Christmas 2008

I like to write blogs as a stress relief.  And this Christmas season has been extremely stressful for me.  (Come on blog, work your healing magic.)   I have no one to blame but myself for this.  Our lives are really only as stressful as we make them, or let them be.  I made my life stressful but not because I like stress.  Then, "why?" you may ask.  I'll tell you.  I do it in the hopes that when I die, my kids will remember me for all those gingerbread houses I made for them and their friends instead of the homework nag that I am.  I do it so that instead of remembering me as the "Piano Nazi" (which I like to call myself) they'll remember all those great gifts I made them by hand for Christmas.  Instead of remembering me as the bedroom cleaning oppressor, maybe they'll remember me as the great mom who threw each of them their own individual Christmas parties out of the kindness of my heart.  Maybe they'll remember the trip to California/Disneyland over all those times I woke them up early and forced them out of bed to get ready for school.   And maybe, just maybe, Bryton will remember how I pulled him out of school and took him to a matinee and Sydney, Brooklyn and Whitney will remember how I dressed them all up and brought them to see the Nutcracker instead of how I was always telling them to get off the computer and turn off the television.  And why does writing this blog make me feel better?  Because I know that if I should die tomorrow, eventually my kids will read this out of curiosity and be forced to remember all my "cool momisms".  Thus I shall have one last chance to oppress them.

-The Dictator  

When I grow up...

The other day I went (I'm resisting the temptation to say, "I got to go") to the fire station with my daughter's preschool.  I'm quite certain that I was looking forward to the occasion much more than any of the preschoolers.  How many chances do you get as an adult to go on a field trip to a fire station?  This excitement had nothing to do with the crush I've had on the word "fireman" since 9/11.  I assure you it was the same type of excitement that a preschooler might show, only magnified because I'm more aware of how rare such opportunities are.  I tried to act nonchalant as we walked around the station looking at their kitchen, exercise room, dormitory, etc..  But when they broke out the uniform, that was it for me.  As they were letting each preschooler have their turn trying on the mask, the words, "Can I try it on?" escaped my lips.   And it didn't stop there.  Once I got going I found I couldn't stop.  I started asking for pieces of their uniform in the same manner a surgeon might ask a nurse for his/her instruments during surgery.  I got completely geared up and ready to go.  This got the wheels in my head turning.  I started thinking, "Maybe I should be a fireman.  I could do this."  I started quizzing them on what I would have to do to get to where they are.  They started explaining the process and I listened intently.  I was  pretty discouraged when I found out how competitive  it is.  But then they told me I could do a ride along any time I wanted.  All I would need to do is sign a paper saying  that I wouldn't blame them if I died on the way.  I was pretty sure I'd found a new career as a "ride-along fireman".  

About 3 days later I went to get my hair done.  As I chatted with my "hair-dresser-by-day-strip- club-bouncer-by-night" stylist I found myself taking the same sort of interest in his line of work. (Not the strip club bouncing)  I started asking him, "So, how much is the tuition for beauty school?"  "How long does it take to be a hair dresser?"  "What kinds of things do you have to do while you're becoming a hair stylist."   As he answered my questions (he seemed only slightly annoyed with his inability to concentrate) the wheels in my head started turning again.  I thought, "Maybe I should be a hair stylist."  "It wouldn't take very long."  "It might be kind of fun."  

For some reason I keep having to remind myself that I already am what I'm going to be when I grow up.  Just last night I suddenly became alarmed at the realization that I'm going to be 40 in another 3 short years.  Not exactly the ideal stage of life for starting up a new career.  Although, since the fire station and the hair dresser I've also seriously considered going to med school to be a doctor and teaching Portuguese at CSU.   And I am up for suggestions.  

