I thought we were getting past this.

Grace and Claire were busy this weekend. On Saturday they climbed in our little pantry, sat on a shelf, and ate powdered sugar out of its canister with a spoon. My pantry (still) looks like an exploded sugar bag.

That day they also opened the leftover Halloween icing and squirted it into their mouths. Onto the bathroom counters. And mirrors. And on their clothes. Our Halloween icing is black.

Incidentally, these sugar cravings may have something to do with my previous post.

And today, for good measure, they destroyed my preschool room. They opened the craft closet, climbed to the highest shelf, grabbed paint, paper, and paintbrushes and set up their painting studio. Right there on the carpeted floor. Then, as if that wasn't enough, they used markers to color the mirrored closet doors and my supply of bouncy balls.

For real.

They are too old for this.

Especially since Grace also cleaned that whole mess up all by herself. Happily.

The Saddest Day

Okay. Well. It may not look like the saddest day to you. But you're looking out the wrong side of the camera. I was traumatized. Tearful. Trying to be brave.

Grace was happy, anxious, elated, unable to contain herself.

So excited she forgot her backpack.

*Sigh.*

Something is very wrong about all-day kindergarten. And maybe school in general. What genius decided to make 8 hours away from the family an acceptable social norm? And why is it that if I decide to pull my reading/writing/math-doing child out of school for more than 5 days I get sent to court? And maybe jail? I mean, who do they think taught her that stuff? Is she really better off with them than me?

Wrong, people. School and I are not friends.

But she is. She and school are besties. And I guess I can deal with that. Temporarily.

Choo-Choo.

Yesterday Grace was working on a worksheet of blends. She wouldn't let me look. She has very specific rules about her work. Anytime she works on a project, she figures it out on her own and then surprises me. I guess she likes the reactions I give. I'm always very impressed.

Just as I was this time when I saw this:

Impressed and... surprised.


Apparently, during her five short years of life, she has believed this

to be a CHRain.

I never noticed. Since she learned to speak from me, perhaps I need to enunciate better.

T-T-TRain.

Unhappily Unexpected.

Unhappily Unexpected: [adj.]

It happens when you're sitting on a lawn of freshly mowed grass, enjoying the sun, enjoying the color, enjoying being outside...

...enjoying some little fragment of wildlife exploring your giant fingers...

until you realize it's a fire ant. And it bites you ten times. On your elbow and your forearm and your hand.

synonyms: bad luck.

Yesterday, while I ran errands at our local Walmart, Grace stood on the front of the cart, facing me. She pointed at things she wanted, she attempted climbing into the bottom rack, she shifted her weight and generally made it difficult to steer.

We were very close to done when she pointed and loudly remarked, "Oh, she is not modest!"

First of all, don't ask me why she is already so acutely aware of modesty. I can probably attribute it to Karlee, my stylish teenage sister, who evaluates all her clothing choices with our family's modesty standard.

I haven't discussed it with Grace really. I mean, I buy all her clothes. And besides, I feel like we're still working on basics. Like sitting still during prayers.

But somehow, it has become her favorite "rule."

And there in Walmart I could feel my face flush. I sped up. And I kept my head down. And turned at the next corner.

And Grace and I had a very long discussion regarding other people's feelings. And how we need to be careful with them.

She seemed very confused during this discussion, so I reemphasized, "Grace, what if she heard you? How do you think she felt?"

Grace only responded, "She heard me?" And she said this several times.

Finally I asked, "Grace, who were you pointing at?"

She replied, "The girl in the photo."

Man, I hope the women behind me within earshot knew what she was pointing at.

Reality

Grace is a pretty huge fan of these Old Testament videos. She was watching the story of Abraham when she turned to me and said, "Wait. I don't have to watch this video of Abraham! I have this video!"

And she ran to the bookshelf to retrieve Veggie Tales' version of the Biblical drama.

I was glad she had made a connection and realized that these were two versions of the same story. But I still felt the need to clarify an important point.

"Grace, you do know that the real-life Abraham was not a cucumber, right?"

Grace laughed. She answered gleefully, "Silly Mommy! Abraham is a pea!"

Oh, of course. Silly Mommy.

[As a side note, let me add that it is a shocker to realize you need the spiritual message coming from your child's cartoon. Well done, Veggie Tales. Peas, cucumbers, gourds and all.]

A Day Out

It has rained here for the past two days. Straight. And in our neck of the desert, when it rains, it floods.

Kind of like this.

