Danish awesomeness

Unworthy

This morning the kids and I were rocking out to Brandi Carlisle. (Side note. My friend Mandy invited me to her concert last night and it was one of the best concerts I have ever seen. She performed with the symphony and her voice and song writing were unbelievable. Another story for another day though. Thanks Mandy!) We were being funny, shaking our booties, and going wild. You know, normal everyday Jones stuff.

When the kids started pleading for water we took a break. Aubrey was sitting at the counter and asked out of the blue, "Mommy, do I look like you?" Now, as everyone knows, Aubrey looks like Greg, but I said oh yes, there are lots of things about you that look like me. We both have blond hair, blue eyes, long thin fingers, etc. She smiled but said again, "But do I really LOOK like you?" And I realized what she wanted to know was if she was LIKE me. So again, I said yes, and told her all the ways I thought we were similar in personality. At the end of my list she said, "Give me a high five!", I think because she was so happy that I thought she was like me. She wanted to be like me, not in looks but in person. Whoa.

Good grief. Is there any higher compliment than someone wanting to be like you? And my own kid?? It is an awe inspiring, staggering responsibility that I am so blessed to have. I am truly not worthy of all the ridiculously awesome things in my life.

If I only had a brain

This morning, while cleaning out our garage, I ran across binders full of old college notes. Pathophysiology, pharmacology, how to convince people with diabetes to take care of themselves so their feet don't fall off, etc. I have saved them all.

Looking through my old notes put me in a funk. I used to think! I used to make witty conversation and intelligent medical remarks! I used to be able to criticize the docs on "E.R." because I could tell when they were wrong! I used to set the curve on tests! I used to make payments on student loans that supported that nursing education!

All of this was said through a fog of tears and self pity while I bemoaned my lack of mental activity to Greg. "I'm turning into one of THEM!" I wailed. "One of those people who only talks about dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets and how many coupons I cut that day. Someday someone will ask the kids what I was like when they were little and they'll say, 'She swept a lot.' "

Which was a premonition. After a day of cleaning the garage, the front steps, the flower beds, I was SWEEPING our kitchen floor for the 1 zillionth time when my back went into a major spasm. I landed on the floor with what felt like back labor and the kids fussed over me asking, "Mommy, what's wrong, what's wrong?!?!" Dane helped by sitting on my head with a poopy diaper. Now, hours later, it is still killing me and always a moment away from spasming. Which is to say, it was a sign that I sweep too often and that I should spend my invalid time reading something brilliant. Now if only I could process something more complex than "Where the Wild Things Are".

What a girl wants, what a girl needs

As you know from my last post, Aubrey got a bike for Easter. It is substantially bigger than her last one. It has brakes (bet you didn't know that tiny kid bikes don't even come with brakes) and Greg set the training wheels so that she feels a lot more wobbling. All this to say that the girl who loves to ride a bike is having to readjust to this new bike. Aubrey's adventuresome spirit ends with putting WAY TOO MUCH milk on her Cheerios so feeling tippy on her bike has been a big time stresser for her.

Which leads me to my point. Yesterday morning we were supposed to meet a friend at the mall play area for kid play time and mommy talk. The night before she called me to tell me that two of her four kids were barfing. Play dates end with barf so that was off.

Side note parenting lesson: NEVER tell you kids in advance about plans because when they fall through or change (which they always seem to do), they won't forget and your life will full of anguish and misery because your kids will be full of anguish and misery at the injustice of broken plans.

When I told Aubrey about the sick kids she instantly started whining. "But I want to go to the mall! It's not fun here! I'm bored!" I told her that the next morning we would either go to the park or the mall, depending on the weather. She seemed satisfied and headed to bed.

Yesterday we awoke to gorgeous blue skies, sunshine, and the promise of a lovely spring day. The park it is! When Aubrey heard this her face fell and she plopped on the floor. "I don't want to go to the park! I want to go to the mall! I hate sunny days and fresh air and fragrant flowers! Besides, all the other kids are getting their nose pierced!" (I am imagining this same conversation ten years down the road.)

After much discussion about gratitude, mommy not having to take her anywhere, and the effect whining has on mommy's mood, I loaded the boys in the wagon and Aubrey got on her bike to head to the park. Beautiful. Tranquil. Fresh and wholesome and lovely. Only interrupted by Aubrey's sighing and whining and grunting about her bike and how "terrifying" it was (yep, that good old Montgomery exaggeration gene already works) and how fast it went. But fresh and wholesome nonetheless.

That is until we were assaulted by a gentle spring breeze. Assaulted I tell you! That darn whisper of wind glided ever so gently over Aubrey's face. It nearly stripped the flesh from her bones! The horror! The anguish! Aubrey gasped, bike swerving erratically as she dipped her head and body away from the miserable gust and she wailed, "MOMMY, I cannot be out in this kind of weather! You have to take me to the mall!"

Greg thinks we need to move to a farm.

The easter bunny is not real

That's what Aubrey told me the day before Easter. She informed me that the Easter Bunny was just a person dressed up like a bunny. This is because she is terrified of mascots and could only reconcile herself to the idea of a bunny entering our house at night if she knew it wasn't actually a bunny but a person in costume. I asked her who the person was and she said, "Why would I know that?" Good point.

We hosted Easter this year and had a start to finish lovely weekend. My parents, Greg's parents, and my sister Hannah and her boyfriend Brett were here. I love how much more the kids understand about holidays each year and Easter was no exception. Aubrey was very serious during the telling of the Easter story. Nathan would wear a sad face and say, "Then Jesus died", and then put on a huge smile and say, "But then he came back to life!" Kids are so cool.

