Simply thrilled

Jordan ordered an apron (well he actually ordered a dress but we negotiated the functionality of a dress vs apron) when I made Sedona the dresses/shirts you will see in some of the other pictures. Here he is modeling it, thrilled as you can see. He loved the apron, however, he was soooo not in the mood to have his picture taken. Life is so hard. 

Never leave home without it. . .

alright well technically we are still at home here but she carried the phone and purse around for days. Hilarious.

And now a moment to discuss the blog photos versus the yahoo photos. . . Posting them here allows me to provide you with my snarky comments and sometimes much needed explainations. What do you think? Which is preferred? I hated spamming this site but who knows. . . maybe we'll go back to that. 

The garden . . .

This was before the blight and before the weevills and before the drought and before the cardinals and before the poison ivy. Pretty isn't it? 

"I LOVE THE ZOO, MOM! Thank you so much for taking us even though you didn't feel good and it was so hot out. . . . gosh we had so much fun! You're the most bestest Mom in the universe."  

Be specific.

We stopped by a friend's house today after dropping Jordan off at school and after picking beans, eating yogurt and chasing an unsuspecting pooch around the yard we ended up in the pool. I hadn't exactly planned to take Miles and Sedona (or myself for that matter) swimming today and was not adequately prepared.
So they skinny-dipped and I borrowed a suit. There was plenty of swimming fun and afterwards I realized that I had driven Jeremy's car not my own today. (Ask me about transmissions. . . I think they're swell). Hardly seems a problem, right?
Yeah, well, very much in the over-packed mom manner, my car is stocked with diapers, wipes, snacks, books, clothes, medicine, sunscreen - you name it. Jeremy's car, however, is not.

So there stood two wet, naked and chilly 2 yr olds without a dry diaper between them.

After a no-peeing-in-the-car pep talk, away we went (by this time it was time to pick Jordan up).
Well, we made it to his school ( I called him out 10 minutes early with two dry kids in tow, not wanting to press my luck any further. I saw how much pool water was consumed.)

All the way Sedona kept reminding me, "Dry, Mommy. No pee pee. Dry."

Then she peed in the driveway. The millisecond she disembarked.

So I guess the moral of the story is. . . . be specific. If you don't want her to pee until she is in a diaper or on a toilet - say that. Don't leave it at "don't pee in the car".

Man of the house

Jordan informed me recently that when Jeremy isn't home, HE is the man of the house and not simply a child. Those of you aware of my own gender politics of course recognize the absurdity of this claim falling on my ears. I did my best to explain that simply being male does not grant you special status in our home. We talked about shared roles of the adults in this family and about the societal notion that male voice usurps female voice and the inherent injustice of this practice.
Just when I thought maybe some of it was ringing a bell (after all he's only been hearing this stuff most of his life) he responds, "Well, yeah, I know all that but when he isn't home then somebody has to be the man of the house."
sigh.
I gladly assume the role.

(how do you demonstrate equality and the importance of family as team, partners as equally involved, equally important and licensed members of said team etc etc when what you really want to say - just to avoid confusion - is "When Daddy isn't home, Mommy is in charge. When Daddy is home, Mommy is in charge. Any questions?" Ahh sweet hypocrisy.)

Stay tuned

Stay tuned for an upcoming post about a whale and a snack. I don't have time to detail the adventure just now but I didn't want to forget what it was i thought to post. With any luck - there might even be pictures. For those of you who visit us here but haven't received any of my Yahoo photo albums. . . .please let me know if you want to be added to that list! I will gladly invite you and add you and whatever I have to do but email me or post a comment here with your email or some way for me to reach you. I haven't been posting many pictures here since I've been putting a 100 or so up over there every month or two.

Anyway. yeah. a whale and a snack.

And we're gonna keep the giraffes IN the sand.

The kids are playing just outside the back door at the sand.water table that anarchy has long since claimed (sand and water wherever it can be, sand blanketing a 4 ft radius around the table, no water - having been completely absorbed by the sand that was shoveled on top of it). When through the bedroom window I hear -
in a very high pitched, very calm, sweet, placating tone, "no, girl, no we're gonna keep the giraffes in the sand. keep'em here, Sedona. See, girl, like this. We keep the giraffes in the sand. No, Sedona, in the sand like this. Here Sedona, I'll get you one that will be just for you."

and a "humm humm humm" reminiscent of Pooh en route to his thinking spot from Sedona.

