfew 9. Bad teachers 10. Sending them on missions 11. Anaphylaxic shock from bee stings And the list goes on, La de da de de, la de da de da

The Scream

My two older children are downstairs screaming, delighting in the acoustics of the newly-drywalled basement. I wish I could join them, but for a different reason.

Zane just got in a car accident, in the little, fragile, 60 mpg car. Fortunately, he's fine. At least, that's what he claims on the phone. Also fortunately, it was not his fault. He was rear ended on the freeway. Unfortunately, it looks like the little Insight is totaled. I'm sure it is; it's not like it's a big sturdy SUV that could conceivably take a good rear-ending. No, it's gone. I loved that car.

Now we get to deal with the paperwork of insurance claims, the pain of shopping for a new car, and the financial surety that even if we WERE to get full blue book price (we won't -- deductibles, you see), the car was worth more than that money because it meant we didn't have to get a new car. I hate this.

Thanks, Dad, for driving to Orem to pick up Zane and bring him home. Through accident, rush hour traffic.

That was one expensive business trip.

Random Crap

I don't have anything in my brain long enough for a full blog post, but I have a lot of random thoughts. So, here they are!

I was getting up to feed Raiden at about 3 am, and I heard Sasha crying. He wasn't crying for me, or daddy, or even grandma, which would all make sense. No, he was crying for Sabrina. I'm honestly not quite sure how to feel about that. Mom says Sabrina must be the only constant in his life of upheaval. No doubt.

Raiden was up every three hours, which isn't bad for a one-week-old. Sabrina and Sasha, despite going to bed on time, did not get up until 7:51. Way to go, peeps!

Mom has been a lifesaver. Specifically, Sabrina and Sasha's lifesaver. She's been hanging out, making sure my kids eat and let me sleep, and gotten up with Raiden, even sleeping with him. He slept for six hours when sleeping next to her. This was great, except for one thing. You know what that one thing is is if you've ever nursed a baby. She has also done things I do once a year, if that, like cleaning out cupboards, washing off the outside of garbage cans, and so on. Thanks, Mom!

Zane had to go to St. George yesterday and stay overnight for a meeting with the Department of Labor. They are far to important for a conference call. Anyway, Mom was worried that I wouldn't have any help in the night. However, as Zane still selfishly refuses to take herbs and stimulate his nipples to create milk (what? men can too create milk! http://www.babycenter.com/404_can-men-breastfeed_8824.bc), it's not like he's of great help in the middle of the night. Still, he IS of great help in the morning, when the monkeys get up. Fortunately, he'll be home today.

And that's it! My brain dump of random crap.

New Additions

Yesterday, I did not see Thing 1 or Thing 2 all day long. It was peaceful, but also kind of sad. Today, though, both they, their older brother, father, grandmothers, and one grandfather all descended upon this heretofore calm hospital. Sabrina calls Raiden either Raiden or Jemonis, so of course Sasha does too. "Ay-den," he'll say, grinning and so proud. "Raiden?" we asked. "Uh-huh. Monis. Bed." "That's Jemonis's bed." "Yeah." So precious.

Sabrina continues to be in love with littlest brother. She wants to hold him, touch him, kiss him, love him. She is so proud to be allowed to sit and carefully support his tiny head. I do, however, have to keep asking her to be a little more quiet, because Raiden is not quite ready to sleep through older brothers and sisters. I'm sure this will be remedied quickly, through sheer necessity. Sabrina is sleeping over at Grandma Saundra's tonight, mostly because she is completely in love with Grandma Saundra. Of course, who wouldn't love a grandma who wants to sleep in the barn in a tent with you? Even if Grandma Saundra DOESN'T buy the princess treats, the love lavished upon her makes Sabrina putty in Grandma's hands. Which, in turn, makes ME putty in Grandma's hands. Good thing she's not the type to take advantage!

Sasha is looking huge. Although he has one cousin younger than he is on my side, he's the (previous) youngest Froerer. So, the tiniest. Now he looks like a giant! The size of his head...the length of his hair...everything! He has been amazingly happy and non-competitive with Raiden. I know I'm saying this too soon, but still. He came and sat on the bed next to me and held Raiden's hand, and helpfully pointed out "nose. Ay-den." All this without a nap.