We are inside our apartment most of the time anyway. The rain doesn't make much difference. But today we got the chance to go to an art festival here in town. Grace was stoked. The main exhibit was a showcase of Lego art. On top of that, there were crafts for the kids, elaborate toy train sets, and community shows.

After the Home Depot Build a Bank craft, I asked the girls to hold up their work and smile. In other words, I requested they pose.

We all know how that goes.
"Thank you, Grace. Claire, look at the camera!"

"Thank you, Claire. Can you smile now? And Grace, look at the camera!"

Grace: "Claire. You smile like this, see? This is how you smile for the camera."

Claire: [fish face.]

Grace: "Good, Claire, that's good trying."

Yes, I believe that is Claire's real attempt at a smile.

And... that's as good as posing gets around here, folks.

Tact.

Hypothetically speaking, let's say you're sitting with your children at a mall food court. It's one of those places where the tables are spaced at a barely comfortable two feet apart.

And let's say that a family comes and sits at a table next to you. And your child looks at them curiously, intently.

And let's say that she observes--innocently, honestly--that "Some people have dark brown skin. And some people have light skin."

And let's say that she was not so quiet saying it.

And then let's say--hypothetically of course--that she immediately points to the large family on the other side of you. With an arm that's fully extended.

And let's say she remarks (also quite loudly), "Mom, those people are not speaking English."

Would you blush? Hang your head? Give your child evil eyes? Make some weak comment about not pointing?

Or would you do something more socially appropriate? And... what would that be, exactly?

Worldview

Grace starts a community ballet class tomorrow.

As I tucked her in for bed tonight, she adjusted her pillow and exclaimed, "Mom, I am really so so excited for ballet."

She grinned. A grin that could have single-handedly ended the Cold War. She looked at the ceiling and sighed, "I wonder will there be a recital."

It wasn't really a question she expected me to answer because her head snapped back to face me and she earnestly inquired, "Could you please help me with my tights tomorrow? They are *fragile* and I don't want to *rip* them."

I assured her I would, and her gaze wistfully returned to the ceiling.

At this point, Claire, who had just been reminded of the tumbling class she would begin this week, started attempting somersaults on the bed. She plowed into Grace who hardly noticed.

I kissed them both, turned off the light, and began to shut the door according to Grace's precise width instructions.

And then Grace softly called, "Mama?"

"Yes, sweetie?"

"You're beautiful," she said.

I had just returned from the gym. I assure you, I looked like a sweaty Richard Simmons.

Apparently her joy has made everything lovely.

I kissed her again. I squished them both and told them how happy they make me. And then I left, wondering.

I'm not sure I can recall the last time I was awestruck. Or the last time I even expressed excitement.

Maybe that's why the world seems slightly less lovely these days.

Anybody know where I can get me some awe? And let me spare you a suggestion: I won't be enrolling in ballet.

Why we don't have cable

I was busy doing something else. I usually am, when something like this happens. The munchkins had just finished watching Matilda. It was about fifteen minutes before I got around to checking in on them.

They were in the kitchen.

A broken egg was on the floor. It had been smeared into one of my kitchen mats. Powdered sugar and flour were sprinkled generously on the counters. And on Claire's face. And in her hair.

Grace stood on a chair at the mixer. She had cracked one egg (this one had been done carefully) and dropped it in the mixing bowl along with random amounts of flour, powdered sugar, and milk.

"Is this how Matilda made pancakes?" she asked.

As I noticed the frying pan Grace had carefully placed on a burner, I evenly, calmly replied, "Um, I think she used a recipe. Since she could read."

"Oh," she said.

Then she asked me to pass her more sugar.

I didn't yell. I cooked two pancakes on the griddle Grace had prepared.

But I was preparing too. I would take advantage of this teaching opportunity. As soon as they bit into their yucky pancakes, I would share with them the importance of following recipes. That this experience was an analogy for life. That obedience is crucial to happiness and "yummy pancakes."

Unfortunately, they scarfed the pancakes.

Apparently, milk, eggs, sugar, and flour always taste good together. Recipes and measurements be darned.

My life. Oh, my life.

A Bedtime Prayer, brought to you by Grace

dear henlee father

thank thee for the food.

[LONG pause]

i'm dreaming with my eyes closed

i'm dreaming and i'm saying a prayer

and there's... a monkey...?

and he's in a box...

and he's trying to get out of the box...

and... i love my school very very very much.

room j is so so so so fun.

SO fun.

amen.

We do not watch TLC. Promise.

I got a call last weekend while I was with Brad in Carlsbad painting the trim in our house. [About that house: it's old, not new, we've owned it two years, lived in it for one, we're selling it, and I'm sad about it. Hmph.]

