Scale of Cuteness

You know how parents always think THEIR kids are the cutest kids ever created? 

Sorry to burst the bubble if you’re one of these unfortunate adults who thinks this.

You’re so wrong.

And I have proof.

Our newest addition is CRAZY cute!

Astoundingly adorable!

And it’s not just because I’m his mom.

Really!

We were in a very large store a few weeks ago, and I was wearing this child on my front, facing out.  He was gurgling and cooing and being very chubby and adorable, when all of the sudden, I hear this lady YELL across the very large, very echo-y store…..

“THAT’S THE CUTEST BABY I HAVE EVER SEEN!”

And she wasn’t my mom or someone I pay to come places with me and yell compliments across large, echo-y places.

(Although that would be rockin’ cool!  And very affirming!)

And then later on, this very nice older lady approached me and said that my baby was extremely adorable.  She said this….

“And I KNOW cute babies because I used to be a perinatal nurse.  And THAT is one cute baby!”

So even though I’m his mom, I think it’s safe to say that this baby is just plain, stinkin’ cute!  And I just had to post my feelings on this matter because every hour that passes in my day, I am ASTOUNDED that this child came out of me, and I haven’t eaten him alive yet.  I’m just glad I’m not a guinea pig.

(I’m having to restrain myself to not post pictures just to prove my right-ness.  This would be a good time for all those readers out there who have seen Hairy Babe, to verify his extreme and total adorable-ness for my other unfortunate readers who have not been blessed by seeing his perfect skin, beautiful dark hair, triple chins, and thighs that cannibals would go CRAZY over.)

(I’m thinking the eating-people theme isn’t going to go over well with my pastor’s wife, or that nice lady at church who has 8 kids and the best-tasting pork in the universe.  Or that pretty teen in my church who reads my blog every day but doesn’t speak to me because she knows I am unable to be friends with people who have long, flow-y hair that they are able to SIT ON!) 

A Van Conversation

Yesterday was our shopping day for this month.  It is quite possible that I will never again darken the doors of the Walmart I frequent here.  That would be COOL!  On a sad note, I may never again darken the doors of our favorite Goodwill here either.

But, oh the joys that await us in Arizona!!!

New, fresh, never-before-stepped-into-by-us Goodwills!!!

It’s kinda the way I feel about a whole field-full of snow that no one has walked on yet.  SCORE!

Anyway.

We were at some point of the trip and the 6-year-old had been given the opportunity to pick a DVD of her choice to watch in the van.  She picked “Sound of Music” much to the chagrin of the various boys occupying the van.  There was audible groaning.

If you have recently moved here from Outer Space or have been in a coma for, um, 72 years and have NOT seen this movie, I must tell you that there is singing in it.  Lots.  Singing in places you wouldn’t really think singing would occur in real life.  And actually DOESN’T. 

So most of the children were watching the opening scenes where Maria is singing on the top of the grassy mountain, spinning around and skipping over rocks in the stream, when suddenly 6-Year-Old says…..

“Mommy, Maria is VERY good at….”

And before she could finish the sentence, I began nodding because I just KNEW what she was going to say.  We had discussed Julie Andrews at length recently, and I had told them all about how she was born with an adult larynx and can reach an amazing amount of octaves and what are octaves, Mommy?  And how, as a little girl, she had an astounding voice, and just listen at how clear and beautiful it is.  And you know the scene where they are singing in the contest, right before they sneak away?  And everyone in the audience is singing the Austrian national anthem (or something) and you can hear Maria singing above everyone else at an octave HIGHER than everyone else? 

And I was already formulating in my head to 6-Year-Old the reiteration of how lovely Maria’s voice truly is, when she completed the sentence like this……

“She’s REALLY good at balancing on the rocks in the stream!”

And I tried to remember being six, and how that felt and what thoughts I had back then.