And, you are wondering, how about me? I'm actually doing great. Raiden didn't want to sleep last night, which majorly sucked, but I've been sleeping more today and am more ready for a possible repeat tonight. I look only 6 months pregnant, which is a major relief, and Percocet + Motrin is keeping me comfortable. Not exactly pain-free, but since I get out of bed basically to pee, I'm doing great. Oh, and I got to take a shower yesterday. Bliss. Might take one tonight too, but let's not go crazy with making plans.

My RS president called today and said they'd start bringing meals over on Monday. With Sasha, they did every other day, and I hope they do that again, because the women in my ward make Santa Claus look stingy. I got at LEAST two dinner's worth from every "meal" they brought over. Plus at least one lunch. Nothing makes you feel loved like postpartum dinners! I love my ward, my threekids, my husband, and my life! As soon as I can say I love my body, I will be perfectly happy.

Raiden Zane

For the last few weeks, my mantra has been "There will come a time when the baby is born." Then is now. Yesterday, May 24, 2012, Jemonis was born, becoming Raiden Zane Froerer.

I didn't want to have another c-section, but baby Raiden was 9 lbs. 2 oz., just like big brother Sasha, was breech at 39 weeks (although he'd turned back the right way by yesterday) and was overdue. A VBAC is not suggested under such circumstances, and so I reluctantly agreed to a repeat c-section. I found it's very different to plan one than to labor for 9 hours first! I went in, did that tedious paperwork, and got prepped. The nurse anesthetist, who gave me my spinal, told me the steps for a spinal go like this: go into the OR, which is at 42 degrees; wash off your back with an ice-cold antibiotic; get a numbing shot, which will only hurt like a bee sting for about 10 seconds; then get the actual spinal, which should not hurt. Gee, I told him, you're really selling this!

In actual fact, the OR was NOT 42 degrees. It was 52 degrees. True story: there was a thermometer in there. The nurse was very impressed when he gave me the numbing shot; he said I didn't flinch at all. I had to live up to my 3-year-old, I told him. Sabrina might cry but she did not move for her numbing shot, so the least I could do was not move. Or cry. I didn't do that either.

So, I got my spinal, lay down on the (very narrow) table with some help, as my legs were already basically useless, and they put up a blue sheet so I couldn't see the indignities they were committing on me. Or get sprayed with blood, probably. But this is a family-friendly blog, so I won't mention the blood.

Did you know that a c-section is boring? It is if you're the one getting it. I had nothing to do for the 30 or so minutes they were taking Raiden out and putting me back together, except make smart comments to Zane and the nurse. The doctors, I felt, had enough to do, so I didn't have to entertain them with my rapier wit. That was a good move, apparently, because the c-section was more exciting for them than for me. They said I had huge veins in there and no space between skin and uterus. I could've told them THAT. Did you see my belly those last few days? I had to keep some of my organs in storage while Raiden was in there. I didn't even have room for both my kidneys.

So I passed the time being bored and trying to figure out what they were doing by the faint tugs I could feel and what they were saying. Then, he was out! Cheri had a really tough pregnancy with Elli, and as soon as Elli was born, Cheri is on record as saying "I feel so much better!" I can relate. It wasn't quite as relieving as Cheri's experience, but it sure was nice to not be pregnant anymore. Besides, once Raiden was out, he was screaming for pretty much all his evaluation, which proved his superior lung capacity, so I had something to listen to besides myself. Then Zane brought him over so I could look at him during the putting-mommy-back-together part. By the way, his 1-minute APGAR was 9, and 5-minute was 10. Eat your heart out, vaginal births. Oh, and he has the prettiest head EVER.

I don't have my camera cable to put the pictures on the blog yet, but they'll come. Suffice it to say he is of the "dark Froerer" variety. Zane says he looks suspiciously like his brother Lance, with the dark hair and lanugo all over his back. I say since Lance has three blond, blue-eyed, pale kids, his genes aren't very strong. Regardless, Raiden is my first child to have my dark hair. He is beautiful, healthy, and loves his mama. What more could I ask for?

