THE RESISTANCE

I volunteered at Luke's preschool for the first time since he started in October. (I know, shame on me. I just never know what to do with Charlie.) It was very eye opening.

First of all, I have a whole new respect for Luke's teacher, a 77 year old German woman who is still going strong. When I was there, she was doing jumping jacks with the kids. It was very impressive. She's probably in better shape than I am.

Next, Luke sure gets a lot of special treatment. Half of the kids in his class are five years old and all the kids (except for one) are going into kindergarten next year. The teacher prepares almost a completely different set of work for Luke to do because he is so much younger than his classmates. It was very touching to me that someone would go to so much trouble for my son.

Luke's teacher, however, did have one little complaint about Luke. She said, "He's so stubborn! You have to make him think everything is his idea!" She went on, "I know he can't help his stubbornness, it's in his genes! I call him the 'Danish Resistance.' "

I laughed at Luke's nickname. She has no idea how accurate she is.

The Real Danish Resistance (1945)

Luke's great-grandfather is in the center, fifth row back with a hat, white collar and tie, and dark vest.

VICTORY

Luke wrote his name this morning all by himself! It may look like chicken scratch, but at least it's his chicken scratch. Good to know that I am not a complete failure as a mother.

FAMILY MATTERS

One of the first serious fights that Erik and I ever got into as a married couple was about the size of our future family. He wanted at least six kids and I wanted no more than four. During the argument, I specifically remember him saying repeatedly that six kids seemed decent, but four was way too small of a family.

Can you blame him? Erik came from a family with nine kids. Take a look at this photo of Erik's family right after his brother, Steffen, was born in 1986. (No, that is not a preschool or a primary.) At the time, my mother-in-law was two years younger than I am now.

Holy Cow (1986)

When I asked Erik if he remembers it being crazy with that many kids (and they would later add 2 more to the bunch), he said, "No, not at all!" I'm not sure if his parents had amazing patience or just amazing survival skills. All I know is that I bow down to my mother-in-law in awe.

Our Little Family (1982)

I come from a "small" family of four. Ironically enough, I remember my house being really crazy. There was lots of yelling and fighting among us girls. It was never as peaceful as one would expect with such a "small" family. Looking back, I can't believe my parents even had four kids. That seems huge to me now.

I don't know anyone who has nine kids anymore. I wonder why that is. Eight years have passed since our argument about family size and our perspective has completely changed. Erik gave up the hope (and desire) to have six kids many years ago. Besides, we started too old for that. In the past, I doubted whether or not we would even have one child, so I feel extremely blessed just to have two. If that's all we have, we're fine. Besides, these little boys are tiring us out. Yes. We are wusses.

In the Mormon world, it seems like women feel obligated to explain their family size to other women. Is it really that awful to only have two or three kids? I would hate to think that we're all judging each other's family size, but maybe that's naive of me to think that we're not.

WE ARE THE WORLD

Does anyone else find the new We are the World completely hilarious? It feels very overproduced and a little too "Kidney Now" if you know what I mean. They even have Michael Jackson in it and those guys doing the robot voices at the end!

Here is the original. It's 100% better in my opinion. I do find Kenny Rogers' voice strangely comforting, maybe that has something to do with it.



While I'm at it, my other favorite celebrity benefit songs include Hands Across America (hey look it's Erik Estrada, Yoko Ono and Barbra Streisand!) -



Of course, I can't forget "What's Going On" by the MTV Allstars to raise money for the victims of 9/11 -



However, my all-time favorite benefit song is "Don't They Know It's Christmas" because Boy George is fantastic! Seriously!

FIGHT!

Meet my newest mantra:

I am bigger and stronger than you.
I am bigger and stronger than you.
I am bigger and stronger than you.



Why do my kids try to fight me? Don't they know that I hold all the power? I do hold all the power? Right? Sometimes it doesn't feel that way.

Luke spanked me as hard as he could the other day and screamed, "I'm angry with you!" It was more humorous then painful. Then there was the other day when Luke was throwing his Geotrax off the stairs, aiming at my head. That, admittedly, was pretty painful... and traumatic. Now, I freak out every time I am standing below the stairs and I hear the kids up there with a toy.

Recently, even Charlie has been trying to beat up on me. For some unknown reason, he woke up at 5:30 a.m. today and wouldn't go back to sleep. I have been counting down the hours till Luke would be at preschool and I could put Charlie down for a nap. This made for one very overtired little boy. Just 20 minutes ago, I was carrying him up the stairs for a nap and he head butted me more times than I can count. When I dodged him, he began clawing at my jugular! This kid may not look like he has superhuman strength, but watch out! When he doesn't want to do something, he goes Incredible Hulk crazy.

The sad part of this whole situation is that once he does fall asleep (and I can hear him winding down finally in his bedroom), I will have to wake him up 45 minutes later to go pick up Luke from preschool. A sacrificed nap time is truly the plight of the younger sibling. No wonder he's so mad!