But all I could do was laugh at my wrong assumptions and the fact that, to 6-year-olds?  Balancing on rocks across a stream IS pretty cool!

A Baby Swing Post

This is a post about the baby swing that we own.  It will be a good post, even though the subject matter may seem slightly…..um…..dull-ish.  It’s actually an exercise in good creative writing.  See, one of the 5 things I remember being taught in high school is that a really good writer can make the dullest subject come to life.

I realize that I am probably not a good enough writer to make the topic of baby swings come to life, but maybe wake up groggily and then fall back to sleep.

We’ll see.  Here goes.

Last week, I noticed that the baby swing that Juan, a.k.a. Hairy Babe, spends time in each day was getting slower.  And as the days passed, even slower.  Until, eventually, it stopped.

So I asked Yummy Man to get some new batteries yesterday when he was at the commissary.

And let me take this moment to tell all of you baby equipment manufacturers out there reading this blog that if you want continued business, do not, and I repeat, DO NOT make a baby swing that needs 4 batteries the size of a small Honda to operate.  Because they cost almost as much as a small Honda would, and people that are buying baby swings generally have a new baby, ya know?  And not a lot of cash.  And don’t want to pay $87 for 4 batteries that will be dead in a matter of weeks.

Just my $.02.  Not that I know anything about baby equipment or anything.

(Loud cough)

So I installed the new batteries this afternoon and then set our enormous 3-month-old in it.  I reminded him of how much fun swings are when they do what they are SUPPOSED to do.

Swing.

And he was all flapping and kicking and smiling and anxiously awaiting the peace and tranquility he remembered the last time the swing actually did what swings are SUPPOSED to do.

Swing.

But it didn’t really work out that way.

Yes, the batteries were new.

Yes, the swinging mechanism still works.

Yes, the batteries were turned the right way.

Actually, I soon discovered that the reason why the swing was just barely moving was not due to battery or swing-design issues.

It was due to milk-fat issues.

Basically?  Mr. Fatty is a little too heavy for the swing now.

So much so, in fact, that for a moment there, I actually felt sorry for those batteries!

A Post in Which I Set Joanna Straight About A Thing or Two

Joanna left a comment that just HAD to be addressed as an actual post.  I certainly don’t want something THIS important to get lost in the sea of comments I receive each day. 

Okay.  Maybe not SEA.  Maybe more like drops from the kitchen sink that sit there, pooling in the corners until they dry up.

Here is what she asked about the last sentence in my “Wow” post which was a response to all the wonderful, loving, chocolate-flavored comments I got after my “Pathetic, Whiney…” post. 

In which I was pathetic and whiney.

And trying to make sure that all my readers came back by saying that I would post about happy things soon.  One of those happy things was pink tutus.

And Joanna left this comment.  I quote:  “Um, pink tutus?”

And she has 4 daughters!  If you’re wondering how a very small, very cute, very funny, and very intelligent lady got this far in life with 4 daughters and no knowledge of the miracles of pink tutus?  Well.  I just don’t even know what to say to that.

Okay.  I guess I DO know what to say to that.  Here goes…..

All things in life can be made better with pink tutus.  It’s a universal rule like water is wet, wheels are round, and I have big feet.

No matter what horrors await you in life, pink tutus will make them all disappear. 

No matter that disease and pestilence are on the horizon.  Pink tutus will turn them into rainbows and snow-white kittens.

Know why?

Well, if you are fortunate enough to be a five-year-old little girl with blonde curls and chubby thighs, then you know what marvelous, stupendous, miraculous creation comes attached to pink tutus.

Ballerinas.

And if they are truly wondrous ballerinas, then the pink tutus will have sparkles glued to them. 

And there will be lots and lots of twirling.

So.

Ballerinas.

Sparkles.

Pink tutus.

Twirling.

Get it now, Joanna?

And that’s all I have to say about that.

