Only mostly spoiled

A long long time ago back when Ben and I were pregnant with Connor we talked about how no matter how many kids we ended up being blessed with, we would want to make extra sure that our youngest kid wasn't spoiled rotten. We said things like "we'll have to be extra tough on them" and "whatever the rules are for our first kid, those same rules should apply to our last kid!" It should be noted that this was roughly the same point in time where we agreed to never have a portable DVD in our car, and never let our kids watch more than a half an hour of TV every day, and always keep things like freezer pops out of our house. Maybe we were a bit idealistic. But just a bit.

Eight pregnancies and four kiddos later, we have long since abandoned most of our first time parent idealism. Portable DVD players? We have two sets so each kid can have a screen. Half an hour of TV? They've usually watched that much before I even get to breakfast. Freezer pops? The kids basically live on them in the summertime.

Still, with each child born, each change in our determination to be strict parents, each relaxing of our methods, we still held fast that we wouldn't spoil our youngest child. We'd try extra hard to be stern with him or her. To be tough. To keep them from being rotten.

Four years ago we had Violet. We suspected that she might be our youngest kiddo - and so we reminded ourselves as we kissed her sweet baby face that we were NOT going to spoil her rotten. We WEREN'T going to laugh when she was sassy and think it was cute. We WERE going to hold her to the same standards as the rest of the kids. We were. Seriously.

But then we brought her home and well....the rest is youngest child history. It isn't like we've totally spoiled her rotten - but she definitely gets away with things that her siblings never would have. And she knows it.

She's a clever girl though. She has made her preference for me totally clear while also insisting that she loves us both equally. She is a giver of many hugs, as sweet as sugar in one minute, and as fierce as a tiger when she doesn't get what she wants. She is a genuine goof ball, has a great giggle, and she is 100% aware of the fact that she has us totally wrapped around her little tiny finger.

Happy 4th birthday, Miss Violet! We love you so much and are learning to just be okay with the fact that you are totally a spoiled kiddo.

The Big 11

Connor turns eleven today and for some reason this seems so much older than ten.

Ten was such a milestone for him - he really wanted to get into that double digits. Despite the build up, ten has seemed pretty inconsequential. Just another year gone by.

But for me, for me, eleven is huge. Eleven means he is just two year away from being a teenager. Eleven means he is seven years away from graduating from high school!

I've never really been one of those people that wanted my kids to stay babies forever. Babies are so much work - they need you so much. In my rush to let them grow up and get into that more independent age, I kind of forgot that it keeps on going. That they keep growing in the desire to flex those I can do it on my own muscles.

No I didn't want him to be a newborn forever, or two, or even five or six. But couldn't he have stayed nine forever? Or even ten?

Evidently not, because the calendar is telling me otherwise.

Here is to eleven years with this crazy, amazing, I have no idea what I'm doing, we probably need more therapy, you crack me up kid.

Happy Birthday, Connor!

And maybe, just maybe, slow down for your momma. Okay?

Getting back into the swing of life.

It's been a long time since I blogged. I've been instead solving my problems with copious amounts of chocolate and coca-cola. Trust me...it makes a fair substitute.

However, I'm tying to cut back on those things and also the size of my thighs, so I need to pick back up and dump all my anger, anxiety, joy, frustration, funny thoughts, and interesting tidbits somewhere besides food.

So, I'm going to try to get back into the swing of a blog.

You're welcome, Internet.

Three little words.

I expected I would hear them at some point as a parent, but that still didn't prepare me for that moment tonight when those three little words were flung at me in a moment of anger. 

"I hate you!" 

I'm daily and often reminded that my children are sinful. Little sinners that are in as much need of Christ's forgiveness as I am. But it is easy sometimes to see their sins as sins of youth. Trying to sneak an extra cookie without permission. Not wanting to put their toys away. The occasional push to a sibling to get a toy back. Not listening for the hundredth million time. But I hate you is not some youthful folly - it is anger. It is an innocence lost. 

And I wasn't ready for it.