Enjoy the pictures!






Don't mess about with Ms. Aubrey "Annie Oakley" Jones.
Looking at the stars with Daddy. Totally candid. Totally angelic.
"Man, all that yoga sure has helped me sleep better."
Easter egg dyeing. A lot of fun. Not nearly enough newspaper.
I only have enough patience to hold my egg in the dye for .02 seconds.
This is serious work.
Look ma, I did it myself! Lunch!
Dane, channeling the Incredible Hulk. That egg was later dropped in red dye and looked like a decomposing eyeball. Much closer to Halloween gruesome than Easter purity.
This is not what the Easter bunny brought me. Hot damn, I sure wish it was!
The Easter bunny was quite generous this year.
This is what the Easter bunny brought me and I do NOT want Dane to touch it and I DON'T want to share it with Dane and it is MINE, not Dane's.

And the mother of the year award goes to...

...not me.

Yesterday I let both Aubrey and Nathan pee outside, in a somewhat public area. I HAVE NEVER DONE THIS BEFORE. Other than an urgent stop on the side of the freeway on our way someplace, never have we (okay, I) allowed the kids to pee in anything other than a socially acceptable receptacle. Until yesterday, in which I let both of them. (Dane is excused from this because he carries his bathroom with him where ever he goes.)

See, the trouble with little kids is that when they say, "I HAVE TO GO TO THE BATHROOM!" what they really mean is, "I had to really really go about 20 minutes ago and now I'm actively wetting my pants." When you are on the go, this is bad news. By the time you park, find a store/public facility that will allow you to use their toilet, unload all the kids, and get to the bathroom, the child in need has wet their pants, gotten it all over their car seat, and probably has sat in some dirt. There just ain't the time for that kind of time.

It started with Nathan. He is even worse than Aubrey. When he says he has to go, YOU HAD BETTER JUMP. We were on our way to Target, no where near anything, and I ended up letting him pee on some bushes in an abandoned parking lot. He told me, with great sincerity, "Mommy, these plants are so glad to have a big drink of pee pee." Right.

Aubrey was another story. We had gone to a local play area after lunch. Thankfully no one else was there. She had sworn on her life that she had used the bathroom before we left. Two minutes into play time she is dancing and crying (literally) and moments away from flooding her pants.

For you moms out there, you know that getting to the park is no small process, what with the sunscreen and shoes and maybe a snack and the walking to the park and the walking home. My closest friend was a ten minute walk away and we weren't going to get that far. So I did it again. I let her pee right there on the road, hidden from sight by a parked car. The whole time I thought, what kind of mother am I?? Where do I think I live that I can allow my kids to pee anywhere they so choose? And why on earth don't I carry a spare potty seat in the car?!?

Last parenting story. For my squeamish male readership, you might want to skip this part.

During all the above mentioned peeing escapades, we did make it to Target. While paying for my purchases, I can see the checker looking over my shoulder at my cart with a weird expression on her face. To my horror, I turn around to see that Dane has taken a tampon (wrapped, thankfully) out of my purse and is sucking on it! I am tripping all over myself, trying to take it away . Dane is howling because I have ripped his toy away from him and the other two are asking, in their best outside voices, "Mommy, what is that? What are you doing? Why is Dane crying? Why are you sweating profusely and speaking incoherently?" (Okay, maybe only I imagined that question.) The check out gal was almost purple from the effort of not laughing. I was purple with embarrassment.

Just another day in motherhood.

Nothing like a freshly laundered codpiece

Thanks to my sister Lianna, I have been on a non-fiction/historical fiction kick about the Tudor monarchies (Henry VIII, Elizabeth, etc.) I have been introduced to a world of near constant beheadings, religious intolerance, women being married, discarded, shunned, betrothed, beheaded, and a fresh new vocabulary. Let me introduce you to the new 16th century vocab word of the day: codpiece. If you don't know what it is, look it up. I'm not explaining. (Hint: it's the 16th century male equivalent of a padded Wonderbra.)

Greg and I are taking a ridiculous amount of enjoyment in working this word into our vocabulary. For instance: "Honey, will you make sure my extra large codpiece is clean? I have a meeting with some important clients." OR, "Young man, watch your mouth! You are getting too big for your codpiece!" Maybe even, "Does that codpiece come in leopard?" Go ahead, try it. I'd love to hear how you casually work this word into your everyday life.

WAY OFF THAT SUBJECT. It would be more than irreverent to dedicate a post to codpieces and not acknowledge the fact that last weekend me and the kids were babied and pampered and WELL FED by my darling grandma and grandpa. I love it that my kids are getting to enjoy their still robust great-grandparents. Plus, nothing like pinochle with my grandparents to make for some good stories. (Yes, I play pinochle. So does Greg. Want to play?) Thanks Grandma and Grandpa!

I'll sign off with a few pictures. Have a great weekend and make sure you, and your codpiece, and clean and fresh for Monday morning.Dane, revisiting finger painting. I forced him to use his binky so he would stop eating the paint. As you can see, he still tried.
"Look ma! I know how to break my neck!"
Direct quote: "Mom, I am a kangaroo and this is my joey." Thank you wildlife magazines!

April 2, 2009

Look no more for the Joneses in Liberty Lake, WA. We threw a few belongings in our van and moved to Mexico this morning.