"Mom, pull my finger"

I never set out to raise a Girly-Girl. I was never one myself, so why raise one. That said, I certainly didn't set out to raise a Grody Girl. (Sidenote: Is grody even a word outside of the late 80s/early 90s? And if it is, is that how you spell it?) Regardless, it appears that I indeed have a Grody Girl on my hands.

Tonight when I was helping Sweetie put all of the crayons back in the box, she turned to me, held out her finger with its 1/2-painted pink nail, and said, "Mom, pull my finger." I looked at her a minute, calculating. I know what's supposed to happen when I pull her little finger. But does she know what's supposed to happen when I pull her finger? And if she does HOW does she know that?! So, I tested the waters. I pulled her finger. And, yes, she certainly does know what's supposed to happen.

So, being the pillar of manners that I am, I coughed and ran out of the room before I could break out laughing at the shock of my little 3-year-old Sweetie moving wind on a wim. I returned promptly, of course, telling her that I had to leave because of the stink and because people do not like to be around other people who cannot control their bodily functions (or, in this case, those who can control their bodily functions all too well).

Upon further thought, I didn't even need to ask who taught her this new skill: J, now to be called, He Who Is Undermining My Manners Lessons (HWIUMML)

And lest you think this is not a big deal, I will only briefly mention the dried nose-pickings we found on the wall when putting her to bed last week. She apparently sees no problem in trying to fill the small indentation in the wall near her bed.

Well, Grody Girl, be gone! I am setting out to reform the little missy ASAP. Of course, I may first need to deal with HWIUMML himself. Wish me luck! And, just because I can't resist, here's my soon-to-be-reformed-Grody Girl. Today's thankful 3:
1. New scholastic books to read.
2. That clean-child smell when they're fresh out of the tub.
3. My girl, grody or not.

Thank you, Barney.

Tonight I was flying solo at dinnertime. I dished up the kids' plates, got everyone butter, salt, pepper, more water, more milk, and another napkin and had just settled in, lifting my fork to take my first bite when Sweetie spilled her juice. Actually "spill" doesn't do it justice. It was more like the juice knew I was going to take a bite and it erupted out of the cup.

As I was on my hands and knees cleaning it up, Mister said, with shock in his voice, "Mom, Barney was right! Moms do do a lot for kids!"

Maybe if Barney can raise such impromptu awareness in my children, I need to rethink my aversion to large purple dinosaurs. . . .


Nope. It's still there. But thanks anyway, Barney. I needed a little validation tonight.

Today's thankful 3:
1. a quiet house
2. tight bedtime squeezes
3. talking with J while we did the dishes together

What is it about the Olympics . . .

. . . that makes me stay up until midnight every night watching, even when I know I have to be up at 5:20?

. . . that leads to head-rushes, impromptu gymnastics routines, and loud thumps coming from upstairs:

. . . that persuades me it's a good idea to up my speed on the revolving stairs at the gym this morning? (Too much leftover adrenaline from watching yesterday's women's marathon?)

. . . that causes my children to summersault willy-nilly around the family room and leads Sweetie to claim, upon watching the women's gymnastics floor routines, "I can do that!" (This from the child who cannot manage to make it through a meal without knocking her drink to the floor and cannot manage to carry her dinner plate to the sink without sending the uneaten peas to all corners of the kitchen).

So what is it about the Olympics that makes us look at the best performances, the best athletes in the world and think that we can do better in our own personal efforts? It seems like with other things in life, when we see others' "bests," we aren't more optimistic of our own abilities. Instead, we're harsher with ourselves--why can't I do that, be like that, sing/play like that, look like that, earn that, learn that. Well, whatever it is about the Olympics, I love it! (although I could do without the midnight hours. . .)

Beginnings and Endings

I've never been good at either. I'm a status quo kind of girl. Here's hoping Mister can manage them a little better than I've been able to. So far, the outlet looks good:

The First Day of School--Mister, kindergarten; Sweetie, preschool

And the requested "First Day of School" Cake. (Cranked out very quickly--darn that Mrs. Turtle in the Franklin Goes to School book we read last night, making her son his own fly pie as a first day of school treat. Way to put ideas in my kids' heads!) It's supposed to look like a book, so squint a little, please.

The Last Brother/Sister Bathtime
Yeah, yeah, so maybe this ending should have come earlier. But I just couldn't bring myself to cut off the fantastic foam creations or the scuba diving expeditions and other such fun. Privacy schmivacy (in the past, that is). So here they are with their secret agent rubber duckies who have wisely doned foam suction cups to scale the slippery tub walls. Sorry, secret agent ducks, you'll be swimming solo from here on out.