A Middle-Aged Shopper's Nightmare

Saturday I decided to go shopping because I was in the mood, we didn't have anything else going on, and John was home to watch the kids.  The stars were aligned just right.  It happens rarely.  I did most of my shopping at the one and only mall in my town.  It is a run down mall that hardly anyone frequents anymore.  Many stores including The Gap, Mervyns, JC Penney, and lots of others have recently closed in this mall. There have been many rumors about the mall being renovated but who knows when or if that will actually happen.  I'm okay with it though because they do have an Ann Taylor and a Gymboree.  On Saturday, apparently the stars aligned for a lot more people than just me.  I don't know if I had ever seen our mall that crowded.  I would be surprised if we got that many people there on the day after Thanksgiving. Anyway, it made me feel cool to be in such a popular mall even if it was being popular for the first time I had ever witnessed.  

Now, just because Ann Taylor and Gymboree are the only places I actually buy stuff at does not mean I don't try to branch out to other stores.  One store that I go into every time I go to the mall is Hollister Co..  Why?  Because that's the cool store.  That's the store that I kept hearing was going to be opening up in our mall.  People made such a fuss about it that I almost felt unworthy to receive such an honor.  Anyway, as I implied earlier, I like to feel cool so I make sure and go into Hollister Co. whenever I can and every time it proves to me that I am SO not cool.  I simply don't belong in that store.  For many reasons.  The #1 reason being that they simply don't want my kind there so they try to make sure I'll hate the experience.  And it works.  I hate everything about it.  

First, there's fear of the unknown.  You can't see into the store from the mall.  You have to walk in almost like you would a spook house.  You go around the corner having no idea what might jump out at you.  Already we are off to a bad start.

Second, after you do venture around the corner something does jump out at you.  A teenage girl folding jeans looks up and instead of saying, "BOO!" like they would in a spook house she says, "What's up?"  I'm thinking, "Hold on.  That's 'What's up, MAAM?' to you."  I think I'd rather have a monster jump out at me. 

Then there's the lighting.  Do they actually want you to be able to see the clothes that you're going to buy or are they just continuing on with the spook house theme?

Last, the loud music.  Holy cow.  It's like being surrounded  by shrieking demons.  

When I came home from shopping I complained about all of this to John and he pointed out that they're trying to appeal to teenagers and the only way teenagers will want to go in there is if old people like me don't.  That's where I get the last laugh.  I'm still planning on going there whenever I have the chance.  It's my own little game of truth or dare.  Am I daring enough to walk in, go all the way to the back of the store and go back out again? Yes.  And I'm going to keep playing this game until my mid-life crisis is over.  And by then, my kids will be teenagers. No wonder they're the only store that's actually prospering in our sad, sorry little mall.

The Petersens

                                                                      

Is this not a nice looking family??  I challenge anyone to tell me that this is not an extremely attractive family.  This is all the family that came from Denver and Utah to attend Sydney's baptism. Four of John's 8 siblings and their families plus his parents.   We had a great time hanging out with everyone.  The kids LOVED going trick-or-treating the night before with their cousins.  I'm a little ashamed to admit that John, April and I ditched the trick-or-treating on Halloween night to go to the BYU football fireside.  If you read my previous blog on Halloween you might understand why I wasn't sad to miss out.  Although it was interesting to observe that the football players were.  After the fireside one of the football players was taking us to find Harvey Unga so we could have him sign Bryton's jersey.  We were amused to finally find him and some of his teammates across the street trick-or-treating.  I'm going to go ahead and attribute their near loss to CSU to too much candy the night before.  Maybe I should run that theory by Bronco if I see him.  

A "Bone" To Pick

Saturday was my doggie's birthday.  He turned one year old.  Did you know that you can buy doggie birthday cakes at Super Target in the ice cream section?  Poor Captain got no such thing.  And that has nothing to do with Super Target proximity now that you can see it from my kitchen window.  There was plenty of partying going on due to Sydney's baptism, Halloween, and the BYU football game at CSU (more to come on those later) but Captain had to stay in the backyard for most, if not all of it.  As I like to say: "Poooor Dogggggie."  So, as a birthday tribute,  I am going to write a biography of his first year of life.  The events will be listed in chronological order.

1.  December 25, 2007   Captain came to live with us.  He must have been a little shaken up from all the noise.  Brooklyn had not stopped crying from having a stocking holder fall on her head.  We would have waited for her to calm down but he was getting a little impatient inside that big box.  So out he came and most of the kids were so excited.  Even Brooklyn's shrieks grew instantly quieter so you know it must have really been something.  Bryton was a little bit in shock but Sydney without hesitation picked him up and started running around saying, "I love him!  I love him!"