The Last Week

Each day is like a week. Each night is interrupted by a 20-point turn to move from the left side to the right side...to be reversed in 90 minutes. The belly cannot expand more, except it does. The kids sense something tiny this way comes, and push each other off the couch. And the due date comes and goes. I try to play "guess that bump," hoping against hope that it's a bum up there, not a head. I convince myself this is true, and then get kicked in the bladder by what I'm pretty sure are feet, not tiny fists. I groan as he moves and tries to get out my bellybutton, but then when he doesn't move, I poke him until he does. I want him out, then realize his bassinet is still lying in pieces on the floor. The waiting game is almost over, although today every hour will feel like a day from week 18. The c-section, which is inevitable if he's breech, will hopefully happen tomorrow, as long as the hospital can accommodate me. It's not how I wanted my last birth to go, but if all goes well, I'll have a healthy little boy tomorrow. His bassinet is ready now, his tiny little clothes hanging in the closet, and if the house still needs to be picked up and his room still has some detritus from Sabrina's tenure and the basement is nowhere near finished and Sasha needs more 24-month pants, well, these things will work themselves out. Hospital, here I come! (In somewhere around 23 hours.)

Do Something!

There's a book called "The Littlest Dinosaur," in which one of the dinosaur's eggs does not hatch for a few extra weeks. Finally, the daddy dinosaur, tired of taking care of the other babies himself (since Mama is busy with the egg), shouts, "Do something!" at the egg. I KNOW JUST HOW HE FEELS. I know, I'm still technically a week away from my due date, but for Pete's sake. Do something, Jemonis! No contractions, no pain -- I really want me some pain, which sounds weird under any other circumstance -- and no other signs that labor is imminent. Other than that I dropped yesterday, but that just means I have NO maternity shirts that cover my ginormous belly.

Then, today, because I guess I'm nesting or just desperate, I cleaned for an hour, made banana bread, and made regular wheat bread. Oh, and did laundry. Then I had to lie down for an hour because I hurt so much. And not the good hurt, the kind that says "something" is happening. Dang weight gain/center of gravity switching. Thank goodness for Dora and Boots, because otherwise how would I do important things like bring the baby clothes up from the basement? And, um, update my blog?

Add that to the fact that Spencer's room is nowhere near done, to get it done I have to move a buttload of crap (sorry, it's been that sort of day) upstairs to the garage, his stuff is still in what will be Sabrina's and Sasha's room, and Sabrina's stuff is all still in what will be the baby's room, to the fact that the baby is still in my room (my body, actually), and you have a recipe for, well, mostly naps and/or tears. In succession, of course. Usually tears come first, but not always!

Despite the rather gloomy tone I'm taking, I really feel okay most of the time. Then I a) think about what needs to be done, or b) do a lot of what needs to be done, and either a) go back into the cry/nap cycle, or b) hurt, and go into the cry/nap cycle. Maybe I need to watch me some Dora and Boots instead of trying to be productive. Hmmmm....

The End. Of an Era.

Yesterday was my last day of teaching. No, not forever, but I'm certainly not going back next fall. I'll have three kids not in school (because I am apparently insane) and I figure I'd be working for about $20/day, if you subtract taxes, gas, tithing, and (oh yeah) daycare. So, I'd be making just enough money for someone else to watch my kids. Nah.

It was sad, and sort of anticlimactic. It was leadership day, which means I didn't get to teach but had to babysit random students instead. It was only MY last day, so there was no groupthink about summer vacation -- they still have three weeks plus today left. I didn't see half of my students on Wednesday, my other teaching day this week, so I had to have my closure day with them last week, but I still saw them around yesterday and Wednesday, so again, anticlimactic. Altogether, not a beautiful end to my days at Salt Lake Arts Academy. Not ugly, you know, but it was not the triumphal flourish with sobbing students that my glamorous career deserves when it's going on indefinite hiatus. (How's that for a vocabulary lesson of a sentence?)

What WAS great yesterday was that Lindsay was there. She's the other me this year, teaching Monday and Tuesday as well as alternate Fridays. She's my favorite other teacher, and since we were the same person, we almost never got to see each other. Talking on a Google Doc is not quite the same thing as hanging out at lunch, y'know? Anyway, she came to the leadership day yesterday, and we both went to the 8th grade program. Then they went on a hike. As I am 38+ weeks pregnant and she is 33+ weeks pregnant, we got lunch and talked in the staff room for about three hours. That was really nice, and sort of rounded out my year. Oh yeah, and the staff party is today, so that will be nice too. We had or will have four babies born this year (one yesterday, I believe), so it will be a fun baby party to compare war stories.

I'm not sure what's on the horizon for me, professionally. Although I won't teach next year at SLArts, I have applied for the Electronic High School, so that could be fun. I'd be teaching some classes online for a) awesome students who want to get ahead, or b) less awesome students who failed a class. Honestly, I like both types. Maybe it's the counseling background. Still, who knows if I'll get the job. I'd like to return to teaching in a few years, maybe when Sasha goes to school, or even wait until Baby Jemonis is in school. It's all up in the air right now, which is okay with me. Bring on the future! And the baby! Anytime now would be great.