This Morning’s Kid Epiphany

Some of my children are very sad that we are leaving our place here in the country.  They have had a hard time envisioning any sort of fun being had in the (cough, gag) city.  On vulnerable days, when all my hormones are readjusting back to non-pregnant (I think) status, this breaks my heart.  It is so sad to me that our children will not be able to run free and untethered like they have been for the past 4 years.  On other days, I get excited at the opportunities awaiting us in the city.  (Like the ones in Goodwill at night after the children go to bed.)

Today, our children were exposed to ONE item of potential fun that living in the city will offer.

Playgrounds.

When you live on 7 acres in the middle of 4000 more, playgrounds are unneccesary.  Frivolous, even.

This morning, we had a showing on our house.  This entailed me spending the early part of the morning running around like a chicken with its head cut off.  I usually reserve this activity for the after-supper-and-before-bedtime segment of each night, when one of my children has to be asked 52 times to sweep and mop the kitchen and another two children have to be restrained from bickering incessantly while they do the supper dishes and a certain toddler-ish child has to be reminded not to stand with the back door open, watching the air in the backyard. 

So after we had whipped the house into shape, we drove into the little town near our house to do a few chores.  When we had done THAT, the children asked if they could go to a playground that we had passed and I said “Yes”.  Because I ENJOY sitting out in the blazing hot sun, watching my children do potentially dangerous things on playgrounds on which I wonder when was the last time the Playground Maintenance People checked the safety of the chains on the swings.  Because I’m paranoid like that.

They RAN to the play equipment and would’ve slammed against them with their faces if it weren’t for the 6 inches of sand that covered the entire playground and slowed them down.

And after they had played for awhile and were sitting in the grass putting their sandals back on, I told them that, when we get to Arizona, WE’LL BE DOING THIS A LOT! 

And the air shifted.  There were stars that actually aligned themselves differently in the heavens.  I think some of the plates in the earth moved too.

And they realized that, maybe?  Life WASN’T going to stink as much as they thought in Arizona!  And they MAY just have some fun down there in the Land of Excruciating Temperatures.

And I think there may even have been a tiny amount of stifled giddiness.

Wow.

Can I just say it again? 

Wow.

I am staggered by the responses I have received after my “feel sorry for me…..I’m pathetic and whiney and not nearly as skinny as I used to be” post.

I have decided that, from now on, I will write one “feel sorry for me…..I’m pathetic and whiney and not nearly as skinny as I used to be” post a week.  THAT’S how good y’all made me feel.

You made my week.  And it really hasn’t been a great one up ’til now.

So thank you.

And please forgive me for thinking it was a good idea to sit down and write a post when I was a tad bit on the pathetic/emotional side.

The next post I write will be full of rainbows and kittens and pink tutus, okay? 

Promise.

A Sad, Pathetic Post in Which I Feel Sorry For Myself and Ask You to Do the Same

I have noticed lately that when I don’t write a post every day or so, my stats go down considerably.

That makes me sad.

It SHOULDN’T, because I’m not doing this for the stats, but it does.  I am mentally flung back to my high school years, where no one liked me and everyone made fun of me and I was skinny and had buck teeth and big glasses and humongous feet, and you couldn’t PAY anyone to be my friend because I was just too huge of a dork.

That’s how I feel right now.  Like, am I boring now?  Has my writing gone downhill so that you can barely stand to read my posts?  Is the whole 9-kids thing kinda getting to you?  What?

But wait.

I don’t know that I REALLY want to know, because then I’ll be flung back to my high school years where no one liked me and everyone made fun of me and I was skinny and had buck teeth and big glasses and humongous feet and you couldn’t PAY anyone to be my friend because I was just too huge of a dork.

So I’m going to go with this…..

1.  Maybe some of you are on vacation, and riding the rides at Disney World with your children is more important than reading my blog.  (Snort!)

2.  I’ve been busy getting our 2500-square-foot house streamlined enough to fit into a 1200-square-foot house and haven’t been able to write much.  Because the whittling down of stuff is painful and time-consuming.  Feel sorry for me.

