Words of Wisdom.

It's hot. Like, 110 degrees hot. I've been too lazy to get the kids outside in this heat much lately and I woke up at 4 in the morning worried about what a bad, lazy mother I've been and vowing to do better. After all, we only get so much time with our children before they don't want to be with us anymore. And the girls (both girls - boo hoo) will be in school in a month. So I made a promise to myself that starting today, we were going to DO stuff together, besides just an hour at the pool here or there. So I asked them what they wanted to do this morning. To my utter dismay, they chose to play tennis. It was 9:30, so I said "Ok, we have a small window where the heat won't kill us on the spot, so get your gear on and let's go." We decided to add to the fun by riding our bikes to the tennis courts. It's not too far, but Rhett's only four and he's still on training wheels, so he lags behind quite a bit. We were a little over halfway to the courts when he informed me, "Mom, I think it would have been a lot faster if we drove in the car."

Then, on the way home, after a brief run through the splash park to cool off, we saw a bunny that had been run over in the middle of the road. Off to the side we saw - if you are eating, you may want to set it to the side now - the babies. As in, the fetal babies that very clearly had shot out of the momma's tummy when she got run over. I know, ewwww. But the kids were fascinated. Horrified, disgusted, and fascinated. After they had had all they could take, we took off for home. Reese kept saying "I hope nothing else kills those babies." I didn't have the heart to tell her that the hawk that was circling was probably going to, in fact, kill those babies again. Avery mentioned that it was sad that the babies never got to be born. I agreed and she said "Well, at least I got to be born, and Reese and Rhett got to be born." My first thought was, Yes, Avery, I'm very glad I didn't get squashed by a Suburban that shot you out of my belly, but I felt that was a bit sarcastic for an 8 year old, so again, I just agreed. Then Rhett pipes up. "Mom, we can't kill pets." I said "Well, honey, it was an accident and they probably weren't anyone's pets. It is sad, though." Rhett responds with, "But those are Jesus' pets and we aren't allowed to kill Jesus' pets." Once again, sage advice from a four-year-old.

Funny Guy

I have finally accepted as reality something I have suspected for quite some time. Rhett is hilarious. I used to think he was just cute and adorable and funny because he was a little kid and little kids are just funny. But I have come to realize that being funny is something that just comes naturally to him, whether he's trying or not.

Here's an example of him being hilarious without knowing what he was doing was hilarious:


In case you don't recognize this move, he's doing the sprinkler. At his preschool class' Easter party. Without being prompted. I, in fact, am the one who often encourages this move at home, but I wasn't even there. Another mom took this photo after he did it three or four times. She said "He kept doing this one move over and over again, very seriously." She wasn't aware of the sprinkler as a dance move, apparently. She is now. I guess he did it repeatedly until another idea took hold and he dropped to the floor in an attempt to try his hand at breakdancing.
I laugh out loud every time I see this picture and visualize him dancing his little heart out, doing moves that we all know are silly, but that he thinks is real, serious dancing. See? Funny.

Then, there are the words and conversations. Oh my Lord, this boy tries my patience. I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing and hold my hands at my sides to keep from strangling him at least 7 times a day. He keeps me on my toes, that's for sure. I had to write some of the more recent chats down, so I can one day, when he comes to me, pulling his hair out over his own little boy's exasperating behavior, pull out this little record and just grin.

Aaron told all the kids to go brush their teeth. All went in their respective bathrooms to do as they were told. Rhett was out in less than 12 seconds. Aaron asked him if he brushed his teeth and this is where it led:
Rhett: Yep, I brushed 'em.
Aaron: You haven't been in there long enough to even put toothpaste on the brush. You didn't.
Rhett: I did, Dad. I really did.
Aaron: Your toothbrush isn't even wet. You did not brush.
Rhett: I used an invisible toothbrush. See? (Here he began pretending as though he was holding a toothbrush and moving his hand up and down in front of his mouth, like he was brushing them right then.)

While getting dressed one day, Rhett started crying, saying "They're too far apart!" I asked him what in the world he was talking about and he showed me that the button wouldn't go in the hole because the pants were too small. They're too far apart. I know the feeling, Buddy.

Rhett's note from school last week: "Besides him climbing the urinal on the wall, it was a great day." Me: Rhett, did you get in trouble today? Rhett: Just for climbing the potty!

Me: Do you think you are funny?
Rhett, shaking his head No: Since I'm 4. I used to be funny, when I was 3. Not now. So don't laugh.

Signage

On Saturday, as I headed out to the backyard to start my garden, I noticed some new signage around our house.

This one was on the front of their playhouse. Apparently, wasps have been coming into the playhouse. This is their warning to keep out.

The sign itself probably isn't terribly frightening to a wasp, but the can above it will surely do the trick. But just in case a particularly brave, or stupid, wasp decides to risk it and head inside the house, he will soon regret it.