Gratefulness

This morning, Zane was explaining to me that he did not feel appreciated for getting up with the kids on Saturday morning. This because ALL I did was tell him if he was in so much of a hurry to get to Spencer's soccer game he could get the kids dressed instead of watching TV. I'm sure I was the soul of politeness while I explained this. Anyway, this discussion led me, in my pregnancy-induced hormonal state, to talk about how underappreciated I am, blah blah blah. There may or may not have been tears involved. Meanwhile, Sabrina and Sasha come in from the living room. "Mom. Mama. Mama. Maaaamaaaa." They come into the bedroom, climb up on the bed, and proceed to snuggle into me. Sabrina looks in my eyes, pats my cheek, and says, "I love you Mom." Well, don't I feel dumb. I guess I'm appreciated after all.

She comported herself well

As you may know, I had to have a c-section with Sasha. That was not in the plan. The doctor told me that because Sasha was not descending, it was unlikely I'd be able to do a regular birth. This was disappointing. However, I dealt with the unexpected with fortitude.

That's not just MY opinion. The anesthesiologist told my parents I "comported (my)self well." That's, actually, a pretty nice compliment. It's kind of "she didn't cry or throw a tantrum, she just accepted that stuff wouldn't be the way she wanted it and dealt with it accordingly."

Sabrina is my daughter.

Today, I was inside, the kids were just outside the backdoor. Sabrina has been really into dandelions lately, and sadly (or stupidly, as the case may be made)we had some Mason jars outside, and I think she thought they would make lovely vases. The result was sadly predictable. "Crash!" "Waaah!" "Uh-oh." (Jar, Sabrina, and myself, respectively.)

The cut on the inside of her finger was pretty bloody and seemed kind of deep. Hand wound? Not really feeling like taking chances. So, I held her, told her she would be fine, cleaned her up, and took her to the doctor.

During the cleaning of the cut, she was so brave. A little whimpering, but so brave. Then, they put a numbing agent on it. Apparently, before it numbs, it burns. She was scream-ing. But she never pulled away. She let them do what they needed to do. Then, the doctor (really a PA, but who cares) came in, and checked out the injury. She, again, was so brave. No crying or even whimpering at all. He decided she needed a couple of stitches, since the cut was a little deep and right on the inside of her knuckle, so every time she opened her hand, it would pull the cut open again.

Then came the worst part: the shots to numb her finger for the stitches. Again, she was totally crying and screaming, but left her hand where it needed to be. The doctor joked she was making it easy on the nurse; she usually has to hold the kid down. As he gave her the two stitches, I told Sabrina to close her eyes and lay her head back. Then, as she got stitched up, I said, "That feels funny, doesn't it?" She said "Yeah." And giggled. Giggled.

Anyway, as Mom says, she comported herself well. She was brave, not crying when she wasn't hurt, and strong, not pulling away or having a tantrum when she WAS hurt.

Then we went to the store and got princess bandaids, the cure for any ill.

Good work, baby girl.

Great and Spacious Building

I've always been kind of skeptical about the whole "pointing and mocking" part of the Great and Spacious Building of Lehi's vision. I mean, I've never been mocked for being a Mormon. Not even close. In fact, when I was at a school Christmas party in Canada (a Catholic school), there was wine. One of the other student teachers was tasked with serving it. His line went like this: "Red or white? Red or white? Molly, Sprite?" He didn't care that I didn't drink, he only cared that I was comfortable and got what I wanted. So cute.

I've figured it out though. I know what the great and spacious building is. It's the Internet.

No one ever mocks me in person. That would be rude. People don't want to create an awkward situation or make others feel bad. They are polite; we move on to less divisive issues like sports and politics. The Internet is not in person. No one feels bad about accusing Mitt Romney of going to hell because he's a liar or talking about how Mormon's aren't Christian and are going to hell or the Bible is a bunch of fairy tales and anyone who believes them is an idiot holding on to guns and religion or all Mormons are racist or WEIRD UNDERWEAR or Mormons still believe in polygamy or Mormons are idiots online. As Romney has been more in the spotlight, there have been more articles written about him. Then, people comment on these articles. Some of them apparently believe their calling in life is to mock Mormons/Christians/non atheists. It's the Great and Spacious Building. You were right, Lehi.