It was my little sister Karlee. She started, "Elise, you'll never guess what Grace and Claire were playing a minute ago."

It's true. I never would have guessed.

I'll spare you the details.

It involved a blanket, a baby doll, and Grace coaching, "Okay, Claire! Give birth! Give birth!"

I. am. in. trouble.

Solicitation

We've returned from Utah. We are now home. I have many good stories to tell. But, also very little time.

So, here's a quickie.

The house is a mess. This is because my mom is out of town. She is apparently the only one who cleans around here.

So, in her absence, I was attempting to tidy, and insisted on Grace's assistance. She was not compliant. She refused for several reasons, including the fact that her legs were too tired.

Finally, she went to her room.

After pausing long enough between washing dishes to realize that she had disappeared and that I was no longer arguing with anyone, I called to her.

"Grace? What are you doing? You're supposed to be helping me clean!"

"MO-OM. I'm JUST STRESSHling."

"Oh. Um, what does stresshling mean?"

"It MEANS someone who doesn't WANT to clean their room. It MEANS someone who doesn't want to do ANYTHING."

Huh. Totally stumped for a minute.

Time for a new tactic.

"Claire, would you please pick up these toys?"

Claire, of course, happily consented, toddling her little pidgeon-toed self around the room picking up toys. [I love the ridiculously-cute-and-helpful stage. It's my favorite.]

I congratulated her. Quite loudly. I kind of yelled, actually. And then I explained what I was rewarding her with. In loud detail.

Grace snuck out a few moments later and grabbed several plates for setting the table.

If you have any motivational tools for your children that do not include the exploitation of one child to motivate another, please share. I have obviously exhausted my limited resources of creativity.

Unsettling

Grace sings incessantly. I mean it. And her repertoire is extensive. She sings a lot of normal, happy church songs, like "I Am A Child of God," "I Love to See the Temple," "I Lived in Heaven," "How Firm a Foundation," and lots of others.

For a while there, she was singing a lot of Disney. Like, "Someday my Prince will come, and away to his castle we'll goooooo," and "...big brass band [while pumping her arm Dick Van Dyke style], ooohhhh it's a jolly 'olidye wi' Mary...."

Other times she just improvs. "Mom is feeding CLAAAYY-rrrr... and Claire is CRY-ing!!!" You know, composing her life soundtrack.

When she's not doing one of the above, she's la-la-ing. Or she's humming. Or she's asleep. One of those.

She sings at dinner. She sings in Sacrament Meeting. She sings during scriptures and on her way to sleep. She sings always.

It drives me crazy. 

And to add to the insanity, I've lately found her singing lyrics I didn't know she'd ever heard. Like this one: "she wears short skirts, I wear t-shirts, she's cheer captain and I'm on the bleachers..." and this one: "Ohhh, it's what you do to meeeeee.... Ohhhh, it's what you do to meeee." And this slightly modified version of a popular favorite: "You've had a bad day. Something just died. You had a bad day... you had a bad day." 

I'm just hoping these lyrics never make the cut for her favorite performance of the evening: Prayertime.

And I'm also a little befuddled. Because she hasn't heard those songs with me. Which means that either someone is sneaking headphones onto her ears in the middle of the night, or she's learning these songs in very short clips with Karlee--her aunt. Karlee does listen to such music. But mostly not with Grace.

And that makes me sort of nervous, my friends. Not because of the songs themselves. I suppose they're mostly harmless. 

I said Mostly. 

The question gnawing at me, is: What else is Grace memorizing in thirty-second segments? And at what other inopportune times is she regurgitating it?

Mall Date

I really hate shopping at the mall. Like, a lot.

I hate how I look in the dressing room. Maybe it's the lighting. Maybe it's my first time looking in a mirror in several weeks. But I hate it so much that I usually carry on the following conversation with myself--after my shocked ego has recovered enough to think clearly: "Really? My family let me out of the house like this? Self, tell me I don't look like this all the time. [long pause.] Crap. I do, don't I? That's great. Well then. I guess I don't need this [highly overpriced cloth item], seeing as it couldn't possibly cure my [acne, love handles, green skin, cold sore scar...]." Dressing rooms have historically saved me a lot of money.

I hate how tired I am after shopping around all day to find the best bargain. I don't ever in good conscience buy the first thing I like. Unless it's 80% off. And it's ridiculously perfect. Which never happens. So I usually end up wandering from store to store liking plenty and buying nothing. Which makes for one long wasted day. And a sore back.