I wasn't ready for the fact that my relationship with this child now seems tarnished in a way that can never quite be undone. Like a rip in fabric, it can be mended, and still be wonderful, and useful, but still that tear remains. It may be expertly sewn together so that only the most trained eye can find it. But it is still there. And we both knew it. And it felt different. And we both felt that difference. 

Apologies were rendered. Forgiveness freely given. Hugs handed out. Words of I love you readily spoken. We have mended our tear as best we can for now and over time it will only continue to be mended until it is tiny and minuscule. Nearly forgotten.

But yet still I cry. I cry for that loss of innocence. I cry because I know that it will take time before I can look at that child without my first thought being "oh that's the one that hates you." And I cry, because my first instinct was not to comfort my child who instantly regretted those words the moment they left their lips. It was to hurt them back. Thus proving that I am even more of a sinner than they are. 

Still, in the midst of my tears there can be some joy. I didn't hurt them back with words even more awful and hateful than "I hate you" or even offer to give them something to truly hate me about. Instead I simply said "Okay. I love you anyway" and walked away. 

And there is joy that the words once uttered by my child were regretted. How much more painful it would have been if they were not? If we lived in the kind of house were I hate you was just another thing people said? Something that no longer had the power to cause pain? Something barely worth noticing? 

And there is joy in knowing that we are already headed down a path of healing the rift that those words caused. Already I'm thinking about how much I want to hug this child in the morning. To assure them that when I said "I forgive you" that I truly meant it. 

And there is joy because I have been given a husband who was there to comfort me in this moment. To talk to our child about the hurt they had caused. To encourage repentance. And to get ice cream for his heartbroken wife. The kind with coffee - two shots of espresso to be exact. The kind that keeps you up until the wee hours of the morning, providing you with ample opportunity to reflect on this moment. 

And there is joy in being able to share your burden of guilt and sorrow with your best friend who doesn't judge you or criticize, but empathizes and tells you it is going to be okay. And that ice cream is always a good idea. 

The greatest joy though is that some day that rift, that tear, will be expertly mended. Not by me, not by this child - for what hope do we have to accomplish this? No...it will be mended by Christ. And He will do more than mend this tear, He will take all my imperfect, broken, and battered relationships and He will replace them with pure and perfect ones. Ones that will never be torn, never tarnished, ones that will never cause tears or sorrow. 

Tonight I pray for that day a little more fervently than I usually do. 

My kids are growing up and it scares me.

For a few days now my two year old has worn underwear all day. Sure, she's had a few accidents, but she's been kind enough to either have them outside or on the tile in the bathroom floor - which is a level of consideration that I never received from my other kids.

This is great big wonderful news since I've been fantasizing about a diaper free house for roughly the last six years. Six years, that's how long we've been buying diapers. Six years!

With this realization of diaper freedom also comes a little sliver of sadness. This means we have officially left the baby years for now. And it's not just the diapers, I see it in other things too - like the way that there isn't currently a crib up in any of our bedrooms, the high chair sitting in the garage collecting dust and spiders, the lack of receiving blankets in the wash.

As much as I love the fact that I can visit a small zoo now with only my kids and my purse, there are times I miss having a little baby around.

I don't really miss the fussiness, the lack of sleep, the feeling of being overwhelmed - I can't really miss that part, it's still fully here - but I do miss that little person who so deeply relies on me.

As my kids get older they are doing what kids are supposed to do, they're becoming more self sufficient. They dress themselves, start their own showers and baths, tuck themselves into bed. All things that make my life easier, but emptier too.

It isn't that I don't want them to grow up. I do. I like the fact that I can have a conversation with Connor now that is very grown  up or that when I give Sophie the "I can't believe they just said that look" she gives it right back. I especially love that when I wink at Elinor she gets that I am telling a joke now and she loves being in on it. These things are all amazing.

I'm still very much the center of their little worlds. I truly am. But I am starting to see that I'm not so far away from a time when that may not be true. I'm vain enough to assume that they'll always love me and think I'm amazing - I mean, how could they not, right? But someday they'll realize that I can't solve every problem. That some things are even beyond my control. Some hurts too much. That there are troubles in this world that they must and can work through on their own.