Soccer girl

One of Zane's (I think) former clients runs a soccer program for the Tinys of the world. Well, we have a Tiny! So, we decided to sign Sabrina up for this soccer program.

It was so, so perfect. They started out just kicking the ball from one side of the "field" to the other. Then their was a "water break." Then a few other drills, well interspersed with snack breaks. The program provided snacks, in the form of a baggie divided in two with grapes in one side and goldfish in the other. The best part? The division was made by a clothespin made to look like a butterfly! I bet you can guess how Sabrina took that. (Mom! A butterfly!)

The last few minutes was a "game." It featured Lance's son and Mari's son tackling members of the opposite team -- or their own team, who cares? --, repeated and deliberate own goals, and Sabrina running behind the group of kids, only three of whom even touched the ball, laughing her head off at how fun this was. A perfect day.

Oh, and the most adorable soccer girl in the world, and possibly the universe. Also, her little bro. Evidence? Here you go.

The Kids of God

Sabrina has been asked to say the scripture in Primary next Sunday. Her first assignment! I'm having her say the scripture I once said in Primary. It's short, and therefore perfect for a 3-year-old. I asked her this morning to say her "Blessed."

"Blessed is a peacemakers. For they. Shallbecalled. The kids...What is it?"

Me: "The children of God."

"The children of God."

I kind of like "The kids of God." Has a nice ring to it.

Domesticity

Yesterday, Marilyn gave us some strawberries that were -- let's say past their prime. So today, I went to the car cart store (Sasha: cah caht! cah caht!), aka Valley Market, and got some pectin. And made freezer jam! Yum! It was so super easy I can hardly believe I've never made it before. Then I finished the ice cream (there was NOT that much left, Zane! Stop being rude! I'm supposed to look like this, I'm pregnant!) with freezer jam on it. Soooooo delicious. Sasha liked the jam too, but his was on a PB&J.

Sasha was in a really good mood today. Zane had to get up early and take Spencer to school, so he was up with the little kids too. Sasha came into my room and crawled up next to me, snuggled under the covers, and said "sleep." This was pretend sleep, of course, because right away he jumped up and said "Bird! Fly! Tweet! Tree!" Yes, that IS practically a sentence. Practically. Later, I was doing a dictation downstairs and heard crying a few times. I ignored it and it went away, and I was very pleased that they worked out whatever it was on their own. However, there is a bite mark that's Sabrina-sized on Sasha's face, so maybe my selective hearing DID have a downside. Nah. Still, he's been sweet and cute today, which is frankly a change from yesterday. Phew! He has 35 days to become perfect, self-entertaining, and able to make his own PB&J. Bets, anyone?

Waiting for Superman: Review

Last night, on Netflix, I watched Waiting for Superman. One might think it's about dang time, since it's a heavily discussed documentary about my profession. One would be right. In my defense, though, it hasn't been streaming on Nextflix until now, and I'm inherently cheap about stuff like that.

There were quite a few things I agreed with in this film. For example, the biggest problem I think we have in education is bad teachers. And we can't get rid of them. Just at Snowcrest, the junior high Zane and his family went to, there was a math teacher who had a stroke and lost her short-term memory, and a science teacher who lost so many assignments that Victoria, the only non-ADD member of the Froerer clan, had to get a paper signed every time she turned in an assignment, as proof, since the teacher was almost guaranteed to lose it! And were these terrible teachers fired? No. The math teacher is STILL THERE, and the science teacher was removed after a year's fight by Marilyn, my MIL. But: she was moved to WEBER HIGH (because who cares about the quality of science teachers in high school, right?) where LANCE got her the next year. Needless to say, Marilyn quickly got him changed to another science teacher despite the almost iron-clad rule of not changing kids' teachers.

These terrible teachers should be fired. But we can't fire them. Why? Union rules. Even in Utah, a right-to-work state, it's virtually impossible to fire a teacher. The movie said 1/57 doctors lose their license, 1/97 attorneys, and 1 in 2500 teachers. And honestly, it's almost 100% because the unions protect teachers who are terrible. Terrible as in they have no short term memory, lose every assignment they give, read newspapers in class, only teach grammar in a social studies/English class, watch movies two times a week, have no classroom control, and so on. Unions protect these teachers, and are destroying all respect for the profession of teaching.