HAPPY ANNA HOWARD SHAW DAY

When it comes to Hallmark Holidays, I would rank my least to favorite in this order -

4. Secretary's Administrative Professional's Day
3. Valentine's Day
2. Father's Day
1. Mother's Day

Valentine's Day was awesome in my mystical teenage fantasies, then crushed when I actually began dating. I never had a boyfriend on Valentine's Day. If I was dating a guy in February (and this happened to me three times) they always managed to break up with me right before the 14th. A few times those boys wanted to start dating again about a week later. Don't tell me that's a coincidence. I know a strategic plan when I see one.

Ironically, the best Valentine's Day that I ever had before I got married was the one when I was dating no one. There were no expectations or heartbreak, so I was pleasantly surprised with the valentines and goodies I received from random guys in my single's ward. Those were the days.

So, I should loooooove Valentine's Day now that I am a married lady. Right? It's still so-so for me. It's not that I hate love. I hate unmet expectations, so I try not to have any. Last night, Erik told me he had to go to the store to buy me some flowers and I stopped him. I said, "Save the money." It's just not romantic for me when I know he's doing it only because it's Valentine's Day. The flowers and dinner he surprised me with last week are much more meaningful to me because it wasn't Valentine's Day. Or maybe I should just say that when my husband and I do nice things for each other all the time, Valentine's Day kind of loses its meaning. That's okay with me.

Just because I said no to flowers, doesn't mean that he didn't give me anything nice for Valentine's Day.


Luke's cousin, Wyatt, is visiting this weekend. We love Wyatt and I am so happy to have him here because it gives the kids someone to play with. Well, Charlie woke up sick this morning, so Erik agreed to take Luke and Wyatt to Sacrament Meeting at church while I stay home with Charlie during the first hour. Is it bad that I am so grateful not to be sitting in church by myself with two little wiggly boys?

I know you don't read my blog regularly, Erik, but just in case you do, I wanted to say thanks for being willing to take the crazy boys to church by yourself. It really is the greatest Valentine's Day gift of all not having to wrestle with kids during sacrament meeting.

SAY MY NAME, SAY MY NAME

This will not be a post about how I have such an amazing 3 year old. It's more like a post to make you feel like your 3 year old is amazing for writing his or her name.


In preparation for the Valentine's Party at Luke's preschool today, he had to prepare 14 Valentines, with only his name written on each one. Sounds easy, right? Wrong. Luke hates writing and coloring. Whenever I hand him a crayon or pencil at home he just draws what he calls "tracks," i.e., scribbling. I've decided not to be concerned about his lack of writing skills until he's in kindergarden. After all, he is only 3. However, since he is the youngest child in a preschool class with many kids heading off to kindergarden next year, I always feel this pressure for him to do more.


My goal for the cards was just for him to write an L. It was excruciating. I would say, "Go down" and he would go up. I would say "Go right" and he would go left. Plus, he's left handed. Through out the whole ordeal, he would keep acting like he was asleep and snore loudly. I'm just grateful his name is only 4 letters. Heaven help those children named Bartholomew, Maximillian, Jacqueline and Alexandria.


So, here is Luke's "L." I'm proud of him. This is how he handed them out. Which is funny, because now that we are home from the party, I noticed that over half of the kids' parents wrote their names on the valentines for them. C'mon, isn't this about learning?


Something else I didn't realize is that people attach treats to the valentines. Ours were the only ones without some sort of candy. I don't care though, it's not like the kids needed more candy after a lunch consisting only of cookies, chocolate, rice krispie treats, pastries and punch.


I guess as long as they don't eat like that everyday, then it's okay. Right?

SPECIAL DELIVERY

I just recently stopped using an alarm clock. Although deep down, I knew it was futile, something in me just couldn't let go of the hope that my kids would let me sleep in.

This morning, at 7:15, my doorbell rang. I jumped out of bed and cautiously opened the front door. (We don't have a peephole.) Could it be a special package? Or the police? Nope. Just Luke, coming in from his morning walk. I can not believe I slept through him exiting the house. I have super stealth "mom ears" now, you know? The kind of ears that hear the sounds only dogs pick up on. So much for sleeping in.

Her kids are ransacking the house, yet she sleeps through it.

Parenting magazine just printed an article devoted to sleeping in with toddlers. To summarize, their idea was training your children to be obedient. Interesting concept. One woman in the story trained her children to stay in their rooms until 7 a.m., at which time they found bowls of dry cereal on the kitchen table, and stickers showing them which button to press on the remote control to the television. According to the article, the mother was "still blissfully asleep at 8 a.m. " This is parenting advice? What kind of mother sleeps through her 2 and 4 year old banging around in the kitchen? (Probably the same kind who can sleep through her 3 year old leaving the house to walk around the cul-de-sac at 7 a.m.)

I feel like it's come to the point with my little escape artist, that I just need to teach him how to act appropriately when he escapes, i.e., stay on the sidewalk, go to the neighbor's for help, give him the PIN to my ATM card, show him how to hitch hike, etc. We actually do have a lock on the outside of Luke's bedroom door, but I unlock it when I go to bed so that he doesn't wake me up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom.

