Not so adventures of the St. Clair clan...

This Christmas break hasn't gone down exactly the way we envisioned.  Weather and illness have kept us pretty low key the last week or so.  Carter takes the prize, celebrating her second birthday with CSV and pneumonia.  Poor girl.  We knew she wasn't well when she refused to eat.  Girl does not miss meals.  Or snacks.  Or food scraps on the floor.  She is recovering, but it's definitely the hardest part of being a parent - seeing your babies sick and miserable.     Prior to all the illness, we enjoyed an unprecedented white Christmas.  We were all thoroughly spoiled and felt very blessed.  Our kids were full of gratitude for all they received and never seemed to hit "gift fatigue."  They have been enjoying several new games and toys, but I have to admit, I wasn't sad when they went outside today with a hatchet and pocketknife and spent a large chunk of the afternoon carving fishing poles and spears.   Our ditch is full of water and they were determined to tes

 If you're wondering where your Christmas card is, it probably got lost in the mail.  I'm sure I sent them out earlier this month, but the details are a little sketchy.  That was at least days ago.  I overshare enough here that even if the card doesn't make it, you already know what the last year was like in the St. Clair household: LOUD.   However, I will continue to enjoy and be open to any and all cards you would like to send my way.  I use them to cover up muddy handprints and color crayon on my walls.  It looks very festive.  But I need a few dozen more to do a proper job.  Please.  Duplicates and triplicates accepted.  For more pro tips, follow me on Twitter.    Here's the best picture collage I could piece together of our year.  It's a little blurry.  The pictures and the year.   It's okay, nobody really wants a clear memory of 2021 anyway.    P.S. I'm not on Twitter.

 Let me start by saying, I love my kids.  I love them.  And I will destroy anyone who tries to harm them in any capacity.  Including myself.   That aside, some days with the kids are rough. Have you ever gotten to the end of an exhausting day and sat down to realize it's only noon?  Each hour crept by as one kid after another tried my patience in their own special way.  Even now, at bedtime, one little bitty is sitting in my lap, refusing to sleep - the icing on the cake.  I couldn't listen to another second of yelling today.  I've had my quota and I've done my quota.  I'm not proud.   The timeouts in the last twelve hours were abounding, the extra chores plentiful, swats were served, and it was truly just an ugly day start to almost finish.  Plus, I was out of chocolate and ice cream which wasn't helping anyone.       At the end of the day, I felt like a huge failure.  But somehow, the kids didn't see me that way.  At the end of the day, the babies still w

 Vanity has never really been one of my failings.  I mean, I care, but I don't really care.  My clothes are not in style because they probably weren't any style to begin with.  My eyebrow probably wishes I was a little more vain...if you know what I mean.  I don't spend money on my hair or nails.  Our vehicles are practical and economical.  And that's it.  Actually, let me take you on a little sideline here: the 1999 Camry.  If you are looking for a dependable car that absolutely refuses to die, get yourself a 1999 Toyota, Camry.  Ask your grandma if you can buy hers.  There are approximately 700 grey Toyota, Camrys identical to ours in our community alone.  Because they all refuse to quit.  And manufacturers probably never made another car like it because that kind of lasting power doesn't do them any favors.  It isn't sexy, but 250 thousand miles with little more than general maintenance does kind of make me blush.   But back to the vanity spiel.  Where was I

 I was going to use this little window of time before bed to do a core workout.  That was around 3:00pm when I was still riding my caffeine high and hadn't just eaten sugar straight from the bag (not literally, but close enough).  Instead, I'm embracing my sedentary self, working toward acquiring Type II diabetes, and resting in the knowledge that my core will still be there and droopy tomorrow.  I'll start that workout first thing in the morning.  Priorities. Speaking of priorities, our kids are becoming noticeably more feral.  We need to reign things in, but I don't know where to even start.   Lift the toilet when you pee?  How about just close the door when you pee?  Or at least make it into the house?  Or, if you must pee outside, find somewhere discreet?  Sheesh.  Please, use a tissue instead of your sleeve, or use your sleeve instead of your finger, or at least wash your finger when you're done - with water, not in your m....never mind.  You have a fork, use i