The movie suggests charter schools are part of the answer, since they are not bound by the union rules. They can get rid of teachers! They can lengthen the school day and year! Seems awfully commonsenseical. It followed about five kids whose parents wanted better for them, and tried to get them in the high-performing schools. Two got in. The others? They're still going to "dropout factories." When some of these kids didn't get in, I lost it. I was seriously sitting at the kitchen table with Netflix on my laptop, bawling. Of course, I'm pregnant. But still, education should be about the children, and, as Michelle Rhee said, it's become all about the adults.

How would I fix education? I know you were all waiting with bated breath to hear my solutions. Okay. First, you'd be able to fire teachers because they were bad, not just if they sleep with students! Now, teachers get tenure once they have taught for 3 years. At three years you barely don't suck anymore! Tenure = gone. A "bad teacher" is identified by administration, fellow teachers, parents, students, and test scores. I can tell you the bad teachers at my school. Students, too, are really good at identifying them. And don't think students will just say a bad teacher is one they don't like. There would be some, but mostly they will be honest about how much they learned in a year. As far as testing goes, it's a relatively simple matter to organize the data so you can see if a student gained a year of progress under a teacher. If a teacher's students mostly did not, especially over a few years, curtains! Find another job!

Second, pay teachers differently. Yes, maybe merit pay for great teachers, but I was thinking more about supply and demand. We have a shortage of math and science teachers, and a veritable plethora of English and history teachers (of which I am one). I am a great teacher, in my humble opinion. I'd be a great junior high-level math teacher, too. I found out I'd have to take TEN classes to get my math certification. SO NOT WORTH IT. But if I got another $10,000/year to teach math? Suddenly, I'm enrolled at Weber State for two classes a semester. Hey, I'd make the cost back in a year! Then you'd have great teachers more evenly spread out among the subjects, partly because we've have more options, and good teachers would get hired and bad ones fired. How about that?

This is very long, and if you've made it this far I'm impressed. I just have one more thing to say. Our schools need improvement. The best way to fix a school is to get good teachers and get rid of bad ones. Let's figure out a way to do that!

Hunger Games

Spoiler alert! If you haven't seen Hunger Games but are going to, I give away some plots points here. But if you've read the book, you've been spoiled anyway.

Zane took me on a date (probably our last for, I don't know, a year or so) a few weeks ago to see Hunger Games. I loved the first book, liked the second, and was highly disappointed in the third. I mean, come on, why did you kill EVERY character I liked, with the exception of Katniss and Peeta? Oh, and Gale. But I didn't really care that much about him by the end, either. And a de facto Hunger Games for the army? Lame. ANYWAY.

Overall, I really liked it. I was absolutely bawling during the reaping. Since becoming a mom, this sort of thing is so painful to watch and imagine. By "this sort of thing" I mean thinking about a child (my child) in trouble that I can't do anything about. I can shut down my imagination PDQ when NPR starts talking about a 3-year-old dying from a shrapnel wound in Homs or when I hear about the child soldiers in Uganda who are kidnapped after being forced to kill their parents, but when it's there on screen it's harder to ignore. Boy, this paragraph is a real downer. Onward!

Some people have complained that the hand-held camera that recorded the early deaths at the Cornucopia was distracting and, well, lame. I liked it, though. Who wants to see the actual deaths of these kids? Zane pointed out that it's bad enough to see adult-on-adult violence, but kids? Nope, don't want the details. Fuzzy images are more than enough.

I also liked the District 11 revolt. This was in book 2, but fits well here. I can just imagine the despair of who I assume to be Rue's father when he sees his baby girl die on the big screen. Oh, this is the other part that had me bawling. Glad I live far enough away from my students to know none of them were in the audience with me, because this was not an I'm-the-adult-in-control moment. No, it was not. I can see how Rue's death could be a spark to the rebels.

The book is written in first person, and there is a fair amount of exposition that goes on in Katniss's thoughts. That doesn't translate well to a movie. I liked how they gave you that information by showing the gamemakers and Haymitch's machinations. That worked well.

The one thing I really didn't like was how the film portrayed Cinna. He was only my favorite character in the book, or at least vying for first. But in the film he was little more than a background character, not the awesome, gifted, sympathetic man who would help create the Mockingjay. They tried, kind of, but failed.

So. I liked it. I do think anyone who hasn't read the book won't like it as much, but it was true to the spirit and text of the book, with just enough changes to make it a movie instead.

Happy Easter!