2. Captain went on his first ski trip.  Cousin Keaton came along to baby/dog sit.

3. Captain ate an entire 5 lb. bag of chocolate chips.   Since chocolate is lethal to dogs, our neighbor who is a veterinarian gave him an I.V. to try to help flush it out of him.  He was badly shaken but pulled out of it.

4.  Captain ate rat poison.  He was rushed to the animal hospital and had to stay there for 2 days.  The vet was very concerned because of all rat poisons, this was the most lethal.  Somehow he pulled through. Again.

5. Captain ate a pan of homemade brownies.  Kathleen panicked and poured hydrogen peroxide down his throat to try to make him throw up.  She later learned that it needs to be diluted so she poured water down his throat as an after thought in order to dilute it in his stomach.  Captain pulled through.  He is now 3 for 3.

6. Captain went on a trip to Lake McConaghey and was in doggie heaven.

7.  Captain ate a red ink pen on our brand new carpet.  The carpet turned red and had to be replaced.  4 for 4.

    

As you can see he is a very active doggie with a dual personality.  Half of his personality has a death wish.  The other  half has a strong will to live.  You know the saying, "What doesn't kill you only makes you stronger."  At this rate, he ought to live a very long time.  At least we hope he does because in between all those big disasters and the small ones that I didn't mention he has been the perfect companion.  Bryton finally has someone to rough house with and share a bedroom with.  Whitney has a friend to play with while all of her siblings are in school.  I have a walking/jogging/biking companion.  John has been training him and some day, if he ever gets a spare minute, hopes to take him bird hunting.  Sydney and Brooklyn love to take him out on walks.  And he makes a very soft, warm pillow to watch T.V. with.  

So yes, he's been a handful, but he's been worth every minute of it.  Good boy, Captain!  Good boy! (We haven't taught him "happy birthday" yet.)

#7

My metamorphosis is complete.  I am now a morning person.

...#6

Not to be outdone by my 8 and 10 year old kids, I have become a proficient rip-sticker.

IAMWGIAT Entry #5

The other day Brooklyn was given 2 plastic pumpkins at the neighborhood Halloween party.  She was very fond of both of them so when she lost one of them she was extremely distraught.  After she finally settled down, she began playing with her other plastic pumpkin.  As she was playing with it she dropped it on the floor and before you could bat an eyelash Captain picked it up and swallowed it.  Now she had zero plastic pumpkins and was even more distraught than she had been just 10 minutes earlier.  To comfort her I told her he would poop it out and we could find it then.  Bad idea.  Today she reminded me that I said that and you'll never guess what I just got back from doing.  

IAMWGIAT Entry #4

Today I loaded my 3 year old in the bike trailer and brought my 1 year old golden on a bike ride to the ponds behind my housing development.  I sneakily took off his leash and threw him sticks into the pond.  I was never apprehended by any ranger.

IAMWGIAT Entry #3

Today I slammed my thumb in the van door and didn't even think to swear.

I'm A Mom Who's Got It All Together: Entry#2

Today I inadvertently matched my outfit to my mini-van.

I'm A Mom Who's Got It All Together: Entry#1

Today I wore pearls to the grocery store.

Don't say the "H" word

Okay, here's just one more blog to emphasize how difficult it is to keep up with my kids' activities and then I'll change my blog theme to "I'm A Mom Who's Got It All Together".

  

I've always found Halloween (as a mom) to be a little bittersweet.  Yeah, it's fun to dress up and to dress my kids up and to get "free" candy.  But it also means that I need to come up with costumes for 4 kids.  And I don't mean 1 costume per kid.  I mean 1 costume per festivity.  Our ward had a party last weekend with a hero theme.  "Come dressed as your favorite hero!"  Our school traditionally has a "Come dressed as your favorite literary character!"  the day before Halloween.  Our neighborhood has a Halloween party the week before Halloween.  And then of course there is Halloween itself where the kids go trick-or-treating at John's work in the afternoon and then again at night around the neighborhood.  