 I'm thinking about adding advertisers to my blog.  The pop-ups are super annoying though, so I haven't pulled the trigger.  I thought I might earn an extra twelve to fifteen cents a month if I did that, and I'm trying to save up for a family milk cow.   Ross says under no circumstances are we getting a family milk cow.  Which I interpreted as  under most circumstances.  I'm pretty sure there are a few circumstances that would allow it.  I'm working on discovering those, but first I need some financial backing.  I'm also considering a go-fund-me, a Kickstarter fund, or a cow share.  Those things sound hard though.   Unlike owning a cow.   Never mind that I know nothing about owning a cow - I'm listening to podcasts.  I've already picked out my miniature jersey.  We just need to build a shelter.  And some fencing.  A way to get water to her and her baby.  Somewhere to put feed.  Someplace to milk her.  Someway to store and use the milk... I'm really n

I used to think I had started to hone my parenting skills.  Fischer was a much more mellow toddler than Sawyer, and I credited Ross and myself having the experience of one child under our belts.  It turns out, I was wrong.  Fischer was just a more mellow toddler .  That, or we have substantially regressed in our skills since having the twins.  It could be that. They are terrorists.   Nobody and nothing is off limits.   Our walls are covered in crayon and pencil.  Our new kitchen table has been branded with marker.  There is crayon on the windows.  My cupboards and drawers are empty.  My counter tops are full. They have figured out how to climb up on the table, and how to climb onto the windowsill and over the back of the couch, how to climb out of their cribs, and how to climb out of their clothes!       Our boys did not do these things.   I wasn't prepared.   I thought we had a plan - a system.  These girls would fall in line.   I misjudged them.   I've misjudged other parents

 Can we just not let them grow-up for a little bit longer?  I know that eventually, our kids are going to be introduced to all of the sin our temporary world has to offer, but can we wait?  Can we just let them be little?  Let them be innocent?   "Mom, did you know God has the whole world in his hands?" asked our middle child. "Yes!" I replied. "So we're stepping on Him right now?" Hmmm, I think I need to explain that better. "Mom?" The same child asked a little later, "Is the girl elf with Santa really the Easter Bunny?" "Um, nope.  That's a...that's a really interesting question." "How does he get his reindeer to fly?" "Magic." "Where does his magic come from?" These questions are getting hard.   "Look!  I think I see a deer in the yard.  Do you want a snack?" Crisis averted.   "Mom, I can't wait for Dad to get the presents I circled for him in this catalogue,"

In seven years, I've been asked never times for parenting advice, so I thought I'd go ahead and offer some here.  This comes to you at no charge.  Unless you feel an overwhelming gratitude for my astute insight by the end, in which case, I take cash.  I can feel your anticipation mounting, so I'll get right to it.   Have your baby, and then get some friends.  For real.  This is the easiest time, besides elementary school, to make friends, and you're going to need them.  Take your baby to the nearest library, or church or playground, and find someone who has a kid close to the same age as yours.  You have an immediate talking point, and start friend-dating them to see if they are a good fit.  Next find a person with a kid slightly older than yours, and friend-date them.  Or join a mom's group, that works well too.  But get some friends.   Once you have your friends, tell them when you're struggling.  Chances are, they are too.  It's easy to think you're

 In middle school, I had my first glimpse of self-awareness.  It was only a glimpse because I still rocked the Little House on the Prairie dress ( Target would be proud ), but it was notable.  I talked too much, and I knew it.  My parents will tell you I was a talker from an early age.  They had to give me talking time-outs so their ears could catch a break.  (Our kids come by it honestly.)  It never occurred to me that it was a problem, however, until middle school.   In middle school I realized my chattiness was kind of annoying.  I also began to realize it was not endearing me to my friends' parents or my teachers.  But I had a problem - I had things to say , and I couldn't seem to stop myself from saying them.   I'd pray that God would help me not to talk.  He was either trying to teach me self-control or the people in my life patience because I never got laryngitis or the Ariel complex . I was mildly better at listening more and talking less by high school.  But recen

 I sent the boys outside to play with fire this afternoon.  I'm not even kidding.  It's wet out there.  What could possibly go wrong? Out they went with their flint and steel and about two dozen cotton balls.  I reasoned that at best, they might actually learn some legit survival skills, and at worst they were getting some outside time.  I felt like it was a pretty genius parenting move.  The boys were thrilled to be given permission to start a fire, and I was able to make dinner without anyone telling me what they didn't like (at least until it hit the table).   Fischer is so obsessed with fire that I'm fairly confident he will grow up to be a fire fighter or an arsonist - depending on Ross and my parenting skills.   Yesterday Fischer woke up, came into the living room and poked his head out the door.  "I think it's a burn day," he told me.   "Why is that?" I asked. "It smells like a burn day.  You should call." So I did.  He was right