I'm not sure what will happen to this rogue wasp when he realizes he "shouldn't of" come in, but I'm sure he'll be sorry.

The last sign was inside the garage. There's a story behind this one. My darling husband, in an attempt to keep the garage somewhat neat has purchased a bike rack. There's a slot for each child's bike and trust me, there is hell to pay if the bikes aren't where they belong. (If you know my husband, you know that there is NEVER hell to pay where he's concerned. If you don't know him, trust me. There is never hell to pay.)

The kids have done pretty well at keeping up with the bikes. But alas, their dad forgot about one thing: scooters. There are no slots for scooters. And he is forever tripping over, kicking, or almost running over their Razor scooters. Until today, we haven't had a real solution to this problem.

Hmmm...should I worry that there are no scooters actually parked here? Nah, the garage is Dad's area. Now, off to convince Avery to make a sign that says "Pick up your toys, clean up your mess, and for Pete's sake, flush the toilet!"

Not So Grown Up After All (Thank goodness!)

Avery is 7. She'll be 8 in May and it's all moving too fast for me. She's becoming much more independent, and doesn't seem to need me as much as she used to. (sob!) Don't get me wrong. She still wants to snuggle and sleep in Mommy's bed, but only at night when all her friends have gone home and it's just us.
It seems that, every day, she's asking for more and more freedom. She wants to go to the park with her friends, without me. She wants to walk the neighbor's dog, without me. She wants to walk to school, without me. I try to let go, little bits at a time. We compromise. She can go to the park, but she has to take a walkie talkie so I can talk to her whenever I want to. She can walk the neighbor's dog, but only if the dog's owner's big brother goes with them. She can't walk to school alone yet, but she gets to walk by herself, after school, all the way to the crossing guard a block away and I pick her up there.
Yesterday, we walked her to school. She asked to ride her bike and I said yes. The neighbor boys (owners of previously mentioned dog) rode by on their bikes and she asked if she could go with them. I said yes, and that I would be coming behind them.
They rode off and were far enough ahead of us that I couldnt' see them anymore. I really was ok with it, but I had the backpack, so I had to go on up to school. Before we got to the street the school is on, I see Avery riding her bike toward me. I said "Honey, you didn't have to come back. I was bringing your backpack." She burst into tears. She said, through tears, "Momma, I couldn't even see you. We were too far ahead. I wanted to see you, so I came back. I'm not ready to ride my bike without you."
I almost burst into tears too, but instead just yelled inside my own head "Thankyou, God! She still needs me!"
All I said to her was "Honey, I'm always here," and then floated all the way to school on a cloud of mommy-bliss.

Daddy Daughter Dance

Every year, our city holds a Daddy/Daughter Dance. It's pretty self-explanatory; Dads take their daughters to a dance. Some people go all out with this...fancy dresses, limos, makeup and hair done at the salon, etc. (That was never going to happen at our house, by the way. A new dress and lots of extra attention are treat enough, in my opinion.) We've never even considered going because frankly, that's not Avery's thing and until this year, Reese wasn't old enough to go.

Aaron asked Reese if that was something she would like to do. She didn't hesitate before shouting "YES!" We didn't think Avery would be interested in going, but of course, in the interest of fairness, we had to offer it. Surprisingly, she said yes. I told her she had to dress up and she was still ok with it. So, with both girls in, we had to make a decision. There are different dance times for different ages. Unfortunately, Reese's dance was from 2-3:30 and Avery's was from 4-5:30. Reese was allowed to go to Avery's dance, but older kids can't go to a younger dance. At first we thought they would all go together, then we considered the logistics of both girls wanting Aaron's attention. Being the sweet, considerate Daddy that he is, Aaron decided to go to two separate dances. (Yes, that meant he had to buy two separate tickets for himself. Told you he was sweet.)

The girls and I started shopping for dresses. Avery was easy. I asked if she wanted to go shopping and she said "No, I'm just wearing a girl shirt and jeans." Uh oh. I explained to her that she needed to wear a dress. It didn't have to be fancy, but she needed to dress up. She reluctantly agreed. We found a cute black dress at Gap online, ordered it and some tall boots. Avery is done.

Reese, as expected, took a bit longer. We hit four stores and tried on at least 12 dresses before we found the perfect compromise of fancy, affordable and seasonally appropriate. Fortunately, shoes were easier. Only two stores and three different styles before we found the one.

She tried her entire outfit on at least three times before Dance Weekend and could hardly wait. Avery was excited about going, but definitely more low-key. Aaron told each girl she could choose the tie he would wear and Avery was mostly excited that he agreed to wear his OU tie to her dance.

The day of the dance was exactly as you might imagine. Avery went to softball practice while Reese got ready for her dance. She took a long bath, and then put on her robe while we got her ready.

Here she is after her hair was dried, but before it was straightened and styled.