Jordan again -" Here, Sedona. Here ya go. No we keep the giraffes in the sand. Down in the sand. Here girl. Like this. We're gonna keep the giraffes in the sand. in the sand. like this. . ."
still very sweet, very high pitched, almost too sacharin for the ears. . .
then -
"SEDONA I SAID KEEP THE GIRAFFES IN THE SAND!!!!!!"

every man has his breaking point.

And now she's licking it.

The wall, that is. In time-out. I thought she seemed all too willing to run to the hall and stand quietly. Suprised mostly by the quietness. It is an unusual event around here.

Then I caught her. Quietly licking the textured wall to pass the time.

Arg.

The wonderful world of time-out

"My turn?" sweetly.

"MY TURN NOW" not as sweetly.

"MINE!" not very sweet at all.

thud
smack
crash
and scream.

While much of this is age appropriate learning of sharing, respect and kindness . . .she has really gone hog wild with it. She'll even clobber you if the toy she has isn't following her every command. Needless to say, Sedona has been introduced to the wonderful world of time-out. Sadly, though, until last Friday, she went unaffected into and out of time-outs, biding her time until the next battle. She would sit quietly, almost contentedly in time-out until told to get up, informed (again) of the discrepancies between her behavior and acceptable social human behavior, then run full speed to her most recent victim and hug, kiss and soothe them.

Frustrating as the parent hoping to employ time-out as a deterent to such actions as hitting, pushing, screaming and biting to have a child who seems just fine with her time in the penalty box.(Note: she is not actually put in a box, but rather a very pretty striped chair. call off DCFS). What to do? Remove her from that setting. Sure. Take away that toy to make a point about sharing. Sure. All of these are completely reasonable and sometimes very effective. For most kids anyway. Not my kids.

As I learned long long ago, I breed a particularly resistant variety of child. A stubborn, strangely manipulative, smart and painfully adorable, devil-may-care variety of child. Jordan never minded a time out. Never minded a spanking. Wouldn't dare give you (or me as the case may have it) the satisfaction of letting any of it get to him. Now some might say this describes criminal behavior. and well, yes it does. I tried everything with my little Jordan (and have started down that same path with Miss Sedona recently) until one day we stumbled across a goldmine.

"Mom" matter of fact, from an attempted time-out for a naughty mouth "I just absolutely do not like to have time-out with my nose on the wall."

oh, really? Well thanks for that little tidbit, dear.

And from that day forward time-outs in our house have been nose on wall, hands at side.

Which brings me to last Friday when Sedona was in a particularly foul mood, swinging and swatting at everyone and everything that did not comply with her every whim. I decided suddenly that the rules are no different for her (duh) and that nearly 2 is plenty old enough to comply with the time-out statutes of the land. And Sedona found herself standing in the hallyway, nose on the wall, hands at her sides.

And there she stood.
Quiet.
Alarmed? Maybe. Planning her next move? Certainly.

She earned 5 such time-outs in the next hour as she continued to try and hit Miles, push Miles over, slap me, throw toys and so on and so forth. By the next attempted assault, I held her hand and said "Sedona, do want another time-out?"

Eyes wide, mouth pursed as if saying MOOOO, "NOoooo!".

Cease and desist. She left the room, left the toy, left the boy alone. And did not even come close to another infraction until midday Saturday. There may be hope for her yet.


In related news . . .
She really is awfully stinkin cute. And an absolute riot. But so rotten!
So I was talking to my mom one crazy afternoon and said "Was I this bad? Was I really this rotten? Is this payback? But not THIS ornery, right?" and other such inquiries when I met with this reply, that is, after she stopped laughing at me. . . .

"Jana - do you think you've had a compliant day in your life?"

Wow. I guess I asked for it.

"It just kinda makes me like. . . "

So I sat down with my bagel and my kids yesterday morning for a nice, relaxing breakfast for a change. You can usually find me scrambling to get lunches packed, locate backpacks and schoolwork all while feeding all three (mine plus Miles) and trying to get the laundry etc started for the day. But not yesterday. Yesterday I said, ever so eloquently, "screw it."

I scribbled a quick list of chores for the day while I chewed and Jordan looked worried. He asked,"Mom, umm why do you write like (and then a manic, stabbing, scribbling, frenzy of activity) so fast and crazy?"
note: I didn't really thinking I was writing any faster than your average person who has mastered handwriting techniques and graduated third grade. Nevertheless - concern.