As they take on life's troubles and worries and solve more and more of their own problems, I'll take comfort that at some point we have to have faith that God will watch over them and that our parenting skills are enough. Even so, I think I'll miss those sweet little faces that looked to me in every need as the one that could always make things better.

Internet persuasion and reality.

Today was mother's day, which means, that over the last week or so there have been several articles floating around the internet about what exactly mothers want for mother's day. The general summary of these various articles was this: for mother's day, we all just want to have a break from being a mother for a ding dang day.

I get this sentiment. Being a mother is tough work and it seems never ending. No matter how much progress I might to make during any given day, by the time the kids are all in bed I look around and it seems like I've accomplished nothing. I vacuum the floor only to have it covered in food after the next meal. I give baths only to turn around and see that someone found a marker and colored all over herself. *cough Violet* Seriously. Never ending.

So yes, I read those articles and I thought that a day of nothingness would be kind of nice. Good idea internet! This is what I want for mother's day.

But as it tends to do, life sent me a giant dose of reality.

Surprisingly, Ben had to work today. He didn't actually get the day off just because it was mother's day. In fact, he ended up having to work a little bit more than an average Sunday - which meant that we spent about three and half hours with him during the day today.

So I had to mom. Pretty much all day long. It was a total travesty. And trust me, I was feeling pretty sorry for myself. Cooking, putting kids down for naps, changing diapers...I even had to vacuum and wash dishes! What kind of world is this?

After my pitty party was over - and the party didn't last very long because no one...no one!...showed up to have it with me - I realized that I didn't really have it that bad.

Yes, today I had to do my mom jobs. Today I had to take care of these little people that live in our house with us. But I didn't have to do it all day. And I don't have to do it every day. Some moms do. Some moms spend everyday taking care of their children by themselves. How blessed am I to have a husband that supports and provides for our family? Lots. Lots and bunches.

And yes, today I had to change diapers and make food. But how many women are desperately praying to have to do these things too, but haven't been blessed with children? I myself know several lovely ladies who desperately wish there were little baby bottoms to clean in their house and little mouths to cook for.

Sure kids are work. But the world would have you believe that they are nothing but work and that you should be afraid to have them, pressured into "taking care of them." You shouldn't. Kids are work, but they are the best kind of work. They are the kind that tell you a nonsensical joke and giggle at their own hilarity. They are the kind of work where you can watch them discover the world around them. The kind where every day brings a little bit of joy.

Tonight, as my children sat all around me and I read them a bed time story I was struck by this thought too - why are we giving mice cookies or taking them to school? I kind of think we should be discouraging them from feeling like they can just ask for things in our house! Oh...and also that I'm pretty much completely and amazingly blessed to call these munchkins my own. Who knew my heart could ever be so full of love for someone other than myself?

So for all the mothers today, I pray for you.

For those of you that got some time to yourself today, for those of you who didn't, and for those of you that rarely do, I pray that God would bless you in your vocation.

And for those that desperately want a baby to hold in your arms, I pray for you, I pray that your burden would be lifted.

The birth story.

Every year on his birthday, I pull Connor into my lap and tell him the story of when he was born. I don't remember when I started this tradition, but we've been doing it for quite a few years. He rolls his eyes, says things like "I know!", and even starts to tell part of the story for me sometimes.

And really his birthing story is quite good. It contains little gems like the fact that the waiting room in the emergency department was full of people who had been in a bar fight and not on the same side of that fight. Security had to step in a couple times and break things back up. It has my fist wheelchair ride...what's not to love about that? There is the part where I asked if I had a boy or a girl and the midwife flipped Connor through the air and stuck his nether regions toward me so I could see for myself. That, by the way, is Connor's favorite part of the story. There is the part where he was born in an hour and that was it. That is my favorite part of the story. See? There's some good stuff there.

Tomorrow is Sophia's 5th birthday, and I was thinking that it might be time to start her on the path of hilarity that is her birthing story, but as I thought about her birth I realized that her story is not really that funny...at least it won't be to her five year old mind.