Easter: Christmas, or not Christmas? Today we went with the "not Christmas" option. A few little presents and not to much concern about getting up early. Sasha sadly woke up at 6:30, and at 6:50 he came into our room from the TV room, where he was deposited in desperate hope of a little more sleep for his parents, with candy. Then Sabrina woke up, and the hunt was on! The Easter Bunny had hidden candy all over the front room! Sadly, she forgot that really only Sabrina would be finding candy, and she didn't need to bring enough candy for four people. Ah well. Somehow, I'm sure it will get eaten.


Last night we also decorated eggs. Sasha was hilarious, pointing and saying "egg, egg." He wanted to hold them while he colored on them with crayons, but I figured that was a bad idea, hard boiled or not. Then he chose the color. Sabrina also got into the coloring, dying, and stickering of eggs. She keeps asking to eat them, but I think she'll be sorry the eggs themselves are not pretty colors and tasting like candy. Just a hunch.



For breakfast, I made pancakes. Sabrina, of course, wanted pink pancakes. So I obliged, because I am a sucker -- or the best mom ever. Take your pick. Anyway, I also made a bunny pancake (circle with ears). The round pancakes I called "eggs." Because otherwise they wouldn't be festive, duh. Sabrina said the prayer this morning, and I reminded her to thank Heavenly Father for Jesus today. She's still working on the whole resurrection concept. So she did. She thanked Heavenly Father for Jesus and the Easter Bunny. It's a start.

Ew.

When the workers came yesterday, Zane took them downstairs for the orientation. I followed just a few seconds behind, them, and lo and behold, there was a DEAD MOUSE in the middle of the floor! I'm not sure if anyone mentioned it, or if they missed it completely, but there it was.

Naturally being a strong and independent woman, I yelled "Eek! A mouse!" Just kidding. What I did was quietly go upstairs, get some paper towels, pick up the mouse, and take it to the garbage can. Hoping that the workers would not be too grossed out, because that's just what you want to see, right?

I kind of hate to admit this, but I was relieved to see that dead mouse. Because until it was found dead in my basement, it was seen and heard ALIVE (alive mouse < dead mouse) in my kitchen. My KITCHEN. Really, what's the point of having a hunter cat and a dog bred to kill rodents if they don't actually kill rodents? None, that's what.

Nesting

I'm seriously nesting here, people. The "workers," as Sabrina likes to call them, are downstairs framing the entire basement. Later, probably next week, comes the electrician and HVAC guy, then drywall. Naturally, I'm not doing any of that work, mostly because I don't know how and couldn't care less and not because I'm roughly the size and shape of a very large beach ball, but I've been inspired lately, by the impending new rooms downstairs, to nest.

Sadly, my nesting has to take the form of "why the crap didn't I do this earlier" stuff. Like, cleaning out the car. Do you know how much STUFF an Explorer can hold? Geez, I could have gone on an Arctic expedition in my Expedition. Food? Check. (Not fresh, if you get my drift.) Clothes? Check. (Not clean, of course!) Diapers? Check. (These, happily, WERE clean.) Toys, books, garbage? Sure, all the garbage you could want in the Arctic! And then some!

I've also been cleaning out those nefarious clutter spots that Zane and I are so good at creating. So far I've thrown away 1-year-old or more: bank statements, AYSO rosters, soccer schedules, and law seminar handouts, just to name a few! That'll teach me to leave stuff in a pile for Zane to take care of! To be fair, though, plenty of stuff in the piles has been mine. For instance, the yarn tangle and breastmilk bags in the corner of the TV room? Not Zane's. But now not there! Hooray!

Now, before the baby comes, all I have to do is move Spencer's bunk beds downstairs, after his room is done, which will require painting and carpet as well as the drywall, HVAC, and electricity, move Sabrina's stuff to Sasha's room, get out the newborn and 0-3 month clothes for Jemonis, wash the infant car seat, and other nesting-type stuff like clean out the garage. Anyone want to come over for a...party?

Ugh! C'mon 40 weeks!

This. Has been the hardest pregnancy yet. My body is screaming "The human body was not meant to have 3 kids in less than 4 years! What were you thinking! Did you learn nothing from the ancient Jewish women who nursed for three years! You idiot! Birth control anyone?" and suchlike.

Honestly, though, chasing after 2 kids has made the difference, I think. Yes, I'm working part-time, but I worked full time when pregnant with Sabrina, and moved at 30 weeks with Sasha, so it's not like my extracurricular (curricular being, I guess, my family?) activities have been worse this time. I mean, I take a nap almost every day I'm home, for Pete's sake.

