Faith is ...

Sending your children to school.

And yes, I got home and bawled.

I've decided to take -

a SUMMER SABBATICAL.

I will probably continue to post about our Date Nights, but for the most part I'll be doing the following:

Monday:

AM - groceries, library
PM - science project

Tuesday:

AM - pool
PM - neighbor's day camp

Wednesday

AM - themed outing
PM - Little Prince art class, "home date" with Sunshine, possibly a movie afterward

Thursday

AM - playdates
PM - home craft projects

Friday

AM - summer movies at the theater (ten movies for six bucks!)
PM - get a babysitter for the two little ones while they're taking their naps, and have a date with the two older ones

We also have daily time blocked out for reading, math and boredom. I'm a big believer in unstructured time. How will they learn to creatively fill their time if they don't have any time to fill?

And following last year's "Surviving Summer," we have weekly themes. Every theme will include a craft, an activity, a recipe, an outing, and a service project. The kids helped me select themes for this year. We've got:

Dinosaurs
Science
South America
Africa
Asia
United States
Trains
Farm
Cars

I'm still available through email (and I'd be happy to email you my list of the fun things we're doing), and I'm sure I'll float around the blogosphere occasionally. But in the meantime, just know I haven't died or anything. I'm just hangin' with these guys.

Have a great summer, and see you in August!

Last day

... of school!

Is it weird that I might be even more excited than my kids?!

Confession: I did not always feel this way. There was a time when I counted down to kindergarten like Christmas. Except a Christmas I got to open every day.

I think the difference is planning. Before, the summer months represented one big long stretch of emptyboringnothingness.

(That sounds terrifying.)

But now that I've learned about routines and systems and scheduling? Summer ROCKS.

Let the festivities begin!

In which I shall speak words of wisdom

So I'm convinced that PLANNING is the key to SUCCESS.

And I am equally convinced that sometimes you need to throw the plan out the window.

Because sometimes, when you're making dinner, you notice a couple hot air balloons landing the next block over.

And you have to turn the burner off - and go see it.

And sometimes, when you just got back from a long bike ride, you find out that your HOA is releasing 250,000 ladybugs.


And you have to guzzle your water - and go see it.

And sometimes, your kids are knock-you-down precious and wonderful and perfect -

And you should put down what you're doing - because you need to see that, too.

I never cry over spilled milk

Oh, no.

i roar. 

Children scatter as milk rivulets leap joyfully about my clean tile, the Big Bad Milk Monster rearing inside of me.

(She's quite fearsome.)

How is it that a cup of spilled milk produces a gallon's worth of splatters all over my kitchen?

And walls?
And chairs?
And underside of my table?

I sop up. Then mop. Then mop again. And yet -

little, sticky, glistening dried ovals all over my floor. They laugh at me every time I walk in my kitchen.

I'm thinking that we're going to turn into a water-only family. I will pay their osteoporosis bills gladly.

Just don't make me clean up a n o t h e r spill.

In which I am happy

Little Prince is growing up.

He'll have you know that he's SIX-AND-A-HALF (don't forget the half) and almost SEVEN. And SEVEN is almost EIGHT and that's HUGE.

I like watching him grow up. I like watching his personality develop and become his own person - even if we clash over it sometimes. I like that he knows what he likes (science) and doesn't like (chores.)

I like HIM. (And isn't that somehow different that loving him?)

I'm especially enjoying introducing him to things that have made me who I am.

Reading the Narnia series with him was an emotional experience for me - how he clapped his hands and exploded in laughter when Aslan came back to life - how solemn he became when Edmund asked forgiveness - whooping and punching the air when the White Witch died. Now he's into Harry Potter, and is fascinated with the intricacies of magic and how Tonks can give herself a pig nose. (So am I.)