 Back before kids, when we had a tv and time for watching, some of my favorite shows were cooking shows.  I loved seeing what contestants came up with in the various competitions.  I thought Gordon Ramsey was a little bit much, but otherwise I was a total sucker for anything cooking related.  I found inspiration from those shows for my own cooking, which I thoroughly enjoyed.   Fast forward seven years and four kids.   Gordon Ramsey looks like a good natured grandma compared to my crew.  My one-year-old can out Ramsey, Gordon Ramsey.  She literally spit her dinner in my face because it was, to her standards, sub par.  These critics are no joke.   I've been told, by people who don't live under our roof, that my food is edible.  But for those whom I birthed, survey says....no.   The only thing I can get a 100% success rate on is watermelon.  Watermelon.  That I cut.  And serve.  That's it.  Well, my friends, watermelon season is over.  The next nine months are going to be ro

The individual who coined the phrase, "Nothing is certain but death and taxes" must have been married to the person who did his/her laundry and dishes.  I'm just speculating.  If I ever get caught up on either of those, I'll post it here.   I'd write more frequently, but we have been on the go this month and laundry and dishes have taken over my life, much to my chagrin.  My family, on the other hand, is probably relieved, as I tend to overshare.  I can't help myself.  It's like our boys, I taught them the correct spelling of b-u-t-t because they were doing it wrong.  Now they won't stop. Sawyer explained to me that it's just in his head and has to come out.  So, "b-u-t-t, b-u-t-t, b-u-t-t" it is.  They boys are old enough now, I should probably tell them it's not really a bad word, but we are going to ride this train as long as we can.   Fischer turned five this month.  On his birthday, he informed me that he would no longer be my ba

 Why do they even make white hand towels?  Are you supposed to use them or are they actually just for looks?  I think I made a critical error putting my white hand towels out for use.  They were white for about twelve minutes.  Plus or minus twelve minutes.  Apparently, my family uses water and soap to loosen dirt and towels for cleaning dirt off.  Apparently.   We are a black hand towel family. Speaking of white things, people who wear white fascinate me. I am not one of those people.  It's a mystery to me how they even do it.  White pants?!  It's like the holy grail. I'm never going to be in the club.  Or white shoes...I used to purposefully run my new running shoes through the mud just to take the pressure off.  I can't handle it.  I like looking at pretty people in all their clean white though and wondering what it is they do all day to make that a reasonable clothing choice.  If you're out there, fill me in!  Fascinating people.     We are in a stage where we

 "Sawyer, are you excited for your first day of school?" "You betcha!" I already knew the answer, but I like hearing him say it.  I am wondering how long we can ride this high before the "schooldrums" set in.   The night before school started he set out his clothes.  A t-shirt with a bear "because it's classy," some new shorts, some blue and red socks "because they are the funniest ones I can find," and new running shoes which were "very fast," and it was essential to demonstrate their effectiveness several times. The morning of his first day, we were loading up to go, and he paused to look at me, "Mom, I'm so excited , but I'm a little bit nervous too.  But mostly I'm excited."  And with that, we were off.   We arrived at the church where the school meets a few minutes early, so we talked about helping his friends who were nervous to be brave and to be an encouragement to them and his new classmates.

 I really wanted to walk Sawyer into his classroom on his first day of school.  I imagined getting to watch him greet his teacher, helping him get his backpack situated, and tucking him into his seat before saying goodbye.  Then I imagined it again with his three small siblings hanging off me, and it wasn't nearly as sweet.  It spurred me to swallow my pride and ask a friend for help. We have the greatest neighbors where we live.  I know people who do not, so I feel extra fortunate.  It was a neighbor that I asked to watch our youngest three kids while I took Sawyer to school.  I wouldn't be gone long, and I knew Fischer could be a good helper.   The day before school started, I had a handful of projects I was trying to wrap up, plus I was hoping to get the house semi-clean.  The last time we asked this friend to come up, I was jetting off to the ER and the house was in shambles.  I wanted to make a half-way respectable impression.  Yes, we often live in a pile of filth and cha