Mostly, I really [really] hate. spending. money. In truth, on the rare occasion that I buy anything [a phenomenon requiring the planets align and give me the perfect outfit at an incredible discount with a less-than-punishing dressing room experience], my stomach drops and I feel sick the rest of the day. I'm sure some of you can relate to that part. [You can relate, right?] 

So when Grace requested to spend her hard-earned chore cash on a single ride at our mall's Merry-Go-Round, I groaned [silently, of course]. But it was her money. And I had promised she could spend it as she wanted. So we went.

I avoided clothing stores. I avoided making direct eye contact with the women who don't need the mall since they are already perfectly coiffed and elegantly accessorized.

And I had a total blast.

We stopped at Starbucks for an incredible cupcake and vanilla flavored milk.

And then Grace and I perused the Disney Store, looking to use her remaining funds for a gift for her friend's birthday party.

Grace paid in quarters, very carefully counting them out in a thankfully empty line behind the register, to a thankfully patient cashier.

We headed back to the car and wrapped the present in paper we found. [My car might be messy, but sometimes the mess comes in handy.] On the way to the party, Grace wrote "CARTER" on the box--something she didn't know she could do.

And she kept repeating, "Oh, I hope Carter likes his present!" Over and over.

It was the perfect Saturday. And it started at the mall. Makes me want to go again.

Before the Fall

After I got home from work today, Grace and I did some crayon drawings. I asked her to help me draw a horse.

Me: "What does a horse have, Gracie?"

Grace: "A tail, ears, a head, and a body... [long, thoughtful pause.]  ... Why did the horse get a body, Mommy? ...  Did he follow Jesus's commandments?"

It was one of those moments. My guts were bursting with pride and motherly satisfaction.

And then Grace cocked her head, carefully assessing my artwork. 

"Mommy. Is that a horse? It looks like a pig. Whatever it is, it's funny lookin'."

A Lot Going On

Sometimes motherhood is stressful. And kind of embarrassing. Like today. When a member of our stake presidency came to set Jay apart for his mission and Grace let him in. She was stark naked. Really set the mood for the evening.

I'm sure I'll laugh about it. Eventually.

I know this because today I found some pictures from last June. The month we were so overwhelmed that we both forgot our anniversary. But still I took pictures. Because a lot happened. And I knew I would laugh someday. And this week, I did.

My children. sort of clothed. Shredding newspaper.

Oh, and Brad. Feeling overwhelmed over all the work required on our house. Hoping I will be cleaning up the mess. Which I did. It took me a week. There was a lot of newspaper.

Very happy. Maybe they should have been hamsters. Hmm. Missed opportunity there.

Really excited about shredded newspaper.

The toys were packed. They would have been excited playing with dirt. And, in fact, they were. That, and food they scavenged.

That is a package of Gerber Sweet Potatoes. And that is our only couch. And Claire. Naked.

And that is Cran-Applesauce with Cocoa Puffs. And new grout. And Claire. Naked.

And that is Great Value's version of Nestle Quik. And Claire. Naked. Apparently we packed the clothes with the toys.

And based on these observations from our household in the month of June, we learn that my children are hungry, bored, naked, and in need of attention.

But deeply loved. And very funny.

Meet Superwoman.

It's okay to feel intimidated.

I do.

Maybe Next Time

It's just barely getting chilly. Texas winter is a beautiful thing, my friends.

One night we were headed out to feed the ducks at one of the neighborhood ponds. So I retreived our coats from the attic. I felt possessed for some reason to take pictures.

That never turns out well.

Here are the results of this year's second posed photo shoot:

"Say cheese!"

Claire is waiting for the chunk of cheddar she believes must be coming from my pocket.

"Claire, cheese means smile, Claire. You're not smiling, Claire! You need to smile!"

"Here, Claire, like this. Smile like this, Claire. See?"

"Okay, Mom. You can take the picture now. CHEESE!"

Tired. Again. Always.

So I've been joking about sleep disorders and me and Grace having them.

Well guess what. We really do.

At least, according to the world's source of all knowledge, we do.

SYMPTOMS: Restless Legs Syndrome: Check. Sleepwalking: Check. Sleeptalking: Check. Excessive tiredness [does falling asleep during a twenty minute drive home from work count? I'm gonna say yes.]: Check. RMBD: Check. Falling asleep at inappropriate times: Check. [okay, so that last one is borderline. We're not narcoleptic.]

The good news is that Grace is catching on to her tendency to fall asleep in weird places. She has begun pre-empting the sleepy madness. The other night she groggily dragged herself from the dinner table, sleepily pulled on her pajamas, and collapsed onto her bed.

Beats waking up like this: