This Little Piggy goes Weet Weet Weet!

This little piggy is of the guinea variety. You can tell he's having fun when he says, "Weet Weet Weet," and he was really in hog heaven today, being passed around by 5 kids, eating apples and taking a bath. His favorite part was when we blow-dried his hair. Max has never been so fluffy in his life!
I have a love-hate relationship with this guinea pig. I love how he chirps and loves to be petted and makes the kids laugh. I hate how he won't die. He just might be the oldest guinea pig in captivity...I should check with Guinness on that. Every few weeks I make plans to give Max away. Then the kids get him out and baby him and I decide to let him stay. Xanthe said today, "Max is a cute baby." He is. But my opinion is that nice household pets should kick the bucket no more than 6 months into it. Max's "wife" died ages ago. She knew enough not to wear out her welcome. I honestly don't know why Max is so healthy. He has eaten buckets full of Halloween candy, cheese and paper plates. It must be all the veggies he consumes that keep him so fit. I'll have to make a note to give him more "fruit" snacks, Cheetos and maybe some Dubble Bubble. I might put him outside to get some fresh air. I could introduce him to our cats. Most likely, I won't let Max come to any harm. Max is adorable with his handsome cowlick on his forehead and his happy little voice. His youthful, healthy, robust little voice. I should be happy he's hanging in there long enough to give the kids some good memories, because there will be no successor to Max's throne. Live it up, kids!

Idol Gives Back

Today is a good day because I know that at the end of it, there is American Idol. It's sad, really, that a TV show can generate so much enthusiasm, but I just love it. Not saying I'm having a bad day or anything; Wednesdays are one of my favorites. I'm just saying Xanthe is writhing around on the floor whining in an attempt to convince me she can't go to the bathroom by herself, and I don't care! Because when she's safely asleep with a Pull-Up on tonight, I'll be in front of the TV with a happy blue glow on my face. Scott, Golda, Ruby and I will have our big chocolate shakes with lots of nuts and nothing in the world with be able to crush our happiness! Except if the DVR doesn't work.

P. S. I found out with my last post, the one I deleted, that when your kids get to double digits, they don't like it when you blog about them!

Cut Me Some Slack

Naptime is officially a thing of the past for Xanthe. Too bad we didn't realize that yesterday, before Xanthe spent today's nap time in her room cutting off her pigtails and carefully throwing them in the garbage. What a conscientious girl! I wish I had a glimpse into the thought process where cutting your hair off at the root is a good idea. See the elastic in the garbage? Yep. She cut off the whole thing.

Scott discovered the new look and was pretty dismayed. My reaction was about what you would expect when your fifth kid cuts her hair: "Huh. So she's in the hair cutting stage. OK." (Stifle a giggle. She does look pretty ridiculous.) If you have to ask why on earth Xanthe had access to scissors during her nap, you don't have kids. Or maybe you have kids but you don't own any scissors. Or maybe you're insanely controlling. In that case, we can't be friends. If we were friends, my kid could potentially cut your kid's hair someday and then we REALLY wouldn't be friends. So let's preempt that now, as well as the scenario where you come to get your kid at my house and he's wearing a tutu and mismatched moon boots and the scenario where my kid comes to your house and squirts dish soap all over the carpet. See? We can't be friends, even if you hide your scissors. Let's not even try.

I guess Xanthe's hair will grow, just like Ari's did when she hacked off her bangs. I cut my own hair when I was about ten. Hey, I was a late bloomer. I think I was watching an Olivia Newton-John exercize video and I needed bangs to curl over the braided, terrycloth headband I was wearing on my forehead. So I cut some bangs. That would have been harmless, but I started thinking my mom would be mad. I panicked and pulled the bangs out completely. I can't believe I honestly thought the hair wouldn't grow back. I was absolutely mortified when stubble started growing along my forehead. The whole agonizing time the stubble was growing out, my mom never noticed.

If you see Xanthe, you'll notice. She looks...adorable.

The Big Parade

Flowers for the River City girl.







Opening night has an energy all its own. Golda was nervous and excited for opening night of Music Man last night, and I was looking forward to seeing what she's been rehearsing for three times a week since the first of the year. I hadn't had so much as a peek at a costume. The truth is, although I was the one who gave Golda permission to do the play, my dad and Scott drove her to most of the rehearsals. Sorry, guys! And MANY thanks!

Music Man such a fun musical, made even more thrilling by Golda being onstage in all her glory. She had three costume changes and was involved in all the big musical numbers; 76 Trombones, Wells Fargo Wagon, Iowa Stubborn, Marian Librarian, Trouble...She even danced on a table in the library during "Marian."

Seeing Golda act is a trip because she is so different onstage than off. In real life, Golda's never the one demanding attention. Conversely, Araceli, ever the drama girl, says she will never, never be in a play because it's "too embarrassing!" I guess she expresses herself enough in real life. As Golda left the house, Ruby sang out, "Break a leg!" Then she added, "But don't rupture your Achilles tendon!" Ha ha.

When Golda was is her first play, I was resistant because the rehearsals and performances are so all-consuming and the hours are late and long. Now that I've embraced Golda's interest, I enjoy the late night drives and the rushing to performances with curlers and make-up flying around the car. Most of all, I love the end result. Sitting in the audience watching my daughter shine is about the most fun I can imagine. Theater people say it's an addictive lifestyle. Last night, one of the veterans told me, "Be careful. She'll get hooked." Too late for caveats, for better or for worse.

If anyone is interested in seeing a really fun production, call the box office at 393-0070. It runs every Friday, Saturday and Monday until Easter. If you need us between now and then, we'll be in River City!

A Different Perspective

Hi. My name is Freestone and I am blogging to tell you about the AWESOME thing that happened to my dad last week. He blew up his Achilles tendon. COOL!! He was playing basketball and all of a sudden he fell on the ground. He thought someone hit him in the leg. That's funny! Someone hit him in the leg. Ha ha!

Now my dad stays home all day on the couch. My cousin Jake and I get to play Little Big Planet with him ALL the time. AWESOME! Because my mom NEVER lets us play Little Big Planet. She doesn't even know HOW! I'm like JUST PUSH THE BUTTON WITH THE TRIANGLE ON IT! My dad knows. He's awesome at video games. We even get to play them IN THE DAYTIME when my dad is on the couch!

And he's totally cool now because he's not just a dad. He's CRUTCH MAN! He chases us and pushes us with his crutches. COOL! And he lets me and Jake wear his bandages when we break our heads and our arms. My dad has FIFTY stitches in his leg. That's more than a hundred and fifty-five million. WHOA! I'm HAPPY my dad got hurt. He's awesome now. He's not even boring at all. If his leg starts to get better, I'm going to punch him in the eyeball. I'll give him a black eye. That would be cool! Then he could stay on the couch and I would bring him a drink and we could play Little Big Planet ALL DAY! AWESOME!

Project Achilles

Project Manager: Circe

Objective: Filling in for Scott

Food Committee: Aunt Jennie, Aunt Michelle, Gingham World, Scheu Family, Bruce and Marlene, Aunt Tricia, Aunt Nikki and Brian and Renee, who came all the way from Phoenix to bring Scott a Slurpee.

Child Care Committee: Coco, SWS.

Drivers: Bill, Tricia, Uncle Josh (My dad has driven to Ogden 6 times this week and spent too much time in the Music Man parking lot. Thanks!)

Snow Removal: Jim, Lauren and Ross. Peanut Butter cookies are on the way!

Thanks to all committee members for going above and beyond the trite "let me know if I can do anything," and actually doing everything. Golda said this morning, "The food is better when Daddy is sick." So true, so true.

Scott was laughed at numerous times in China for his ridiculously large feet. Scott's are big shoes to fill, as we all realize when Scott's Clydesdales are propped up on pillows. For everyone who has been helping us whose names I forgot to mention, it's due to sleep deprivation. I was up all night making sure Scott didn't roll off the couch after he took an Ambien last night. I'm happy to report, he did wake up this morning. Does anyone want to be on the Scott Watch night shift?!