I replied, "I don't know.(shrug) I guess I just do. Why?"

"Because it just kinda makes me, like, i dunno, think weird stuff."

"Weird stuff? Really. Ok like what? What do you mean "weird stuff"?"

Deep sigh. . . . . "well . . . like, well, ummmm . . . . . , i dunno like maybe you're a psycho or something."


and I'll leave you with that.

"Mom?"

Jordan has a bedtime routine that usually includes calling me back into the room at least 3 times and then taking long slong breaths accompanied by drawn out "uhhhhh . . . ummmmmm . . .well I don't EXACTLY know how to say it but . . . . . ."and then some short mouth noises and he opens his mouth with an almost "tsk" only to close it again when no words come out. All of this is to say that he never really knows why I absolutely had to come back in, he never knows exactly what it is he wanted to ask me, and he never, ever, has anything as urgent as he hoped it might be to say.

You can imagine the frustration at the end of a long day and the wrestling that results in the children actually IN their beds only to be repeatedly summoned back to the room (oftentimes loudly, threatening to awaken the smaller beast) for no stinking reason. By the third summons my reply goes something like this:
"What?! Jordan, it is bedtime, you have your water, your music is on, the closets are closed and now it is time to sleep. No more questions. We can talk more in the morning and if you yell again and wake your sister up there is going to be trouble."

Now imagine with me the suprise when you return to the room after exchanging similar dialogue and dramatic breathing and are met with "Mom? Can you stay and watch me sin?"

??????????

"What?!"
"Will you stay here while I sin?"

and again . . . ?????????????????
What would be going through your mind at this point? Beyond confusion there was alarm, laughter, and horror - to name but a few.

"Jordan, what are you talking about? Do you know what sin is?"
"Well, when you ask God to forgive you for all the bad things you did."

Damn semantics.

Sigh of relief.

And then a note to clarify terms.

Just another short tease . . .

Well afternoon has come and gone with the realization that I might never get caught up with all the things I had wanted to post here if I don't just sit down and tackle it a tiny tiny bit at a time. So here is another brief anecdote (should you ever want to use it as such).

In the early days of blogging I appealed to my audience; searching for a definition or at least a lead as to what SBD might mean to dino loving 6 year old. I appeal to you again as my other child has formulated a phrase, not entirely uncomical, but quizical nevertheless.

"Buttball".

Now don't laugh. This is a serious matter. Can you imagine the audience this phrase gets? Can you imagine how hard it is not to laugh each time it crosses her lips? Can you imagine the concern of playdates' parents? Can you imagine the unsavory attention she is sure to attract in the future if we don't decode and reprogram the child? Like I said - a serious matter.

Buttball can be used as noun, verb or adjective it seems. Sometimes explanatory but usually more exclamatory, as in "You dropped the box of cereal - BUTTBALL" (sounds like maybe it should be "uh-oh" right? but you see, it isn't. She says that very clearly and it doesn't sound at all like buttball) or even "whatchya doing? - (response) Buttball. (calmly here. matter of fact even).

I will also add that in recent days the "buttball" seems to be giving way to a slightly more appropriate "butt-bo". I'm not sure yet how this will affect its usage or meanings. I'll keep you posted.

So please, I appeal to you all. . . .is there some secret language, a code revealed only through special decoder glasses or even an expression in another language that this darling child of mine has picked up somewhere? Do tell.

The Youngest Karate Kid

Sitting here at the computer this morning with Sedona and Dad playing nearby. A lovely little game of kisses on the cheek and the shivers and silly noises that derive squeals of joy from the littlest. It seemed an innocent enough game.

Daddy says "Shave off my beard. Gentle. Shave it off", allowing young Sedona to rub a toy thermometer (from Jordan's Playschool doctor's kit). She pauses, "HI . . .YA!" and with a crazy eye whacks thermometer to beard and laughs.

I'll post more later . . . we've had some other special moments as of late. So special, in fact, that I'll have to dedicate most of the afternoon to capturing them for you.

And we're off to have breakfast. . .

Merry freaking Christmas. Bah humbug!

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!

Nintendo. Mario Brothers 1. Old school.

And here we have Jordan sporting the all purpose windsock.

Yes yes. I was there too.

I am not spam.

I have to take a breather from the pictures. It thinks I am spamming myself when really - I'm spamming you. So there.





All right. That should suffice.