Baby Sophia

Her story contains things like my doctor having a "family emergency" a week or two before Sophia was supposed to be born and me having to get a brand new physician. It contains words like vacuum...never a good sign in a birthing story. It has a misdiagnosis of dwarfism and the subsequent freak out wherein I read every article about raising a child with dwarfism during the hours after giving birth.

Today I can laugh about some of these crazy things...especially the dwarfism thing. I mean seriously, have you seen the girl? She'll be taller than me before long. But her story is really missing the fun that is an emergency room brawl.

Although Sophia's story isn't all that funny, it is full of really sweet moments. Like the one where my mom and sister walked through the hospital room door in Indiana when the whole night I had been calling my mom on her home phone in Kansas and she had been answering it. Tricksy girls. Very tricksy using that call forwarding magic. Or the moment when she was put back in the hospital because her jaundice had gotten terribly bad and both of her godfathers and my best friend came to see her and be with us in the hospital.

Grandmas make everything better.

My little jaundice girl getting her light therapy. 

Very sweet memories indeed. The sweetest moment with Sophia though happened long before she was born. She was probably a mere nine or ten weeks old in the womb and I was anxiously laying in the ultrasound room waiting to see how things were going. It was that moment when I saw that little heart beating and knew that my baby was still alive. Sophia is my rainbow baby. My bright moment after a storm of miscarriages. She still is that today. God could not have given me a happier, sweeter, more loving girl than my own sweet Sophia Jane. Sure...He's given me two more wonderful and adorable girls. But sweet and loving are not usually how I describe those two. Not yet, anyway.

Happy 5th birthday Sophia! 

And for now, I'll just embellish her birth story to make it more enjoyable for her. I'll tell her that her doctor was a princess...who got into a fight with another doctor princess. Right there in the delivery room. That ought to be enough to put a sparkle in those beautiful brown eyes.

Of excitement and sadness

Ben and I have always wanted a big family...when we saw that first positive pregnancy test we were...well...really anxious...but also elated. We couldn't wait to be parents. And a short 8 ish months later we were. It was easy. Want a baby. Get a baby.

When Connor was just about a year old we thought "hey, these baby things are pretty awesome. We should have some more of them." Then we waited. And waited. And waited some more and then finally...there it was...the positive pregnancy test. We were so excited that we told our parents right away. What could possibly go wrong? A few weeks later we were in St. Louis for our niece's baptism and things went wrong. I called my doctor in a panic and they tried to tell me not to worry, that things could still be okay, but I just knew they weren't. And I was right. We had lost the baby. 

"Don't worry" my doctor said, "miscarriage is much more common than you think." It turns out that one in four women will lose a child. One in four. 

So I tried not to worry, but I worried anyway. And we tried to have another baby. And I again saw that wonderful "positive" sign. This one, I told myself, would be fine. After all, the doctor said that most women only had one miscarriage. I had my one, so I was done with that kind of pain. Forever. 

But I wasn't. This child too was lost in the womb. And again Ben and I cried. And we wondered if we would ever have another child or if Connor was it. 

This time my doctor didn't say "Don't worry." Instead she said we should do some testing just to see if there was something strange going on. And there was. I had Factor V Leiden and MTHRF - it meant that my blood didn't clot right and this was obviously causing my miscarriages. All I had to do was take a shot when I first found out I was pregnant and then ever day of the pregnancy and it would keep the baby alive. Things would be okay. Problem solved. 

Then I became crazy. Or maybe I was already there, but the crazy started to show. I took tests constantly. I had it in my mind that if I could just know as soon as possible that I was pregnant, that I would be able to take that shot and things would be okay. 

And it happened again. We were pregnant. I did that shot. I got in to do that blood work right away. And again, we heard the same news. Our baby was no longer there. We had lost another child. 

All told we've had four miscarriages, our last one coming in between Sophia and Elinor. They've all been painful. They've all made us cry. They've all made us wonder why we were given this cross to bear and to wish it away...or really to request that we just not have to bear crosses. 

October is pregnancy and infant loss awareness month. A month to remember and pray for those who have lost a child in the womb or out of the womb.

A month to tell women that have had miscarriages that it doesn't have to be a secret. That they're allowed to feel real pain and loss for a child they never met. Never held. 

A month to tell women that lost a child in infancy that it's okay to share their pain with others. Even thought it makes us uncomfortable because we don't know what to say or how to ease your burden. 

So share.

If you have lost a child, tell others about your experience. You may end up being a wonderful resource to women who are going through this pain or have experienced this loss. I was given such a resource and was amazing to have someone that I could call and ask questions too...call and confess that I was going to spend all our money on pregnancy tests if I didn't calm down...call and share my joy when Sophia was born. 

And listen. 

Listen to women who need to tell you about the loss they've suffered. There can be healing in sharing your pain with others. It can make your burden lighter. Listen when they tell you they've had a funeral for their unborn child. Listen when they share the names of their unborn children (ours are Jesse, Hope, Grace , and Mercy). Listen even if you think these things sound crazy...because to us, they're not. To us, this is how we acknowledge that an actual life was lost...not just some tissue. 

Lastly, pray. 

Pray for women that have lost child after child in the womb. Pray that our sorrows would be lifted. Pray that God would keep children in the womb everywhere safe. And pray that Christ returns quickly so we can see and hold our sweet babies. We long to do so. 

Pray for women who have held their new precious ones for moments, or weeks, or months, only to have to say goodbye to them too soon. As hard as our pain was, I cannot even fathom how these women must suffer. Pray that they would know that God truly does care for them. That He hasn't abandoned them. 

Pray for women who never see that positive pregnancy sign, no matter how much they want to. Pray that they would receive the child they so desire. Pray that they are given peace.

And pray for those who out of fear have chosen to have their child taken out of this world. So many of these women now regret that decision and the burden it has placed on their conscience. These women need our mercy and forgiveness. Their burden is especially hard because it is one that the world has convinced them they aren't allowed to feel. Pray that they would know the true forgiveness purchased for us by Christ on the cross. 

I like these dolls. A lot...at least $5 worth.

If you have daughters and they are anything like my girls, then they like Barbies. No matter how much I secretly (or not so secretly) want my daughters to play with non-commercial things, they are always drawn to things like Barbies, Ponies, Dora dolls, and Hello Kitty anything. 

We have a hand full of Barbies, some old garage sale finds and some new. Overall the only emotion I've felt about any Barbie I've bought in the store for a while is dissapointed. These aren't the Barbies of my youth. They're cheaply made. The legs are a hollow plastic. Extra outfits cost $7 or more. They break easily. The heads pop off, the legs break off.... And, the cheaper ones just have their shirt painted on... I just don't like them. But my girls...they still love this kind of doll. 

We do most of our shopping at Walmart because that's the cheapest place in town to get our stuff. When we aren't in a hurry, I usually let my kids wander through the toy aisle for a bit before we head to the grocery side of life. It was during one of these days that we stumbled across the Sparkle Girlz doll. 

I'm not going to say that it was love at first sight...but it was a heck of a lot closer than I've come to that emotion in a long time. 

The dolls are slightly larger than Barbie, but are made with way more quality. Their bodies are made from the same material as my Barbies were growing up. They're cutely dressed and my daughters love them.

The best part is that they are less than $5. The going rate at our Wakmart was $4.98. This is a price that Sophie can actually save up for. Extra dresses were right around $3 each...so she can reasonably save up for those too. 

So far I've only seen these at Walmart or on Amazon. They were way more expensive on Amazon though. 

I like them enough to write a blog post to let other moms know....so maybe it is love.

Comfort Dogs

The LCMS comfort dogs are coming to our school chapel service in November. If you aren't sure what that means, you can check it out here.

This event sparked a discussion between me and the kids on why you might need comfort dogs. It wasn't a pleasant conversation as we had to talk about some of the horrible things that have happened over the past couple of years that the comfort dogs went too. We talked about natural disasters, school shootings, why people in these situations need the dogs, and what kind of horrible things would have to befall a town before the comfort dogs are sent in.

What Connor took from this conversation is that people, even in the worst of times, can be comforted by the gentle nature of a great big dog. 

What Sophie took from this conversation is that if our house happened to burn down, and we lost all our stuff...and we didn't have a place to live...we'd totally get to pet the comfort dogs and it would be awesome. 

Clearly I need to find more opportunities for this girl to pet dogs.

Sophie on digesting worms.

Sophie: When I grow up I am never going to digest a worm.

Me: Um...good?

Sophie: Unless maybe they were covered in cinnamon and sugar. Then I guess I could digest them.

Me: I still think they'd be pretty gross.

Sophie: Maybe. But cinnamon and sugar are pretty good.

Me: Yes they are.

Sophie: When you digested worms did you put cinnamon and sugar on them?

Me: I've never eaten a worm.

Sophie: I heard you telling Connor that you had eaten a worm and a rat and that you thought the worm was way worse than the rat. Maybe I should digest a rat instead!

Me: Dissect! I said I had dissected a worm and a rat and that the worm was worse. We didn't eat them!

Sophie: What is dissect?

Me: It's when you cut something open and look inside.

Sophie: Oh gross! I'm never doing that!

Beware of poison.

If you want to have an interesting conversation with Sophie Jane, just bring up poison...or give her a Clorox wipe.

It will go something like this:

Me: Here, why don't you wipe down the table with this wipe?

Sophie: But, is this poison?

Me: Well...kind-of, just don't eat it.

Sophie: But if I ate it then I would die and get to go be with Jesus...

Me: Well, yes, but I'd still prefer that you didn't eat it.

Sophie: Well I won't, because there is NO WAY I'm going to heaven without my parents. We all have to go together.

Me: Sounds good to me.

Sophie: But how will I remember not to eat it? Who will remind me? I'll need someone to tell me all the time!

Me: Sophie, don't eat the Clorox Wipe...there, I reminded you.

Sophie: Whew...if I did eat it, I'd have to go to the dentist and they'd have to clean the poison off my teeth and then I'd probably have to go to the doctor to get a shot. Right?

Me: Uh...sure? That sounds about right.

Sophie: What if it gets on my knees and then I try to eat my knees?

Me: Don't eat your knees.

Sophie: Yeah...we're going to need to tell the babies about this.

Me: Or...how about we just don't give them a Clorox wipe?

Sophie: Yeah, I guess...but we should probably tell them too. Wait! Is that glitter in that bag? Can I play with glitter?

And thus, all thoughts of poison, dentists, death, and eating knees are forgotten.

Back to School

School time is here again. I love having my kids home for the summer, but I have to say that by about August 3rd, we've lost all control of our schedule, we've all gone a little crazy, the house has fallen into shambles and ruin, and we are all ready for the school year to start.

My kids love going to school and I know that a big part of that is that they go to a really awesome one. It's small, there is only one teacher per grade and in the upper grades they even have combined classes. There is something kind of nice about knowing not only who my kids will have as teachers this year, but for the next five years. 

Here are our first day pictures. 

 Every time I think about Sophia being in 4 year old preschool, I automatically think about the fact that this means she'll be in Kindergarten next year. Which then leads me to think about Elinor being in preschool next year and that in just a few short years, all my babies will be in school. 

 I asked her to stand by this column for a picture and this was her go to pose. You know...just acting natural. 

 Yep...this handsome boy is in 3rd grade this year. Crazy. 

 I remembered to take a picture near an object so we can see how much he has changed by the end of the year. I can't wait.

And these two monkeys were pretty happy this morning to not have to share me with two more people. Plus we may have had cookies for breakfast...but I'm pretty sure the happiness was about me. I'm kind-of vain like that. 

Of carnivals, fireworks, and dancing on the sidewalk.

If you happen to be in Atchison, Kansas on the third weekend in July you will notice that something is going on in our little town. For the last eighteen years, The Amelia Earhart Festival has been celebrated here. Amelia Earhart was born in Atchison on July 24th and for the past eighteen years, they've celebrated her birth with a giant festival, including arts, crafts, foods, a carnival, a huge concert, a fireworks show, and even a piece of birthday cake if you time it just right.

 Sophie riding a carnival ride.

 

 You can't see her, but that's Ila up there in that crazy thing. 

 I may have lost three years of my life when Connor said he wanted to ride The Zipper at the carnival. 

Our awesome view for the fireworks. 

 Elinor dancing to the music. 

 Sophia doing some dancing too. 

 My oldest and my youngest babies. 

 Sophia making sure she gets another picture. 

Connor spent a long time chipping a fossil off of this rock. He ended up getting it!

 And we couldn't resist a little of our own carnival fare. 

 Connor was able to meet the governor as he meandered through the crowd. 

In the end, only Connor and I made it through to the firework show as the girls were just not up for the long night. Maybe next year. 

It was a great weekend to wrap up a great week spent with Lynne and Ila. The show, was as always, wonderful. 

Eleven.

Warning: This post contains lovey doveyness which I usually snark at. Seriously.

On Saturday, Ben and I will have been married for eleven years. It is hard to believe that we've been married that long since it feels more like a minute or sometimes eleven million years.

We aren't very fancy, so there won't be flowers on Saturday, and probably not even dinner out. (We had to visit an oral surgeon for Connor this last week and it turns out that you have to pay some big time money to just be in his glorious presence. You don't even want to know how much it costs to let him look into your mouth.)

Maybe I'll make him a special dinner for the two of us to eat after the kids go to bed. That could be kind of nice, right? Or maybe well just stay up late and eat chips with guacamole and watch Jim Gaffigan or Arrested Development. That may be more our speed.

The great thing is that even if I don't make a special dinner, or don't have any special plans for him, Ben will tell me thatI'm the best wife ever, and that he'd marry me all over again. And, even if we don't go out for dinner, and there aren't flowers, I'll tell him that he's my absolute favorite person, and that I'd marry him again tomorrow.

And we'll both mean it. We love being married - and more importantly, we love being married to each other.

We've accomplished a lot in our eleven years. We've moved six times, given birth to four beautiful children, have mourned the loss of four children in the womb, watched Ben get his masters degree and become a pastor, and watched me transition into being a stay at home mom.

We've cried, been frustrated together or at each other, fought, said we were sorry even when we weren't, fought some more, and then said we were sorry again when we actually meant it.

We've perfected the art of belting out a Journey song on the radio, discovered our mutual love of singing "You can't always get what you want" to our children when they are complaining, and can often be found laughing so hard that we are nearly brought to tears.

We are two hopelessly flawed, stubborn, sarcastic, cynical people that through a whole lotta patience, some major crying (me), and tons of forgiveness have been able to make this marriage a joy.

Here is to eleven amazing years and many many more. There's no one I'd rather by sojourning in this place with than you, Ben.

Happy Birthday, baby.

Violet Marie is one today.

I'm pretty sure that this is the fastest any of my babies have turned one. Science suggests that it took all of them a year to do it...but what does science know?

Happy Birthday Violet. May you always be as sweet as you were today (minus the part where you pulled Elinor's hair and pooped all over your clothes).

Of Lead Wizards and Water guns

One of the things Connor had decided he likes to do is perform in plays. He was in the Little Mermaid chorus this last spring and really wanted to do some more of that theater stuff.

We signed him up for Summerstage here in town, which is a three week morning or afternoon program. At the end of the three weeks they put on a play for all to see. Connor was assigned the role of Lead Wizard (which he thought was perfect for him) and yesterday morning and tonight we got to go watch him in action. 

As an added bonus, Sophia was picked as an audience volunteer which she thought was only the most amazingly best thing ever. 

Connor's had such a great time these past few weeks and I've enjoyed hearing him talk about things like blocking and voice. He already can't wait until next year. 

Sophie gets her moment in the spotlight. 

Connor's big scene.

Of camps, bug resorts, and ant-free restaurants.

For those of you who missed me complaining about it a hundred million times, Ben is gone all this week.

Here's the thing...I know that there are hundreds of amazing capable mothers out there that take care of their children by themselves every day. I was raised by one of these amazing mothers. My best friend is one of these amazing mothers. I know they're out there, I just don't claim to be among their ranks.

The funny thing is that because Ben is a pretty busy guy, I honestly do most of the day to day parenting in the house. I fix nearly all the meals, I wipe almost all of the bottoms, I make the kids pick up, I lay out clothes for the next day.... But when he is home, Ben can be a huge help. He'll put those dishes away and reload the dishwasher. He fold that basket of laundry that I haven't gotten to for the past day (or three). He'll change that occasional diaper. And my favorite thing he does...he'll put the kids to bed while I relax on the computer.

All that being said, this week has not been nearly as bad as I thought it was going to be. I haven't lost my cool nearly as often as I thought I would. I haven't been that stressed out. I haven't even cried yet. I don't want to say that all this calmness and not crying is because I bought a couple of litters of Coke, but it has definitely not made things worse. Also not making things worse...the blondies I made on Sunday night...that are now gone. I might have to make some more of those...while having a Coke, of course.

In fact, this week has actually been kind of fun. We've watched every Tinker Bell movie (yes Lynne, Every. Tinker. Bell. Movie.), we've built castles for all the My Little Ponies we own, we've danced to Everything is Awesome a million times, and we've taken walks around town. Connor started his own camp named quote appropriately Connor's Camp in the living room, we had a cook out at his camp, he and Sophia created a bug resort in the backyard that includes an island for roly polies. They even created a restaurant for the bugs called Ant Restaurant ...because...well...as Sophie explained "it's called Ant Restaurant because the ants aren't allowed to eat there." And, the kids determined that our entire living room floor is covered in lava (but only at bedtime) so they all need piggy back rides up to bed so their feet don't get burned.

The most surprising thing that has happened this week: I'm not totally behind on laundry or dishes. In fact, I'm maybe even doing better than an average week here.

 I have it on good authority that this is the only water park designed for bugs in the world. 

 Connor hanging out at Connor's Camp

Warming their hands over the fire. 

But...shouldn't we walk?

I don't like corn dogs. And....since I buy the groceries around here you can guess how often we have them. Yep...almost never. This means that my poor deprived children have corn dogs so infrequently, the youngest ones don't even know what they are.

At the end of her preschool year Sophia received a coupon for a free corn dog from Sonic. She was beyond excited about this and frequently asked me when it was going to be time to go get her corn dog. Yesterday, Sonic had them for $0.50 for National End of School Day or something like that. I figured that it was the perfect time to cash in and get everyone (except me) a corn dog for lunch.

I told Sophie that it was time to go get her corn dog and she was jumping up and down. It kind of made me feel guilty about the fact that I never give these kids corn dogs. Connor was excited, Sophie was jumping up and down, even Elinor had figured out that something amazing must be about to happen.

I told the kids to go get in the van so we could go pick them up. Then this happened:

Sophie: "The van? Shouldn't we walk?"
Me: "Oh...I don't think we want to walk all the way down to Sonic. We can drive."
Sophie: "But, how are we going to bring the corn dog home if we take the van? We should walk."
Me: "Can't we just drive it back in the van?"
Sophie: "I don't think so. I think we should walk."
Me: "What exactly do you think a corn dog is?"
Sophie: "You know....like a puppy."

She was only completely heartbroken when I explained to her that a corn dog was not in fact an actual dog, but was something you eat.

Her heartbreak only lasted until she actually got to eat her corn dog, which she of course loved. They all loved them.

In case you were wondering, I'm also depriving my children of the following things that I don't like to eat.

Pigs in a blanket.
Fish sticks
All other kinds of fish
All seafood
Everything else that is gross

Sometimes you remember to take the Easter pictures...

...and sometimes you don't until later. Which actually means that you can get some pretty funny pictures.

 Such as Sophie in the midst of her I just found an egg party dance. 

 Or the really awesome outfit that Connor picked out by himself. 

 Ellie Bells putting her eggs into her...erhm...basket, or the bag you found to replace her missing Easter bucket. 

Really, considering that I had been up since about 4:45 am with Connor, then helping at the Easter breakfast all morning, and then having a delicious lunch after church, it's kind of amazing that I still remembered to take any pictures at all.

Although I definitely remembered to pull my camera out to get this one. 

I didn't remember to get any of Violet. Well...better luck next year Vi.

And, I did remember to take one last week when we had a few less things on our plate.