I find myself crying over this sharing-of-souls. Although tears aren't a normal reaction to telling stories about Snape. But it's knowing that I'm giving him something he will enjoy the rest of his life. Something that I enjoy. Something that makes both of our hearts soar - frees us from the earth and lets our imaginations reach up toward the sky.

Books. 

There are so many books that have become woven into the very fabric that is me. And to weave them into my son?

...

There are no words.

Yesterday we sat at the kitchen counter for an hour as I told him the fabulous story that is Les Miserables. (I just finished all 1500 pages.) As I unfolded the tale of Jean Val Jean, we listened to that inspired music together - and the tears rained down.

We had deep discussions about the countless moral dilemmas presented in the novel.The bishop lied about the candlesticks - Fantine and the Thenardies' choices - Javert and "all the evil of good." We covered the French revolution, which led to the Egyptian revolution, which led to the Book of Mormon and discussions on kings and absolute power.

Basically, it was awesome.

Because when it comes down to it, I know exactly what I want to give my son.


The world.

In which I hope my kids remember days like this

It rained yesterday.

Clearly, this meant yesterday was an Occasion.

(It's Arizona. It doesn't rain much here.)

(Plus, I was doing laundry anyway.)

So I pulled out our boots, hats and coats, and we went


puddle jumping.

Too soon the puddles ran dry, so it was necessary to bring out the hose and refill them. And display an exhibition on Being Two.

And then we jumped. and jumped. and jumped some more.

It was a wonderful, perfect, puddle-jumping kind of day.

...

So why don't my kids remember days like this, and instead have to remind me constantly of the time (three years ago) when I screamed at them for jabbing my wood table with forks?!

Return and Report

Subject: Mr. Squishy 

Objective: Using the potty to go "wet" and "stinkers"

Preparation: For two months the subject has informed his superiors that his diaper needs to be changed. Sometimes subject advises of the imminent arrival of wet and stinkers. Has expressed interest in What Big Brothers Are Doing. Very excited about being a "big boy."

Previous Experience: Little Prince went through several "trial runs" until he was three years and eight months. Then his superiors had trouble finding diapers in his size (explanation: in Brazil, they potty train at one years old. Diapers size three and up are impossible to find.) When his superiors buckled down and said We Are Growing Up Today, there were accusations of child abuse. Two months later, Sunshine trained himself. He was not quite two.

DAY ONE

5:00AM - Wake up. Feeling very cheerful and ready to take on The Big Bad Toilet. Exercise. Scriptures. Shower. Make bed. Conquer the world.

7:00AM - Mr. Squishy wakes up. We are so excited. We talk about not using diapers anymore. He chooses a pair of Finding Nemo underwear, and marches proudly to breakfast.

7:30 AM - Breakfast over. We sit on the potty and read Dr. Seuss. He thinks this is the coolest thing ever. But nothing happens other than he sits on the potty and reads Dr. Seuss. This is okay. We're good.

7:40 AM - He wets his pants. Feelings: still cheerful.

7:45 AM - Big glass of milk

8:00 AM - More milk

8:30 AM - Big glass of water

8:40 AM - Sit on toilet and read Dr. Seuss. That's about it.

8:45 AM - He wets his pants. We're still cheerful.

9:00 - 10:00 AM - We play with play dough. Big glass of water. Feelin' good. Sunshine thinks Operation Train Little Brother is the greatest idea in the world - we get to stay home and play all day.

10:00 AM - Sits on toilet and read Dr. Seuss. Nothin'.

10:05 AM - Go for a walk. We stay within a five-house radius to the toilet. 

10:45 AM - Sits on toilet and read Dr. Seuss. I am not discouraged.

11:00 AM - He wets his pants. It's okay.

11:20 AM - Lunch. He scores a big glass of chocolate milk. This is the best day ever.

12:00 PM - Sits on toilet and reads Dr. Seuss. He is starting to get tired of sitting on the toilet. There are tears.

12:30 PM - He wets his pants. We put on a pull-up in preparation for bed. He really loves his pull-up.