And here she is after styled hair, waiting for her nails to dry. The cutest thing about all of this was her excitement level. I bet she said at least 10 times, "Mom, this is so exciting!" or "Mom, I think I look so beautiful."

And here's the finished product, with her "date":

I love that Aaron thought of ordering corsages for the girls. They loved it too.

Obviously, I didn't get to attend the dance. In fact, Aaron took a picture of a sign at the dance that said "No Moms Allowed." But, I can just about picture how Reese pranced around at the dance. Aaron said she basically led him around the room the entire time, getting snack after snack, looking for her friends (not sure who she thought she was going to see, but she didn't see anyone she knew. That didn't stop her from looking). Aaron said they didn't dance until the very end, and the dancing was more spinning Reese and twirling her in the air. I can only imagine. She is very, um, commanding when she wants to be. And she LOVES to have someone cater to her. She may have been a princess in a former life.

While Reese was at her dance, Avery watched TV. I made her take a bath and wash her hair early so it could start to dry. I knew she wasn't going to tolerate a lot of time in front of the mirror fixing her hair. In fact, she told me more than once that I was driving her crazy, trying to curl her hair. "It's already curly, Mom! Why do you have to curl it again?" I didn't even bother trying to explain it to her. I must say, once she got ready, I think she enjoyed it. She seemed proud of her outfit and was excited about the dance. I didn't get many pictures of her.

Here are some pictures after Reese's dance and before Avery's.

Reese was very depressed when Aaron and Avery left for the dance. You know that "let-down" after a big event? She had it big time. I didn't know if I would be able to bring her out of it, then I reminded her that we were all going out for a family dinner and she would still be wearing her fancy outfit. That perked her up.

Aaron's report on his dance with Avery: They danced. Big time. A lot. The food line was long and the picture line was even longer, so they just got their groove on the entire time. I would have given just about anything to be a fly on the wall to see this. Aaron doesn't dance. Ever. Ok, not ever. He has danced with me about 4 times in our 11 years together. I'm glad he was able to overcome his dislike of public dancing because he made two little girls very, very happy.

Thanks, Daddy, for making your girls feel so special. What a great day!

Christmas 2010

So, I didn't take any pictures of my kids at Christmas. I know, I know...loser parent. I don't know what happened to me this year. I didn't get the camera out on Christmas morning at home (that has honestly never happened since Avery was born) and I didn't get the camera out on Christmas night in Oklahoma. I had the camera with me, I just didn't use it. I didn't think much of it at the time, only a nagging feeling that maybe I should have...but now I'm depressed about it. I feel like a bad mother who doesn't think her kids are cute or funny anymore, so why bother with pictures. So I'm sad. Luckily, I do have this group of pictures to make me laugh...in fact, after looking at the results of this "photo shoot" I dare you to NOT have a smile on your face.

Here's the background story: My mom realized a few months ago that her grandkids' ages, as of Christmas Day, would be exactly 1,2,3,4,5,6,7, and 8. So she just knew she had to commemorate this occasion. She bought them all bright colored sweatshirts and painted wooden numbers for each of them to hold. We (she and I) honestly thought we could pull this off without a hitch. Ok, we thought there might be like, ONE hitch, but we really thought we'd get an excellent, beautiful, adorable picture of all 8 children. I guess we forgot that two of these numbers are ONE and TWO. You've probably guessed by now that things didn't go as planned. Especially with a TWO year old involved. A tired, overwhelmed, cranky two year old. What were we thinking?

Here's what we ended up with....

Here's one with RJ (Mr. Two) crying.

Here's one with Mr. Two leaving.

Here's one with Uncle Bo putting the 2 in front of him...notice he tries to kick it over. If memory serves me correctly, he did, in fact, kick it over.

Here's one with Mr. Two throwing the 2.

Here's one with Mr. Two crying again...and yet, we still haven't taken the hint that this picture is NOT going to happen.

Here's a repeat of Uncle Bo and the kicking. Seriously, it happened twice. I can prove it by the numbers on the pictures.

I will end by saying that these are the best pictures that came out of my camera. There are shots with my sister making threats to Mr. Two (he didn't care), there are shots of Mr. One leaving and crying (He sat more still and stopped crying when Mr. Two was doing his thing...he knew he wasn't going to be able to upstage that one), there are more shots of Uncle Bo trying his hardest to give Mr. Two his 2. And even more shots of Mr. Two throwing, kicking and generally hating the 2. So we gave up.

We are giving serious thought to using this one and photoshopping Mr. One and Mr. Two in on a happier, less exhausted day. What do you think?

(FYI- I have no clue how to photoshop people into a picture so we have a better chance of Mr. Two calling me up, apologizing for his crankiness that evening, and asking if we can reschedule the photo shoot than we do of me getting the picture my mom wanted. But hey, I'd like to thank Mr. Two for making me laugh out loud every time I look at these pictures. I can't wait until he's Mr. Twenty-Two so I can show him!)