 A week before Sawyer's first day of first grade, his school hosted a Back to School Night.  We thought it would be a great opportunity for Sawyer to see his classroom and meet his teachers.  We hoped  it would take away some of the nerves associated with trying something new, and that it would be his chance to make a positive first impression under the guidance of his very socially astute parents.   Upon arriving, he immediately loved his classroom teacher, as we predicted he would.  There were no major catastrophes (aside from his baby sisters trying to wreck all the decorations and screaming every thirty seconds).  He thought his PE teacher had an amazing gym and toys.  I tried to make a positive connection there since I also taught elementary PE, but fell very flat.  Fortunately, I don't believe the teacher connected me to Sawyer, and he will hopefully have a chance to make his own way in that class.   We rounded out the tour by meeting his music teacher.  After introducing

I am tired.  I have been in the middle of a serious power struggle with some of the humans that live in our house.  I have never met two more stubborn, vocal, irrational, angry, needy, hungry, daring, sneaky, opinionated people in my life, and they aren't even politicians.  Whoever said that girls are easier to raise than boys during the toddler years is a big fat liar.  I want my money back!  They are not  easier.  I tip my hat to all the parents who managed to raise them into adulthood with even a smidgen of sanity left to tell the tale.  I may not get there.  I. May. Not. Our girls are less than two-years-old, and they have already been engaged in more physical brawls than their brothers have in the last five years.  It's not the stuff of sissies either.  They hit, kick, pinch, claw, bite, and pull hair. It makes the MMA look like child's play. It's not all bad.  They have their moments of "twin magic" as my friend says.  They share.  They share the snacks

 Tomorrow is a transition day at our house.  Ross goes back to work tomorrow.  If you have ever had kids and are breathing, you probably know what this means.  If you don't, then you've probably never yelled at your kid either.  It probably never rains on the weekend where you live.  And your dog probably poops gold nuggets.   Transition days in our house, are hhhhhard.   This time around, I feel a little more prepared because Ross reminded me it was coming.  To get in the right mindset, I gave myself a root canal this morning without Novocain, I listened to the first line of "Wheels on the Bus" play on repeat 147 times, I ate a package of saltines without any water, and I dropped a boulder on my foot.  I'm feeling like I've got this.   I'm getting up early, taking a shower, and making a strong  cup of vodka  coffee.  I have low expectations set for the entire crew, and if the "gold nuggets" hit the fan, I'm shipping kids off to grandma's

It's shocking to me that I've been a mom now for seven years.  It feels like an instant and an eternity all at once.  I can't remember my life without kids (I must have been very bored), but at the same time I can't believe it's already been seven years since we brought Sawyer home for the first time.  It seems like yesterday.  Time is funny like that. Sawyer's birthday was earlier this month, which everyone already knows.   Because he told them.   He has told every person he knows and many that he doesn't.  They were in the wrong place at the wrong time.  Lord love him.  He loves  his birthday.   He started inviting people to his party approximately five months ago.  He invited the eye doctor, and for a second I was worried the man might accept.  He invited kids on the playground and at church, adults we are friends with and some we barely know.  We encourage hospitality in our family, but we are still working on boundaries.     All in all, his birthday was

It's August. I guess I can stop waiting for that call from the Oregon Department of Education.  It appears I didn't earn teacher of the year after all.  I wonder if it had something to do with my mask policy?  It definitely could have been the mask policy.   Personally, I thought the duct tape worked great.   *Sigh* It was probably the mask policy.  You win some.  You lose some.  Better luck next year.   Speaking of next year, we are trying a hybrid homeschool program.  Sawyer gets to go to school twice a week and learn at home the other days.  I'm confident he will fall in love with his teacher in the first eight minutes.  She is young, cute and very enthusiastic.  It's going to either make him work really hard or be a complete distraction.  Either way, on the "home" days, I'm going to make her look really good.  Pajama Mama is neither young nor cute and I'm rarely enthusiastic (which may have also played into the whole teacher of the year thing).  An

 I'm the place chain letters come to die.  I'd forgotten about these gems until a friend recently asked if she could send one to our boys.  I acquiesced because, dang it, I'm an adult.  In the past, I've had the best of intentions with recipe chain letters, socks chain letters, and every variety that came through the mail in the nineties.  I have had approximately zero success at following through on these intentions.  Surely, I've matured in this area of sending mail.   Nope.  No, I have not.   The guilt and the shame are familiar.  Every time I look in the direction of the "to deal with" pile and see the neatly folded papers waiting to be addressed, I shudder.  I need  to deal with you.  There are kids depending on me, darn it!  I can't.  I just can't.  I will.  Maybe.   Here's the thing, I'm happy to send the package of stickers or whatever to the first person on the list.  It's the passing it on that kills me.  My dilemma is that I