Star Athlete Out for Season

Araceli's picture for Hero Day at school in November

I took Scott to the surgical center this morning and got him all checked in and ready to have his leg sliced open. The anesthesiologist came in and asked, "So, did you just do this?"

Scott said, "Yeah, it seems like I was just here. I just had a vasectomy reversal last January." The doctor said, "OK...well, that's great, too. Um..."

I said, "I think he was asking if you just injured your leg."

And this was before they even administered any drugs. From that point, I think they worked quickly to get him under anesthetic before he divilged too much more personal information. As the nurse wheeled him back, he was disappointed they didn't take him in one of those little red wagons like they did for Ari when she had her tonsils out. Once he was knocked out, I went home. Bruce, Marlene and Jeremy waited for Scott at the hospital while I retrieved the kids from Coco's house, sent Golda to flute with my aunt Tricia, got everybody's practicing done and made a giant white ribbon for Golda's Music Man hair. Thanks to everybody who helped, the day went smoothly. We even had a delicious loaf of bread to eat from Michelle and are awaiting dinner from the Gus Dopps. If I had 6 or 7 assistants every day, my kids would get fed a lot more consistently, everyone would practice better and do more homework and the little ones would spend considerably less time in carseats. I've heard stories of couples on the Upper East Side who have a nanny for each child and a fleet of household helpers. What we have is better. We have friends. We have family. We are so grateful for all of you.

Now that Scott is home, I get the enviable job of gopher. Yesterday he asked for lemons and warm water to wash his hands. I got out of that request by telling him the lemon would hurt his paper cut. It's fun when your husband is delirious and incapcitated. At least I know he's not faking it. The surgeon said the tendon looked like it had exploded. Reattaching it was like putting two mops together, he said, but everything went well. The kids think it's pretty cool that the achilles is held together with heart muscle now. I always knew Scott had more heart than most. Now it's literal.

A situation like this brings into focus how valuable each family member is. With Scott laid up, we're down a driver, chef, errand runner, housekeeper and roughhouser. At least we still have our storyteller, TV buddy and delegator. Here's to a quick recovery for my star athlete.

Achilles Heel

I'm cursing the ancient Greek gods today. Why did Achilles' mother dip him in the River Styx by his heel? Why didn't she hold him by his pinky finger? If our weak spot was our pinky finger, Cupid would have aimed for that instead of Scott's Achilles tendon this morning in church basketball, and Scott would be at the Utah game right now with his finger in a splint. Instead, Cupid shot at Scott's ankle, snapped his Achilles tendon and flew off. I'm sure that's what happened. Maybe it was a stray arrow. It is Valentines Day, and you know how carried away Cupid gets. I don't know why he would be aiming for Scott, anyway. Scott is already madly in love...with me, mostly because I gave him that big basket of valentine treats that he's eating now, with his leg propped up and iced.

Thank heavens for Mike, who has been around since Scott's last ankle injury, on the first day of summer vacation after 8th grade. (another basketball injury.) Thanks to Mike's friendship, Scott avoided a long, pointless stay in the ER and was able to see a specialist who scheduled him for surgery Monday to reattach the tendon. (Two surgeries in one year, both to reattach stuff? Seriously.) On this day of love, I can't even tell you how much we love Mike and Sarah and all of our old and new friends. They bless our lives every day. And thank heavens for Bruce and Marlene, who happened to be here when Scott came home from the church and hobbled out of his car. They were able to take Scott to the doctor's house in a blizzard in their big truck. My dad drove Golda to play practice in his 4-wheel-drive so I could take Ari to cello. It's amazing how much backup you need when there's a parent incapacitated! We're just so thankful to have the back-up.

Now Scott is watching basketball and bossing everyone around. A few minutes ago, he got a paper cut, sitting on the couch opening an envelope. A paper cut. I had to bring him 1. a band-aid 2. alcohol and a rag 3. antibacterial stuff 4. a drink. Oh my he__! It's going to be a long recovery. And I am not Florence Nightengale. When Scott said the doctor told him he'd have to take a few days off from work, I said, "Why? You can't elevate your leg at the office? What kind of work does he think you do, coal mining or something? Put your laptop on the floor and a pillow under your leg."

Have I mentioned how much I adore Scott? If anyone wants to come over and close the blinds for him, or put his juice glass in the sink or hand him the remote or doctor his paper cut, I'm sure he would appreciate it. His wife is having trouble hearing him call for help.

Valentine-a-Rama

There was a time when my sole responsibility on Valentine's Day was to wait expectantly for flowers. That was it. This year, it's like this:

Help 5 kids assemble 125 valentines for classmates. Each kid must have a different theme. Freestone has to write his name on each valentine. Araceli has to write her friends' names. Ruby has to make a different style for the boys and the girls. Golda's teacher didn't give the class a list of names and she can't remember one.

Buy a dozen muffins for Ruby's class party and a dozen sugar cookies for Golda's. Send Scott to the store for more candy at the last minute.

Send $1.50 for Golda's pizza-costume-valentine party. Find mask and ball gown for costume contest and supplies for Valentine box decorating contest.

Valentines for 6 teachers and 4 visiting teaching ladies.

Take to school all the stuff that got left behind in the pink and red flurry of ribbon and candy this morning: Ari's homework and lunch, Golda's Valentine box and one lone valentine.

This mayhem is why I forgot that Valentine's day isn't until tomorrow. Last night, I got up in the middle of the night to sneak Scott's valentine out so he could find it in the morning. I was going to scatter mini Butterfingers all over, but he woke up wondering (in a cranky voice) what I was doing, so I left them in the package. This morning I realized it's not even Valentine's Day until tomorrow. I am so ahead of the game! Plus, that gives me time to drive the kids around and deliver valentines to their favorite friends and cousins, take the older girls out to a fancy dinner (probably Araceli's idea) and go with Scott to a church dance.
I thought Valentine's Day was a minor holiday. What has Hallmark done to us!? (Don't tell me I brought this on myself. La la la! I can't hear you! The timer for the cookies is going off.)

Valentine Cheer

I hope your Valentine's Day is filled with flowers, cellophane, chocolate, friends, and most importanly, love!

Family Home Morning

Monday morning, there was a man in our front yard building a snowman in a blizzard. When I realized it was Scott, I hurried the kids out the door to help. I couldn't resist taking advantage of something that looked like "quality family time." Hey, if you can have morning sickness at night, you can have Family Home Evening in the morning. I called it Family Home Morning and checked "FHE" off my list. So by the time the kids left for school, we were already hours ahead of schedule, and had pictures to prove it!

That left me some free time to do things like, oh, lose Xanthe at the elementary school. Xanthe and I walked Freestone and Jakey into the school so I could talk to the office about getting Free's immunization record straight. Most of the parents did this before school started, but whatever. It's only February. The letter I got from the school last week said we had until February 10th to get that last shot before they kicked Freestone out. I'm motivated by deadlines more than by suggestions, so we got that done today.

Anyway, I apparently forgot all about Xanthe upon walking into the school. My best guess is that she walked to the kindergarten rooms with the boys, realized she was in the wrong place and started crying in the hall. As I was walking out of the school, a lunch lady from the neighborhood flagged me down. My plan was to wave and keep walking, not being in a social mood, but she ran after me. She asked, "Did you find your daughter?"

My first thought was that one of them forgot their lunch and had been trying to call me. I said, "Oh, was one of them looking for me?" She said, "Uh, your Chinese daughter? She was crying in the hall?" Then, and only then, did I remember that I had brought Xanthe into the school and hadn't seen her since. We found her with my next-door neighbor who teaches at the school. I made a valiant effort to convince the woman that I'm capable of taking care of all these kids, but, really, what was my defense? That I was just pretending to walk out of the school without my baby? Gee, it's a good thing we're having another one. You know, in case we lose some of the kids we already have. *sigh*

Labyrinth

I'm in the middle of an extremely intricate labyrinth, and I don't know the way out. In fact, I'm not even sure if the goal is to get out, or if it's to prune the hedges as I go, or if the treasure is in the center of the maze, or if my reward depends on how I reason along the way, or what the point of the exercize is.

The labyrinth is parenting, and frankly, I'm surprised to be so lost in it. I think I always pictured having kids as a beautiful, straight path that we would all walk down together. As long as everybody's hair was cute and their clothes were clean and we showed them kindness and discipline, we would stay on the beautiful path, no problem. When Golda was born, I had no idea I was standing on the edge of an overgrown forest of entertwining pathways an never-ending choices to make. Not only is there never a time when everybody's hair is cute and their clothes are all clean, but I'm beginning to realize that looking polished isn't even the point. It's so much more complicated.

Being a parent reminds me of college. I majored in violin performance, and my schedule was four hours of practicing every day. If I put in the correct effort during those four hours, the results were good. Sometimes I didn't know exactly how to practice a certain thing, sometimes I didn't want to do it. Sometimes I practiced for a lesson, only to be told by my teacher that everything was wrong. Those four hours a day were hard, and everthing depended on them. During the hours I wan't practicing, someone else was, and I was falling behind. Everyone was doing the same thing with the same goals in mind, and there was always someone who was better at it and someone who was worse. I could see where I wanted to end up: being able to play the violin well. But how do you organize a million baby steps into a journey of a thousand miles?

Now I'm on a different quest, to be a good parent, and the stakes are so much higher. It's not four hours a day, it's 24, and I'm not just in it for myself. Scott and I are trying to keep five little kids from diving into the underbrush and losing their way, and they are so intrigued by the details, they stumble constantly. If we told the kids we were all lost in a gigantic labyrinth and Daddy and I were just trying to get us all out safely, they would be terrified. So we pretend we're all walking along that wide, straight path with our cute hair and our clean clothes. We shield them from the dangers and try to think, think which way to go. I know that Heavenly Father sees the whole picture, knows where we are and where we're trying to go, and guides our efforts. We are not as lost as we feel, nor as unprepared.

The labyrinth is a symbol of a spiritual journey and a rebirth. I can't think of a more succinct description of parenthood. As daunting a task that it is to navigate such a complex endeavor, I feel blessed to be on the journey. I pray Scott and I don't make too many blunders, and that we are able to show our kids that they are our treasure, now and forever. The treasure that got us into this labyrinth in the first place, and the treasure that makes us see that it's actually a beautiful place to be.

100 Days

Today was the one hundredth day of school! Wow! It was quite a celebration in Araceli's class. She was asked to bring one hundred of something, and it ended up being one hundred heart stickers on a Strawberry Shortcake poster. Did you think Ari would go for the cop-out one hundred pennies or one hundred Q-Tips? No, she was very specific in her request for a poster and a hundred tiny erasers to glue onto it. My extremely brief trip to the dollar store between guitar and ballet yielded no erasers and no plain posters. I knew something even fancier would be an acceptable substitute for Ari's original idea. She loved it. Ari brought home a picture of what she thinks she'll look like when she's 100. I think she looks Chinese! :) I love Ari's art.

Translator, Please

After going to all the kids' SEP conferences, I need a translator. Everything is in code these days, a code designed to protect kids' self-esteem. First of all, I think it would be a lot more helpful to talk to the teacher without the child present. That way, I could address concerns without having to put them in code. With Ari's teacher, I wanted to ask her if she noticed Ari having any anger/defiance issues in class. So I had to say, "Have you noticed Ari following instructions and being nice in class? I know she has a strong personality." It's not the same. It's actually a little ridiculous to have to play the PC game.

Golda's teacher says she "can work on" reading harder books. I try to take that seriously, but do I need to? She's reading above grade level and the books she chooses are 300 pages long. I don't like to limit reading choices in any way. And, does "still working on a skill" mean they have fallen behind in it? Can we just say, "You child is struggling in math" and talk about how to fix it? No, we have to say, "Your child is in the blue math group and is showing improvement in some areas." What about the other areas? Is blue remedial? Do we need a tutor? Will she have a hard time next year if she's in the blue group this year?