So, this year, Bryton is going as Huckleberry Finn, a BYU football player and the grim reaper. Sydney is going to stick to just 2 costumes -Princess Leah and Dorothy from "The Wizard of Oz".  Brooklyn also is sticking to 2.  Pippy Longstocking and the White Witch from the Chronicles of Narnia.  Whitney is my easy one.  She's going as the "Cat in the Hat"  That is a total of 8 different costumes that I have to put on my 4 kids on 4 different occasions.  That's a total of 16 times I have to dress a kid up minus one because Whitney's not in school yet.  (Of course her Little School teacher for that week might have something different to say as the day gets closer.)  

Let's face it "Favorite Hero Day" and "Literary Character Day"  are just sneaky ways of having Halloween without having Halloween.  I don't have anything against those other parties.  I just like that if we were to call all of them "Halloween Parties" I would have half as many costumes to come up with and it would sure make my "H word" a whole lot easier.

Correction

I need to make a correction to one of my previous blogs.  In it I stated that John doesn't believe there is such a thing as ADD.  He told me that was wrong and that he believes it is real, he just doesn't believe every ADD situation needs to be medicated.

A Team Player

This blog is dedicated to my hard working husband.  Here is a candid shot I took of him on his way home from work at Intel.  You can see my shadow in the picture.  Don't know how he didn't see me standing there.  Again, it must be the focus thing.  He's so excited to be getting home to his family that he just can't think of anything else.  The kids are equally excited to see him when he gets home.  I've also posted what a typical greeting from the kids looks like when he walks through the door.  Just recently he took a trip to Boston and I was home with them by myself for a week.  During his absence I realized why they get so excited when he gets home.  He is way cooler and way more fun than I am.

I'm ashamed to admit that before he left I was actually kind of excited to have the week to myself. I wouldn't have to cook because we could have mac & cheese or cereal for dinner every night.  I would  be less distracted and therefore able to get more done.  I had all these grand visions of a spotless house, tons of reading being done and the children quietly tucked into bed and sound asleep by 8:30.  Since he was gone over a weekend, I also pictured myself taking them out on fun outings, bike rides, etc..  Imagine my disappointment when he got back and I had absolutely nothing to show for it.  

It's good that he leaves me every once in a while.  It gives me a chance to let reality soak in.  I do not function well without him.  And here all this time I thought that I was the fun responsible one.    Not that I'm saying things would be peaches and cream for him if I left him in charge for a week.  But we are definitely a team with different rolls to play.  It's kind of like how a quarter back can't function without a receiver.   He can always run the ball or hand it off but throwing it is way more efficient.  

What Doctors Won't Tell You

Out of all my children, Sydney is the most like me.  She looks the most like me and her personality is similar to mine.  She is definitely a day dreamer.  I'd like to spend a few minutes in her brain every day just to take part in all the activity that I know is going on in there.  In some ways she reminds me of a story book character who, bless her heart, despite her constant efforts to please those around her is always getting into trouble because of her active imagination.   I know she must have inherited this trait from me because my husband has made it very clear to me that there is always just one thought going on in his mind at a time.  And sometimes fewer.   He doesn't get how I can jump around from topic to topic and I don't think that he even knows the meaning of the word "multi-task".   So, though I have mostly grown out of the "day-dream" stage I try to relate to her as best I can and often reassure myself that she will eventually grow out of it too.    

Last year, her first grade teacher had some things to say about it.  When it came time for parent teacher conference (about a month and a half into the school year) she told my husband and me that Sydney reminded her of someone who had ADD.  That she had trouble focusing.  This news was not surprising to us.  We were surprised however, that the teacher felt it necessary to bring this up to us.  I mean, she has 24 other 6 year olds that she's with all day, don't they all act like they  have ADD?  Was she planning on saying this same thing to the other 48 parents she would speak with today?  We left the conference only slightly concerned.  

The teacher called me in to talk about this a few more times during the year and each time my concern grew until it escalated to full on panic.  I decided maybe I should take her to the doctor to see what he would have to say about it.  This is where it gets interesting. 

I told him what my concerns were.  He asked me a few questions about Sydney and immediately diagnosed her with ADD.  He even wrote a prescription for her and gave me some samples of a drug called "Strattera" that was supposed to help her focus.  

Now my husband who is always a skeptic hardly believes there is such a thing as ADD.  He thinks it's a made up illness.  He took a test on the internet that was meant to diagnose people with ADD and sure enough, they said he had it.  Remember this is the man that always has one thought or less in his brain.  How could a doctor possibly know that Sydney had ADD by asking a few questions about her behavior?  To think that he so readily prescribed medication is alarming.  Needless to say, John was completely against giving her the medication.  But I, being in the panicked state that I was in, convinced him that we should just try it and see if anything changed.  He agreed to it and we decided that we wouldn't even tell her teacher she was on it.  Within a few days I ran into her teacher and she didn't even have to ask.  She knew that we had put her on something because the difference was like night and day.  

Despite the results, we took her off the medication because she hated swallowing the pills.  We decided to look into other options.  We found a place that was recommended to us called 

"Encode Decode" (or maybe it was vice-versa) She went there once or twice a week and they worked on concentration and cross patterning.  She also recommended a program where she listened to classical music 5 nights a week.  She also recommended non-synthetic vitamin supplements.  By the end of the year her teacher had noticed a difference.  She said it wasn't as drastic as it was with the medication but that she had definitely been more focused since beginning the tutoring program.

Just recently I had an awful day.  These days happen very seldom to me but it was enough to set me off.  If you read one of my previous blogs you know the history of me not dressing Sydney in appropriate clothing for her school concert.  Well, a few days later she was supposed to have another concert (according to my wall calendar) where she had to dress up.  This time I got her up, dressed her in the right clothes and even brought the video camera so that "daddy could see it".  I was feeling good like I was being given a second chance to redeem myself but I suspected something was not quite right when I drove up to the school and the parking lot was mostly empty.  I went in and inquired at the front office and they told me I got the day right but the wrong month.  Chalk another one up for me.  Later that day I got a call from Sydney's teacher asking why she had missed so many days of homework.  The teacher explained to me that it was my responsibility to make sure she got it in and that I needed to find a way to be more organized.  Ouch.  Those two things on top of spending 2 hours at the orthodontist and not being able to find Bryton's soccer shin guards which led to him missing practice were too much to bear.  I went strait to the pantry and pulled out some of Sydney's "Strattera" medication that the doctor had given as a sample and proceeded to pop one into my mouth.  Maybe it wasn't Sydney that had the problem but me.  Plus, this way, I could see for myself what kind of side effects it might have if I ever thought Sydney might need to go on it again.  

Here's what I found out.  I took the medication two days in a row.  Once on a Tuesday and once on a Wednesday.  Today is Thursday and I haven't slept since Tuesday morning.  Tuesday's night sleep was disruptive but last night's was obsolete.  Every time I felt myself drifting off it was almost as though I could feel an electrical current in my brain acting as an alarm clock and waking me up.  Even the book on World War II that I've been reading couldn't make me go to sleep.  Trust me, I am NOT an insomniac.  It is now 2:00 in the afternoon.  Usually by this time I am wiped out and ready for a nap.  I could not sleep right now if you paid me.  This morning before school I asked Sydney if she had a hard time sleeping when she took the medication and she said, "Yes.  I tried really hard but couldn't."  I never would have guessed that if I hadn't taken the medication myself.  To think that a doctor would be so liberal with a medication they know so little about, for an illness they know so little about, with a 6 year old child is unbelievable.  

So, if I ever have another "focally challenged" child or grandchild my prescription will be to stay away from the doctor, listen to classical music, take omega-3's and work on concentration exercises like memory match and sudoku.  Or, to just let nature take its course and solve the problem on its own.  That's what seemed to work for me.

And one more note.  Sydney's tutor told her last spring that she should stop coming because Sydney didn't need her.  She said, "Sydney is such a bright girl that I'm not worried about her at all. "  

 

General Conference

This may not be the most attractive picture ever taken of my kids and me, but it couldn't be a more accurate portrayal of what we look like on Conference Sunday.  Notice the unlimited supply of junk food sitting out and the pacifier-like ring pops in each of my children's mouths.  What you can't see is the bag of Swedish Fish that I'm clinging to behind my blanket like a teddy bear.  The best part about it is that if someone spills something on the carpet, we have a very loyal house cleaner that is never off duty.  

A day in the life of a MOFO (mother of four)

Today was my daughter's 50 states program at school. During this program, all the 2nd graders do a presentation where each child talks about one of the 50 states. They also sing patriotic songs. Then after ward the parents walk through the map museum that they have on display in their classrooms. These are maps they've been working on for the last 2 weeks for homework. It is extremely hyped up and all the 2nd graders look forward to it with great anticipation. Today was the big day. I was running late but fortunately made it into the auditorium (A.K.A. cafeteria) before the classes had worked their way in. They all walked in wearing red, white or blue or all 3 colors. That's when my whole week flashed before my eyes and I remembered the note that had been sent home saying, "make sure your child wears red, white , or blue for the program". As they walked in one by one I watched hopefully for the other kids who had also forgotten to wear their patriotic colors. Not only were all the other children wearing their colors, some of them were decked out in ribbons and other ornamental garb resembling the 4th of July. Then I saw Sydney. I had just gone to Gymboree the day before to spend my "gymbucks" and she was wearing the cutest outfit. I had picked it out for her myself before school. Unfortunately it didn't matter how cute it was. I watched her walk in wiping the tears from her eyes. As she sat down she looked out toward the audience and gave a brave smile. She loves to please people and I imagine her teacher had told her and her classmates to "make sure and smile while you're out there!" She did a great job. She recited all her lines perfectly. But she had to keep regaining her composure throughout the entire assembly. I sat there seething. Boy was I gonna tell her teacher off for not letting her call me and ask me to bring her the appropriate clothing. It's one thing to teach responsibility but, come on, she's only a second grader. Fortunately I had time during the performance to think things through and afterwards walked up to her teacher and very politely asked how Sydney was doing. She told me she was doing well and that she had tried to call me to ask for clothes but couldn't get a hold of me. I imagined the light markings of a giant "L" appearing on my forehead.
I walked over to where Sydney was standing displaying her map of Michigan that she had worked so hard on and told her what a great job she'd done. She then asked me if I had video taped it for daddy. (The markings got a little darker.) "No", I said trying to stay positive, "but I took lots of pictures." Again, she had to work to keep her composure. On the way home she explained to me how she'd tried to call and I downplayed the whole thing saying,"it's a good thing you wore pink and gray because that's almost the same as red and blue." She seemed appeased. I wiped the sweat from my forehead and gave a sigh of relief. Somehow I had managed to narrowly escape her resentment and hopefully avoid any permanent scarring.
This was a small, fairly insignificant incident. Unfortunately, the problems get bigger as they get older. How will I manage them? Perhaps all the little incidents that take place when they're little are to prepare us for the bigger ones that are bound to happen when they're older. Baby steps.

Recently I decided to train for a triathlon.  Here is a very flattering picture of me finishing up my swim in the Longmont Reservoir.  Please take note of all the people behind me.  I was extremely nervous to do this the week before the event but the huge trophy on my mantle reminds me every day of why I did it.  (Are you sensing the sarcasm?)  Actually, trophy or no trophy it was a really neat experience.  I'll probably do another one soon just so I can justify buying a "Triathlete" sticker for my car window.  Oh, and also for the exercise. 

Here is a recent picture of my family.  We're at the Grand Canyon.  That may be obvious to some but not everyone would necessarily notice my white knuckles grasping on to the rock behind me.  The Grand Canyon is really no place for a mother of 4 little ones with a terrible fear of heights.  Especially when her little ones are not afraid.  Although I will say it's definitely worth seeing.  I just would have preferred to see it a little further from the edge.

Testing...Testing...123

Wow!  I never realized how easy it is to post a blog spot.