1:00 - 4:00 PM - Naptime. I do not worry about potty training in the slightest.

4:00 PM - He wakes up. He is not happy about putting on underwear. I insist. There are LOTS of tears. He sits on the toilet and we sing Popcorn Popping very loudly. More tears.

4:30 PM - He runs to me saying, "Mommy! Stink! Mommy! Stink!" I am thrilled. We run to the toilet. It is occupied. Mr. Squishy poops his pants. Not happy about more underwear.

5:30 PM - Dinner. More chocolate milk.

6:00 PM - He sits on the toilet. Very, very sad boy.

6:15 PM - He wets his pants. I am starting to wonder if he is, in fact, NOT READY.

7:30 PM - Bedtime. He actually hugs his diaper.

In which Mr. Squishy grows up

Today starts

THIS:

plus

THIS

Wish me luck!

Oober Legit Post

I just wanted to say that.

Anywho!

So after taking a bloggy sabbatical for, well, a really long time, I'm catching up on the cyber world. Lemme tell ya - high, concentrated doses of bloggy reading does things to you.

I've come to the following conclusions:

Apparently I need an "about me" and "best of" page
Apparently I need to renovate something in my house
Apparently I need to take more pictures of my outfits
Apparently I need to take more pictures of everything I eat
Apparently I need to take more pictures
Apparently I need to put more buttons on my blog
Apparently I need to join Twitter

Apparently.

But more than anything, I was struck with the "oh, gosh, I love my sweetperfectcutestbabyonearth because he's just AMAZING" trend. Because he slept through the night from the minute he left the uterus, because she was perfect on the plane from LA to New York, because he smiles and coos at appropriate times, because she could do compound math before her first tooth arrived.

The skeptic in me laughs until unattractive noises spew out of me.

Do these parents really think that you can possibly love your baby BECAUSE OF anything? What if your baby had the ability to shoot yellow poo up to distances of three feet every time you changed his diaper? What if the mere sight of a car seat left your baby struggling and kicking and wailing until your heart wanted to break? What if your baby screamed at bat frequencies every time you set him down? What if you had a baby that only napped in twenty minute intervals?

Not that MY children fit any of those qualifications ....

I promise you that you would still love your baby - of course you would. I do.

So I want to say to these moms - I'm so glad you have such a sweetperfectcutestbabyonearth. You are lucky. You are blessed. But you do not love your child because of their perfection.

You love your child because you are their mother.

Mr. Squishy vs. The Trampoline

The trampoline won.

First broken bone in the family.

We are somewhat despressed.

You can't win 'em all

 This is the NBC:

Likes: 

me
Dad
his brothers
my sister
Grandma
swings
outside
walks in the stroller
rides in the bike trailer
baths
tickles
singing
dancing
crawling
cuddling
making faces
bananas, pears, kiwi, cantalope
squash, green beans, peas, sweet potatoes, carrots
cereal

Dislikes:

peaches

Oh well.

When you know your kid reads too many books

On a recent family bike ride, a particularly smelly truck blew past us.

Sunshine, on taking a whiff, shouted, "I smell Jupiter!"

When we expressed confusion, he explained, "Yeah, because Jupiter's made of gas!"

Duh.

In which people pretty much rock

I am a skeptic.

Born and bred.

I always set myself up for failure. I always have a Plan B. I always figure someone will let me down - hard - and that I will fall flat on my face.

But I'm so. Totally. Wrong.

So lately my Little Prince is really into SCIENCE.

"I'm going to be a scientist someday, Mom. Actually. I think I'm one now."

He's always pondering around the house, doing "'spearaments" and drawing elaborate designs for his inventions.

Recently he took it upon himself to make a robot. Not having much luck with cardboard, he appealed to me to write to a REAL scientist. The level of begging and insistence was such that I had to give in.