Some things just shouldn't be done naked.  Let me leave that there for a minute...  I erroneously thought our boys had approached the age that they could decipher between acceptable and unacceptable naked activities.  In the unacceptable category: tree climbing.   Actually, I'm not as surprised as I probably should be that I had to educate our boys on that (potential future grandchildren - you're welcome).  They were pretend camping.  Their clothes were hanging from the tree branches because frankly, they couldn't fit everything in their backpack, and they didn't want stuff getting full of burrs.  I can appreciate that.  Also, it didn't work.  Their stuff still got full of burrs.   But why was a child up the tree naked?  It was time to change out of pajamas and into work clothes, of course. Of course.   Sometimes I want to get inside their brains, and sometimes I want to stay very, very far away.   "Hey, Sawyer, did you know the smallest things on earth are

 "Mom, can you leave?"  I refuse to be insulted.  My cup is half full.  Because I am  leaving and they are staying.   It's a sleepover day at the grandparents, and you would think it had been months since the boys were last there.  In reality, it's been three days and only two since they last saw Grammy.  Nonetheless, they were excited.  We only live twenty minutes away, but on the drive over they couldn't help but ask, "how much longer?"...twice.   Grandparents are the best.  I think so too.   Yesterday, I was also wondering "how much longer?!"  Today, of course, the boys have been the best!   I almost didn't want to give them up for the day.  Almost.  They were playing outside in the cool of the morning, and it was like two boys I haven't seen in weeks.  I think the heat has been making everyone cranky.   I ran out and snapped this photo, so that next week...or tomorrow...when things go south again, I can look at it and remember that

 I try not to be a hot mess of a mom.  At least not in public.  Some people wear it like a badge, and some fake it until they make it, or at least until they are back in the car.  I try to be in the latter camp, but if ever there was a day... I started out my day by completely melting the handle off of our BBQ chimney.  Probably not something you want to do ever, much less during fire season.   Next, I embarrassed myself as only I can do...twice.   After lunch I watched one of our boys meltdown over a sucker that didn't even belong to him.  It was such an incredible fit that I finally picked him up and deposited him in his bed for an impromptu nap.   Only one baby girl would nap today. Only one baby girl would go down at bedtime.   In addition, the piles all over our house, and porch, and deck, and garage are threatening to take over...and it scares me that they might actually succeed.   In the midst of all this, I did what anyone does and scrolled through Facebook.  That is, by th

 My preferred décor style is somewhere along the lines of rustic Scandinavian.  I think that's a thing.  Clean, uncluttered, with some bright pops of color.  Walking through our house, you would not get that vibe.  Our current look is more along the lines of dirty socks with a splash of Band-Aid wrappers.  Our kids, who practice zero hygiene, are suddenly very adamant that they must keep fresh bandages on their scrapes and cuts.  That means changing them about every seventeen minutes.  Normally, I'd approve of these sanitary practices, but I've seen where their dirty little hands have been, and they definitely aren't washing those as often as they are changing the dressings.   Dirty socks and wrappers are just the start though.  Instead of fancy wallpaper, we style the walls with muddy handprints, colored pencil drawings and a hint of crayon.  The windows we don't bother covering because it's already hard for the light to make it through the face and handprints

It's exactly a million degrees outside right now, and even still....sometimes a girl's got to bake.  I couldn't silence the retro craving I was having for chocolate revel bars.  On the upside, it only took my oven 90 seconds to pre-heat to 350 degrees.  It was already two-thirds of the way there.  I love chocolate and sweet things.  Even in the heat.   Speaking of sweet things.  These girls have not been.   They are spending copious amounts of time in baby jail.  We're trying to set them straight early.  I wasn't prepared for the fighting to start so young.  Or the climbing on basically everything.  The newborn stage was mentally exhausting because of the sleep deprivation.  This stage is physically exhausting because they are on everything, into everything, and doing it all in two different directions.  Also, Carter basically hasn't stopped crying since the day she was born.  So there's that.  Lord love her.  She better be a real saint as a teenager to make

I'm on the edge of my seat, waiting for something.  I don't know what it is.  I feel a strong urge to share our space and to serve others in someway, but I don't know exactly how.  We have kids, projects, and obligations, and yet... I was listening to an interview of Amy Grant the other day and ironically she was saying something similar.  She also had a great quote, "The real lesson for me has been to let it come to me because I have wasted a lot of energy throughout my life chasing things that weren't really mine to participate in."   That resonates with me.  I have jumped into things in hopes of blessing others, but it was at the expense of my own family.  I get stressed, and grumpy, and don't give them the time and energy they deserve.  So I'm waiting and wondering how God might use us and the blessings we are enjoying.   In the meantime, we are working on a giant garden, egg laying chickens, meat chickens, and whatever else we can put our hand to.

 Remember the kids at school who were so cool because they could flip their eyelids inside out?  It was like the coming of age in the second grade.  By third grade they were mesmerizing the rest of the class by shoving thumb tacks through their callouses.  In the fourth grade, they were able to whistle by blowing on a piece of grass between their thumbs.  I'm pretty sure those kids grew up to be movie stars.  Somehow I missed the boat.  Bad jeans...highwaters actually.     I thought I'd give my kids a leg up by teaching them the joke about "see" food.  That was a mistake.  I should have seen  that coming. Ha. Ha. Ha.  Please don't laugh, it will only encourage me.   Our kids don't have much hope in the cool department.  Have I mentioned this before?  Their dad had the nickname "Pineapple Head" in high school, and well, I was wearing Little House on the Prairie dresses up until the ninth grade.  Luckily, I could run fast or I probably would have gott

The child who made me a mother, is also most often the child who makes me not want to be a mother.  We go rounds.  I love him hard, but boy oh boy.  There are moments when I don't like either one of us.   We recently had a camping high, followed by a hard  post-camping crash.  If it takes three days to recover from a two night camping trip, we are going to either have to camp longer or not at all.  It's been ugly around here.  And it's also been precious.  How do they do that?!   Between bouts of me carrying a screaming fifty-five pounder to his room and depositing him on the carpet, I've also witnessed what will surely be a sweet relationship between him and his baby sisters.  They loooooove him.  Nobody makes them laugh like he does.  They mimic his every move.  This week they all played race cars together.  I'm not sure who had more fun.  I'm going to pull the Mom-card, and say it was me.  Watching them filled my cup.  It was promptly emptied the next morning

Once, when the boys were like two and four, I let them put a couple of dozen stickers all over my face and hair.  They liked that I was playing with them, and aside from having to peel stickers off my eyelids and hair later, it was ten minutes of bliss.  My job: sit down and have some of my own thoughts while they happily practice peeling and sticking - no fighting, no one asking for food, no bottoms needing to be wiped.  I'm in.   Yesterday, with four kids all piled on my lap at the same time, I considered using Amazon Prime to get a quick sticker delivery.  I needed a minute.   You don't realize before having kids, how much they own your body.  I mean, there is the whole pregnancy thing, obviously.  And nursing.  I'm talking in addition to and after all that.  I always have a kid or more trying to climb up my legs to be held.  If I sit down, sitting next to me isn't close enough.  If they can reach my hair...it's good I have a tough scalp.  It's both endearing

 Ever wonder if an alligator lizard can swim?  Me neither.   "But it's an alligator lizard, Mom," my son insisted.   I responded, "Yes, but it's a lizard. "   I'm so boring.  The boys didn't trust my intellect in this.  They had to perform an experiment.  Turns out alligator lizards can not  swim, but chickens still like them.  It also turns out, I didn't have to teach science last week.  Check.   Another fun science fact we learned recently: plants that have been sprayed with an herbicide shouldn't be ingested.  In fact, random wild plants shouldn't be put in your mouth at all. Especially thistles.  Even if you are thirsty.  Even if Bear Grylls suggested they are a good source of water when you are lost in the wilderness.  You live in a house with running water.  We did some Googling of poisons and I got a quick science lesson of my own after that one.  On the upside, they didn't swallow the plants...    In other news, the boys are

 If your kids aren't annoying you at least occasionally, then they probably aren't doing childhood right.  Ours are winning at childhood.  Actually, we came to the conclusion the other day that if they are annoying you all the time, then you probably aren't doing parenting right.  And when I say "you," I mean "we."   We weren't enjoying our kids recently, and we wondered if that meant other people were also finding them unenjoyable.  It made us finally pause and take a long hard look at what was bugging us about our kids.  We felt like we were in a perpetual state of irritation.  Once we made our list, and it was lengthy, we noticed a theme: attention.  Our kids were begging for our attention with every behavior.  It was annoying, but it was our fault, and it was fixable.   We started putting down phones and brooms and laundry and giving undivided and intentional focus to our kids throughout the day.  It wasn't a huge sacrifice on our part - just

I've done a lot of things in my life that I'm not proud of, but wiping chicken butts is my newest claim to shame.  Three.  If you were wondering. I wiped clean three baby chicken booties.  This is a new low, but if I let them get clogged up and they die, the boys will never forgive me.   We got ten sweet baby chicks this week and we lost one right out of the gate.  Sawyer tried his best to love it back to life, but to no avail.  Dead is dead.  I heard him whisper to the chick that it would love heaven with all the other birds.  It was very sweet.  Then he tightened his grip on the little body, poop shot onto my kitchen floor, and the moment was over.  We buried it next to a stump.  I'm hoping (with little confidence) the boys don't try to resurrect it later.  The boys and I have had a week of it.  We have not seen eye to eye on anything since the week began.  I'm exhausted.   They are with Grandma and Grandpa tonight.   "She's nicer than you.  Isn't she

 A while back I had a conversation with a friend.  Yes, I have friends.   Fine...it was an acquaintance. The point is, we got on the topics of school as is often the case.  She mentioned that she had asked a kindergarten teacher what she would like kids to know when they started school.  The teacher, she said, wanted kids to come in knowing the basics.  I considered that our boys know their colors, shapes, numbers and letters and proceeded to mentally pat myself on the back and breathe a sigh of relief.    Then she continued to say, the basics like personal hygiene, how to wipe their own bottoms, get dressed after using the bathroom, wash their hands, and open the food in their lunch pails... My heart sank as I looked at our youngest with his shirt on backwards, his pants on backwards, undoubtedly his underwear on backwards and his socks upside down.  Then I looked at our oldest, his boxers were bunched so high that the legs were above the waistline of his pants, and that was because h

 I felt I should waste no time following up my "How They Play" post with a "How They Fight" entry, lest anyone thinks it's all rainbows and butterflies over here.  Rainbows and butterflies are for liars...and hippies.   The boys are great at finding creative ways to play.  This is also true for fighting.  Anyone who scoffs at the "boys will be boys" line, has clearly never tried parenting brothers.  Although, sisters are pretty physically aggressive in their own right.  Case in point, we had to transition the twins from baby jail yesterday to baby jail cells.  Too much fighting and to be more specific, biting, was taking place.   I don't think the boys have ever bitten each other, but pretty much anything else you can think of and probably a few things you can't, have taken place and we are only a couple of years in.  We don't condone or encourage them to physically hurt one another, and they most definitely do receive consequences for figh

 The boys had to take in their handsaws Friday to get sharpened.  They were as dull as cardboard, and I felt bad seeing them working so hard to get results.  They have put some miles on those things.  We went to a local chainsaw shop and Sawyer made the transaction at the counter.  He was all business.  He handed over the saws and asked to have them sharpened then waited for the paperwork to be completed, and said "Mexcuse me?" (He knows it's "excuse me" but he likes how "mexcuse me" sounds better, so he says it that way - his words.) "What else can I do for you?" The man asked him.   "Do you have any Razor tooth saws?"  I didn't even know that was a thing.  Apparently, it is because the man pointed him right to what he was looking for.  He examined each one, but they were far out of his budget of $1, so he was forced to put his purchase on hold.   We went home and the boys settled into riding loops around a little track they ha

Nobody told me when we moved out here, how far I'd be from ice cream.  I ran out, and it's been a source of anguish for like a good five days.  It's not that I haven't had opportunity during the week to go out and buy some, but I can't let the circus of children come with me or they would know. And if they know, they want me to share.  I'm just not into that. I may have mentioned my closet eating before.  This falls into that category.   Speaking of loving ice cream, Fischer has a similar passion for all things bread related.  But he is particularly fond of French toast, pancakes, and waffles.  You can imagine his elation then, when he and his brother were unexpectedly gifted their very own waffle maker.  This isn't just any waffle iron either.  This thing creates waffle building blocks.  Yes, it does.  Consequently, Sawyer, who isn't a lover of the breakfast breads, was almost as pumped as his brother.  There was no question I'd be making waffles th