Today's Top 3

1. Bedtime cuddles, with Mister recapping his school day: "he said, . . . then she said, . . . then he did . . ."
2. Giggling with my kids at Shel Silverstein's CD of "A Light in the Attic."
3. A monsoon! Love the lightning.

Poem of the Month: "For the Children"

I've been meaning to blog. But, well, you know how it goes. I just came across this poem while I was looking for a book and thought I would share it as my poem of the month. It reminded me of being in grad school at BYU and driving to Westminster to hear Gary Snyder read his poetry. Aaahhh, the days of going to poetry readings. Did I really live that life? But anyway, it also was a good reminder in this last week of summer vacation (not last week of summer, unfortunately) of keeping my priorities and my head as I try to maximize the summer fun with my kids while minimizing the increasing sibling fighting. Maybe it's also me getting ready to send my oldest off to kindergarten next week (sniff, sniff). So hear you go . . . This poem is beautiful, simple, and deep, all at the same time. Enjoy!

For the Children
The rising hills, the slopes,
of statistics
lie before us.
The steep climb
of everything, going up,
up, as we all
go down.

In the next century
or the one beyond that,
they say,
are valleys, pastures,
we can meet there in peace
if we make it.

To climb these coming crests
one word to you, to
you and your children:

stay together
learn the flowers
go light.

~ Gary Snyder

who needs a fishing pole . . .

when you have your hands?

She's setting her sights on it now . . .

I just downloaded these pics and had to share Sweetie's first experience fishing at the 4th of July park activities in small-town northern Utah. They had a rectangular area divided with hay bales and large tarp over the bales--you can see them in the pic above. They filled the area with water and dumped a bunch of fish in. They let the kids in according to age groups. At the end, the fish were getting tired of swimming away from all of those grasping fingers and were a little slower, so Sweetie went in for the grab. Ahhh, a girl not afraid of a little slip and slime. That's my Sweetie!

Strong Women

I come from a long line of strong women. My father's mother was both orphaned and widowed as a young woman, with her newborn first child. She weathered the trial and, when I was a child, I always knew Grandma would say exactly what she thought and would do exactly what she wanted to do, even if that meant going on a European cruise alone because my grandfather refused to go. Her own mother was strong. She raised her 4 children alone after her husband died and managed to run and keep the family farm during the hard years of the Great Depression. Her mother, in turn, was also strong. She carried on when her husband went to the Klondike in search of gold, found it, and returned back to their small town to live with that gold and with another woman. This is a picture of the last of my strong grandmothers--the only one currently living. Although nearly blind from macular degeneration, she walked all over Lagoon with us 2 weeks ago, and at 88 years old, she went on almost all of the rides. Here she is taking Mister on the kids' roller coaster.

I've always wondered how the women in my family managed to maintain their strength. My interest in strong women has, of course, leaked into my academic interests. For the 13+ hour drive back home last week, I listened to hours of interviews I conducted almost a year ago with the women who graciously agreed to participate in my dissertation study about their online writing. I typed notes and transcribed sections, balancing J's laptop on my lap, while handing back drinks and snacks to kids, switching out DVDs, and finding dropped crayons. It was almost enough to make me car sick. But I loved it. I loved hearing the women talk about how their blogging and their contributions to their discussion board empower them. They didn't use that term, but they talked about being strengthened and supported by other women when they didn't know what they were doing as a mothers or when they didn't know what to do with a challenge in their lives. They also talked about needing to help and support others, needing to feel like their advice and life experiences are worthwhile.

I love this stuff because it resonates in my own life. The type of feminism that I have experienced isn't necessarily the postmodern feminism that's popular in academics today, but it's the cultural feminism that's been mostly rejected. Cultural feminists celebrate the uniqueness and power of women and argue about the importance of connecting with other women and finding a voice. Even though this isn't academically popular, I do see the women in my study talking about this need for connection and about how this connection, through online writing, gives them voice.

Last Sunday, I was sick in bed, and I picked up a book I love but have never finished (ironically enough, since it's called Mitten Strings for God: Reflections for Mothers in a Hurry). I re-read the intro and loved this quote by the author, Katrina Kenison: "Yet I do believe that, as mothers, we all walk a common path, through a rugged and ineffable territory of love and fury, exhilaration and exhaustion, self-doubt and self-discovery. . . . Over the years, I have been grateful to all the women who have gone this way before me and have been willing to shine a light upon the trail, that I might find my own way with a bit more confidence."

Well, I guess I'm long-winded tonight. You made it to the end of my post! I should end with a huge Thank You to those of you who are the women in my life--friends and relatives--who have shown a light or who are currently shining a light on my path.