The letter written:

Dear Scientist - Can you make a robot that will do what I say? I want him to
be 20 feet tall. Also, how do you be a scientist? Do you make stuff? That's
it! Oh, and one more thing. I'd like him to be gray with two hands that can
move and can make stuff and turn into stuff. And he needs to be nice and
obedient. And maybe build a robot school that teaches robots to be good. Okay?
(dictated word for word by his mom, Becky ;o)

Little Prince was absolutely convinced that a 20 foot robot would appear on the doorstep the next morning.

I, of course, set him up to fail:

"Scientists are really busy, sweetheart. He may take a while to write back. He may not even write back at all. We just have to be patient."

But the jokes on me. Because the very next day, waiting in my inbox was the following:

Thanks for submitting your question to the MadSci Network. Some of us here at the MadSci Network do build robots, and some of us use them in our work.

However, *you* can build robots yourself (probably with a little help from your mom). There are many robot kits available for young students like yourself to learn about building and programming robots. One that I am aware of is the "lego mindstorm" system (I'm not endorsing this product, but I know that we have received many questions about it here at MadSci). You can  find more about this system here:
http://mindstorms.lego.com/en-us/Default.aspx

And you can read this answer in our archives about some other robotic kits:
http://www.madsci.org/posts/archives/2001-12/1009665699.Cs.r.html

When *I* was only a little older than you, I wanted to build robots too. I got my dad to buy me a book (I still have it) called  "How to Build a Computer Controlled Robot", by Tod Loofbourrow.  I never did build a robot, but I learned a lot from reading that book.  See: http://www.amazon.com/How-build-computer-controlled-robot-Loofbourrow/dp/0810456818

Also, you should know that most robots are not shaped like people. We need robots to do things that people cannot or do not want to do, and so they are often shaped very differently from people. In my work, I use two robots (called a BeeBlot and an  AutoReli) that move liquids around for me so that I can go and do other things.  You can see a picture of the BeeBlot robot here:  http://www.beerobotics.com/products_beeblotnh.asp

It doesn't look much like a person does it? :)

In order to become a scientist, I had to go to school for a while. I went to elementary  school (like you), and then junior high-school, high-school, and then college, and then after college I went to graduate school to earn my doctorate degree. All together, that was 23 years of school! But it was in school that I learned everything I need to know  to be come a scientist. So, if you want to be a scientist, and I hope you do, because we always need more scientists, do your best in school, and be sure to ask your teacher if you don't understand something. Of course, you can always ask us too. :)

I don't build robots in my work, but I do make computer programs, which are the things that tell robots what to do. The interesting thing about robots is that they don't  have to go to school to learn to be good -- you just have to write a program that tells them to be good, and then you can give that program to all the robots!

So, I hope that this answers your questions, but if it doesn't, feel free to send us some more!

Cheers,

Steve Mack, Moderator MadSci Network

See that? People. PRETTY MUCH ROCK.

And Little Prince is still floating.

What to do with a sad baby who is learning to sit?

 Put him in a drawer.

Problem solved.

May I ask a question?

Why does "soccer mom" have such a negative connotation?

Even wikipedia, the fountain of all truth and knowledge, acknowledges it:

The phrase soccer mom generally refers to a married middle-class woman who lives in the suburbs and has school age children.^[1][2] She is sometimes portrayed in the media as busy or overburdened and driving a minivan.^[1][3] She is also portrayed as putting the interests of her family, and most importantly her children, ahead of her own. Soccer moms received so much attention during the election that the American Dialect Society voted "soccer mom" Word of the Year for 1996.The phrase has taken on a negative aspect.

I hear it on other blogs, too "Omigawrsh, look at this picture of me, I look like a soccer mom." On reality TV (What Not To Wear) - "oh, throw away everything you own. It all screams soccer mom!" In daily conversation - "I need a makeover, I look way too much like a soccer mom."

Why?








I really, truly want to know.

Because I'm lovin' it.