If there is something else I should know, please be kind.  I guess I would want to know if people who are obligated to read my blog now do so with dread and resigned sighing.  And if you’re NOT obligated to read my blog, but just actually ENJOY it, that would be cool to know too.  Not that I need your validation or anything.

Okay, maybe I do.

Because last night?  I got very close to crying when my husband called me out to the front porch to see the lightning bugs out in the field in front of our house, and listen to the frogs singing down at the creek, and just generally notice the lack of people-noises that we will SO miss when we move to Arizona.

Where it’s hot.

So I think I’m feeling a tab bit needy and vulnerable. 

And Yummy Man doesn’t really DO needy and vulnerable well.  He just sighs and rolls his eyes and tells me how much of a chick I’m being and can I please stop that because it’s just annoying already.

And now I’m going to have to cry.

(This isn’t helping my stats, is it?)

Today

Other than change 12 diapers, nurse 7 times, supervise the fixing of various meals, dress toddlers, wash two loads of laundry, HANG two loads of laundry, do a small amount of school with the children, get really mad at the computer, and mow a portion of the lawn (which is my spiritual gift, by the way), I have spent a little too much time today listening to this WAY cool compilation of 100 kadrillion songs that my husband brought home from work.

Oh.

My.

Word.

It’s like every song that I have ever loved at any time in my life is on this list!  So I made this CD with my favorite ones on it to play over and over and over again in the kitchen while I make obscene amounts of food and referee the various children that hang out in there.  Sometimes on their stomachs.  Spread-eagle. Where I have to walk and stuff.

Can I just tell you how much this excites me?  It’s pathetic, I know, but the CD makes me happy.  Probably not so much Yummy Man, however, because he has a thing with any form of music that is not classical or does not have the annoying noise of trumpets at its core.  It’s weird.

So then I decided to make one for the children, and can I just tell you that they just about wet themselves over it.  Why, you ask?  Because two of the songs I burned are in the movie “Facing the Giants”, which my kids think angels made.  Real, true angels with wings and halos and clouds and stuff.

Also?  My 6-year-old can now identify 20 + countries of the world.  A month ago, she was asking if China was near Arizona.  Where it’s hot.

I just had to put that in my blog because I am so hugely impressed with the geography book that my bud in Oklahoma told me about, that I just want to drive down there and cook her a week’s worth of meals so that she can sit in front of her computer and marvel at websites that teach when to use commas and apostrophes.  Because THAT is what excites HER.  But I still really, really like her.  Bunches and bunches.  And I’m not just saying that because I just kinda, sorta made fun of her just now and I’m trying to suck up or anything.

Ahem.

And by the way, the geography curriculum is called “Visualize World Geography” and while it is just plain ‘ole freaky in many, various ways and kinda scares me when I lie in bed and night and think about it, IT WORKS!

Huge.

And that makes me happy too.

But what DOESN’T make me happy is that Internet Explorer 7 is not working right now and that’s why my font looks weird.  And my pictures won’t upload from my camera which really has nothing to do with this blog, but since this post is already so disjointed and confusing, I thought it wouldn’t hurt to throw that in here too.

—————————————————-

And as an addendum, Internet Explorer 7 is now working and I fixed the font on this, my blog, but my picture reader is STILL not working which stinks because I need to take a bunch of pictures of stuff I’m selling on Ebay which may include the frozen placentas in my freezer because I am getting rid of everything!  Everything, I tell ya!

Except Yummy Man and the kids.  And my new CD.  And my king-sized bed. 

Okay, not EVERYthing, but it FEELS like everything.

A Note of Apology

Dear members of the church my family attends,

Please forgive us for coming to church this morning.  We really DID want to be around our church family for fellowship and worship and teaching today, but apparently, some of our children had other plans.

Please forgive 4-Year-Old and 6-Year-Old for giggling and slapping each other during the commissioning service for the very cute young people going to China this summer on a missions trip.  I wasn’t there so I cannot explain why it happened, other than to remind you that I wasn’t there so I’m not responsible.  At least, that’s the story I’m going with right now.  Basically?  Envision me pointing my finger accusingly at Yummy Man right now and saying, “HE was in charge!”

Please forgive 3-Year-Old for SCREAMING out during that nano-second of silence between “Please open your hymnals to page 43″ and the first notes from the piano.  Almost-2-Year-Old was breathing and blinking within the half-square-inch of air around 3-Year-Old’s body that she has deemed her personal space.

Please forgive Almost-8-Year-Old for taking all of whatever it is YOU wanted to eat from the potluck table before you got there.  He is a human tornado, sucking up every crumb of yummy food before anyone else arrives, and before either parent notices.  It is quite possible that I will be spending a few moments of my very early morning tomorrow cleaning up vomit.  Seriously.

Please forgive 6-Year-Old for doing interpretive dance on the stage after church was over.  I am fully aware that this is not an interpretive-dance type of church, but she was happy and smiling and not whining, and I was blinded by that.  But just so you know, it was nice, flow-y, smooth, modest dancing.  Just didn’t want you to be envisioning a bump-and-grind kind of thing going on in the house of God.

All the girls who were enjoying the antics of Almost-2-Year-Old, please forgive him for being a shameless show-off.  Apparently, he doesn’t get much attention in this, the House of 10 Trillion Siblings, so he just HAD to deliberately fall off the stage over and over again in order for anyone to know he exists.  (Note to self:  Train him to stop this before he’s 18 or so.  Nice girls who are marrying age don’t really dig that.)

Hopefully, next time we return to church, things will be better.  If not, please keep in mind that very, very soon, we will no longer be a part of your congregation.

Thank you.

The only mom of 9 in your church with big feet

I’ve Been a Tad Bit Whiney Lately, Haven’t I?

It’s okay.  You can tell me.  I can take it. 

Okay, so here’s a Happy Post.

The 3-year-old has suddenly decided that wetness bothers her.  Not diaper-wetness.  Every OTHER kind of wetness.

Crib sheet wetness.

Crib mattress pad wetness.

Crib comforter wetness.

Sippy-cup spout wetness.

Sippy-cup CUP wetness.

Dress wetness.

Sleeper wetness.

Sock wetness.

What’s-that-wetness-on-the-kitchen-floor? wetness.

That kind of thing.

The weird/funny/psychotic thing about this whole Wetness Extravaganza is that whatever she adamantly deems as wet, usually isn’t.

But that doesn’t stop here from declaring it as such at VERY. LOUD. DECIBELS.

Twenty-two times an hour.

“MOMMY!  MY BED IS SOAKING WET!”

“No, it’s not.  It’s fine.”

“NO, MOMMY!  MY BED IS SOAKING WET!”

“3-Year-Old, I have checked your crib and it is dry.”

“NO!!  MOMMY!!  MY BED IS SOAKING WET!!”

“Your bed is NOT soaking wet!  I felt it with my very own hand!”

“NO, NO!!!!  MOMMY!!!  MOMMY!!! (and there is a blood vessel on her temple right about now, that is going to explode or something if this continues)  MY BED IS.  SOAKING.  WET!!!”

“3-Year-Old, your bed is very, very, VERY dry.  In fact, it is as dry as a BIG, HUGE, PILE OF BONES, OKAY?!”

And then she looked at me…….

suspiciously (like, did Mommy say something bad just then?  Is there something intrinsically wrong about using the word “bones” in an everyday sentence to your 3-year-old?  Because it FEELS like there is),

scared-ly (is Mommy going to bring out evidence of the actual dryness of bones?),

and quietly (like, I guess I’ll concede now.  I HAVE been a little weird about wetness lately).