All I know is that there is nothing that makes me feel like a worse mom than knowing that I didn't hear my 3 year old leave the house in the morning. Nor did I witness Luke pouring a gallon jug of milk on Charlie after breakfast. Nor did I hear Charlie apply an entire tub of Aquaphor to his head yesterday.

That's not water, it's $20 worth of Aquaphor.

I'm only one person! I can only be so many places at one time!

THAT'S WHAT HUSBANDS ARE FOR

There are two reasons why we do not own nice things: Child #1 and Child #2 -


Our television is ancient, our couches are hand me downs and our cars are used. (Well, we're cheap too.) Occasionally, I go through brief phases where I toy with the idea of buying nice furniture, a fancy flat screen television, or an expensive cell phone, but then something brings me back to reality... like when my iPod touch went missing this weekend.

How do I love my iPod? Let me count the ways. The iPod is the one nice thing that is all mine. I justify my old lady phone because I have the iPod. I love, love, love, my iPod touch. You get the picture. Pee Wee Herman would probably suggest that I marry my iPod touch. So, back to the story. My iPod goes missing. I was inconsolable. Then, I began to go through all the stages of grief, first denial, then acceptance, I think I was finally entering the bargaining phase when Erik discovered it in the bathroom trash.


The bathroom trash!!! In between diapers and wipes covered with poop. Sorry you had to look at my trash, but I know how much you wanted a visual. (I circled where the iPod was sitting.) Yes, this is courtesy of Charlie. You know, the "easy" child. Ugh. I wish I could say this was unusual, but, I find important things in the garbage all the time. I'm just grateful he doesn't flush strange things down the toilet, yet.

DEATH AND TAXES

Something I love and hate in the same picture.

I wasn't going to write about it, but I can't hold back any longer.

I hate tax season. I hate doing them, paying them, and most of all, people bragging about how much money they are getting back. I feel like punching something when I read Facebook status updates during tax season.

You see, we belong to that group of crazy Americans who try to take the correct amount of withholdings during each year. Our goal is to pay and receive nothing at tax time. In other words, we don't let the government borrow our money all year. We earn interest on it. I know, it's a weird concept for some.

However, this year, I did our taxes and we owe money to California. This is the first year we have ever owed money. I don't know if it is because of the State's fiscal crisis or lack of poor planning on our part. All I know is that I am mad. I wish I could put a filter on my computer that would block -

Comments about "huge" tax returns.
Bragging about the Earned Income Credit*, Renter's Credit, i.e., low income tax deductions.
Comments about what they are doing with those big tax returns.
Anything positive about taxes.

Boo, California.

*Don't even get me started on the EIC.

MOVIE REVIEW: THE COVE

At my sister's urging, I watched The Cove last night. Never heard of it? Neither had I. A film about the killing and exploitation of dolphins didn't sound that appealing to me. Although it did win the Audience Award at Sundance last year which proves that everyone likes a good dolphin killing movie. (Hey! It was a joke!)

The catalyst for the movie, and I'm not kidding, is Ric O'Barry, one of the stars and trainers of Flipper. According to Mr. O'Barry, Flipper, who's real name was Kathy, committed suicide in his arms. This changed Mr. O'Barry's life. Instead of exploiting dolphins, he wanted to save them, thus becoming a radical activist who dons scuba gear and frees dolphins from captivity. His goal in making The Cove is exposing the annual killing of thousands of dolphins in Japan. He gets Industrial Light and Magic to construct crazy cameras for hiding in rocks. trees, etc. and hires two free diving champions to go into this cove and place them. They catch exactly what they wanted to see: dead dolphins.

Did I cry and scream with horror as I watched the dolphins being slaughtered to death? No. Did I cry to learn that Flipper's (aka Kathy's) cries for help were ignored and she committed suicide? No. Did I cry watching these people spend millions of dollars just to film about 5 hours of dolphins be slaughtered? Yes.

If you read my Avatar review, then you probably already think I'm heartless. So it will come as no surprise that I don't feel the need to become an activist after seeing this movie. I don't agree with dolphin killing for no reason and I probably won't go to Sea World ever again, but that's about as far as I'll take it. As referred to in the film with disgust, it seems that I am an "inactivist." So be it.

Still, the movie was kind of entertaining and the thermal cameras were cool.

GRADE: B

BREAKFAST WITH THOMAS

Once in awhile I am a really, really, cool mom. Today I feel the need to document my coolness and post it online for you, my friends and complete strangers, to read.


Last week, my friend gave the kids a Thomas the Train pop up tent the size of our kitchen and I let the kids eat breakfast in it. As if that wasn't cool enough, I then turned on the heinous Thomas CD at full volume while they were eating. It seemed like a good idea until they started bouncing around like they were at a rock concert. Why am I surprised that the morning ended with syrup everywhere, the tent overturned on top of the sink, and two boys crying at the top of their lungs?

This picture was taken just moments before the chaos. It was not cool.