I had a doctor's appointment last week. Sadly, he did not say Jemonis suddenly and inexplicably matured at 6 times the normal rate, and is now ready for birth. No, I'm still just 33 weeks. Okay, 7 weeks doesn't sound like a lot UNLESS YOU ARE ACTUALLY PREGNANT FOR THE NEXT 7 WEEKS. Then it sounds like a LONG TIME. Besides, despite my ever-increasing girth, I really would like to finish this school year. My last day is scheduled to be May 10, which is 3 weeks before the end of school and 11 days before my due date. (Although May 10 is leadership day, so if I couldn't go that day, I would not cry.) May 12 or 13 sounds perfect.

I know, though. Not before 36 weeks. I can do it, I swear. Mostly because there's no other option! So glad to not be a prehistoric nomad moving with the herds now. It's amazing the human race survived those days.

Twokids

I love having twokids! (That's how I refer to them, as in "I love my twokids!") At least, when they are not causing each other to cry/both crying, I love having two. Sasha is getting to an age where he can actually be fun for Sabrina to play with. Just in time, too! They can entertain each other when I have threekids and one of them is 2 days old.

Today, Sasha was insisting "side!" Which means, he wanted to play outside. Well, I don't want to play outside. It's cold, I can't bend over, stand up from sitting on the ground, or climb dirt piles. Guess what? Sabrina wants to or at least can do all these things! So, I got their shoes on, Sabrina put on both of their coats, and out they went! For, like, an hour!

They mostly played right outside the living room window, which was great, because I could make sure they weren't eating dirt or pushing each other off our wonderful dirt pile. I watched Sabrina push Sasha's bum, trying to help him all the way up the pile. She was occasionally successful. It was so great to see them not needing me to entertain them! Keep it up, twokids!

Gala Is Done!

At my school, we have an annual "gala," a big fundraiser/play/dance performance/music recital all based on the humanities curriculum. You heard right, we couldn't figure out how to put math and science into it. However, rehearsal this year was on pi day (3/14, or 3.14), so it's really just science that got left out. And...it's over! It's been a hard one this year. I think it's because in the entire 3rd term, we had only 18 normal teaching days. No wonder I've been feeling my students are behind. They are!

I feel the gala is a really cool experience for the kids. They get to create a play and have it come together, and perform it at a professional theater. I have one student who started the year wearing a hat and trench coat, and disappearing into them. I'm sure partly it was my fabulous teaching, but being in dance and being a performer really got him out of his shell. Almost literally! I think it's a great experience for them.

And yet...did I mention only 18 teaching days this term? Also, trying to get 250 middle school students to behave in a theater, well, you can imagine. There was an incident in the men's restroom...you really don't want to know, I promise. If you know a 10-14 year old, imagine the grossest thing they have ever done, then have them do it on purpose. Yeah. You're grossed out, right?

So the answer is, I don't know. It's a great experience that stresses out the teachers ridiculously, creates gross time, and makes the kids have a great experience. I guess I just wonder if this experience could be created at a lesser cost to the school.

Ole, ole ole ole

Zane and I watched the first game of the Real Salt Lake season last night. It was against the defending champions, LA Galaxy, in LA, where they have not lost since 2010. I have to say, I never think we can beat LA. They have so much talent, and so many superstars. Also, I hate all teams from LA. I don't mean to, and I really like Landon Donovan, but I can't help it.

So, I was sad but not surprised when LA scored an amazing goal in the second half. Okay, it's done, I thought.

Not so.

LA scored an own-goal off an "assist" from a rookie, Velasquez. Woo hoo! A tie! I'm happy. Then, Morales scored a ping-pong goal that was bouncing around before he buried it in the back of the net. Then, just to prove that RSL is the most awesome team, Espindola, who I kind of love, scored all by himself. LA made a noble run at the end, but were DENIED. Ha ha LA! 3-1 for RSL! Neener neener!

Zane and I were kind of freaking out.

It's fun to note that last night, the game was broadcast to 70 countries. Including Djibouti. Do you even know where Djibouti is? I have a vague idea of eastern Africa. (checks map) Yup, I rock. Right across the Persian Gulf from Yemen. The POINT is, we beat LA in front of 70 countries, the MLS commissioner, and a hostile crowd of entitled Galaxy fans. Ha! Money may buy Beckham, but we still won!

Phew. Bring on the rest of the season!