Report cards, I've found, are not as helpful as I want them to be. Golda got a shockingly terrible grade in vocabulary. Is she stupid? No, it turns out there was only one assignment in vocabulary for the whole term, and everybody bombed on it. Why include that in a report card? And Ruby's report card was so good, it made me wonder if her teacher is too easy. What if I think she's doing great and then her teacher next year says she is behind?

Time will tell whether these kids end up stronger for all the finessing the adults around them do on behalf of their self-esteem. Are we preparing them for life? I really try to seek out situations where the kids get a reality check, like ballet (No treats. Ever.) and practicing music (incremental goals, constant affort). As with all areas of parenting, we're all flying blind to some extent. I can't help but thinking, though, that my own parents' encouraging, supporting, yet hands-off approach worked pretty well. That was back when teachers would say, "Hey, your kid is in the lowest reading group. Here's what we do." Or, "It's time for a math tutor to help you kid get the basics." Is that what they mean now when they say, "You child is still acquiring the skill of long division?" I wish I knew. What do you guys think?

It's a...

Boys are beyond the range of anybody's sure understanding, at least when they are
between the ages of 18 months and 90 years. -James Thurber

Yep, it's a boy. He is still a mystery, and probably will be somewhat of an enigma throughout his life, if he is anything like his brother. Or his daddy! All we know for now is that he waves his arms and kicks those tiny legs like he's ready to take on the world. Can't wait to see this miracle boy. We love him!

Live and Learn

Freestone had his SEP conference today, where he and I met with his kindergarten teacher for a little heart-to-heart. First, his teacher asked him what his very favorite thing about school is. He said Centers, which is basically play time. Then she said, "What is the one thing you like the very least about school? Tell me what you don't like and maybe I can change it."

"The learning."

Freestone's teacher did not promise to eliminate all that bothersome learning from the classroom, but if she insists on teaching them stuff, Freestone should do OK. He got a great report card with all 4's except Home Reading. The 3 in Home Reading is probably due to the fact that Freestone's backpack disappeared for two weeks, during which time I searched everywhere within a three-mile radius of our house. It surfaced in the trunk of my brother's car. Did I tell you Freestone likes to hide things?

Now, Free is outside with Jakey and Ari, playing in the gully where there is no "learning" to be done and nobody to grade you on what you're accomplishing. That's a good feeling when you're five.

Not Even a Mouse

Xanthe's new preschool ambushed me with 12 adorable photos of her that I didn't know they were taking. I got out of there with just one, being a veteran of the ready-photos scam. But isn't it cute? I don't know who she's on the phone with, but it's not Chuck E. Cheese. Xanthe has been worried about Chuck showing up at our house since we went to the BEST Chuch E. Cheese party EVER on Friday. (Happy Birthday, H!!)While Freestone, Jake and Araceli burned through tokens and pizza and fruit punch, Xanthe spent half of the time trying to get me to reassure her that the guy in the giant mouse suit was not going to get her. I even told her that Chuck E. Cheese didn't care about her because it wasn't her birthday, thinking my reverse psychology would make her want Chuck E. Cheese to pay attention to her. She did not believe for a minute that someone else's birthday party wasn't all about her, so that didn't work. When Ari told her it was just a guy in a huge mouse costume, that didn't help either. That's even scarier! That night in bed, Xanthe asked me where Chuch E. Cheese was. I told her he went home. She said, "He doesn't have a car?" I reassured her that Chuck was NOT coming to our house. She said, "He doesn't have a motorcycle?" I could see that we were going to go through all the modes of transportation and Xanthe still wouldn't be convinced that the big mouse couldn't walk to her house. So I said, "Look, if you don't go to sleep, I'm going to call Chuck E. Cheese and invite him to your birthday party. OK?" She closed her eyes and we didn't hear a peep until morning