Let's Go to the Movies

Ni-Night

Most kids go to bed with a favorite blanket or a favorite stuffed animal. Some need a pacifier or perhaps a certain article of clothing.

Tonight I tucked William into bed with a

paint roller
wrench
yellow tube "for the wrench to fix"
Mr. and Mrs. King
police car

Go figure.

And to top it all off . . .

Don't get me wrong, I like cats. They go really well with country gravy. But the goal here is to keep them out of the 6ft x 6ft giant litter box. I really haven't ever seen a cat in our neighborhood, let alone our backyard. But due to the implications of the possibility, I decided a proactive over reactive solution would be best. So I put on a lid.

Emmanuel Nobel, inventor of plywood, for some reason decided that our world was built in 4ft x 8ft increments. However, this is no good-o for the 6x6 sandbox. So, I had to cut and join two sheets together.

Two sheets of plywood, framed and braced.


Now stained to withstand the humid, tropical Utah environment

Ta Da!

Now it's just missing two things, William and Marie. 11 days and counting!

It don't matter if your black or white . . .

I'm back and ready to post again. It's been a whirlwind of a week. As evidenced above, project number two is complete . . . almost. I need to build a lid to keep the kids from playing in the sandbox (the sand looks so good all smooth like it is).

It feels good to see some labor fruits. This has pretty much took control of every available minute after work. However, I did find time to help cheer the Jazz to a come-from-behind, down-to-the-wire, game-winning-shot, okay-enough-of-this, victory. My throat still aches and my ears are still ringing from that insanely loud ESA crowd.

I believe I left off last time just clearing the ground for the sandbox. Here are a few pics since then.

***WARNING***
The following may be rather dull. Heck, I was bored out of my mind just posting it. Mostly this is for my sweet remotely distanced wife.

Ground now cleared for garden and sandbox

Box built for sandbox

Sections complete for garden

Sandbox in place with weed fabric. I don't know if plants can grow through 8 inches of sand, but just in case

The top soil and sand has arrived. I considered stopping here. I don't think William would have minded one bit having to dig in this pile. However, none of our vehicles have 4-wheel drive, so garage access would be difficult.

Garden box now in place and found some time to put a little sand in before the Jazz game.

Sandbox now full of sand.

Garden now full of dirt.

Garden still full of dirt, as seen from the deck.

Jammin'

I cannot buy strawberries from a grocery store. Every once in a while I think that they look pretty good and smell alright so I buy a box and I am always dissappointed and the box doesn't get eaten. A strawberry that hasn't been freshly picked hardly even tastes like a strawberry.

Which explains my utter excitement about visiting the fam during strawberry season. We've had strawberries on our salads (spinach, chicken, bacon bits, strawberries, with your favorite vinagrerette .. delish!), strawberry lemonade (made from lemons off my parent's tree .. yes, I am bragging, is that OK?), strawberries and cream, strawberry smoothies, and of course,

STRAWBERRY JAM!

Kirsten (Kirsten and my mom? Think Anne Shirley and Diana Barry) promises that strawberry jam is a food group in and of itself and I would like to think that when made in good company the calories don't count. It was a reassuring thought, at least, as I added lots and lots and lots of sugar to the strawberries.

While William was content to steer clear of the kitchen and my Dad was relieved that the blessed jam-making event happened while he was at work, Marie couldn't stay away. A true girl, even at such a young age.

We've already gone through a jar.

Strawberries will always be in season in heaven, I am sure of it.

Notes to Self:

1. Next time you go to the beach, don't wait until you've been there for three hours to take a picture. Smiles will not happen.

2. You need a tan.

Holding down the fort

Well, as many of you may know, Bethany is on a sabbatical to the Great [Bankrupted] State of California. I, Brandon, have been commissioned to provide you, her regular viewing audience, with the updates to the projects that are currently in the works. The pay is not great, but the benefits are pretty good, so I've decided to take the accept the blog assignment.

PROJECT #1: DECK SLIDE
STATUS: COMPLETED

Decks these days are just way to safe. Take ours for example. The space between railing boards is a mere 4 inches. That's not even big enough for William before he learned to chew (or in other words, before the age of 2 and 1/2) to fit in between. So to compensate, we decided to removed three railing boards. We then installed a slide that slows down the acceleration due to gravity down to 9.7 m/s^2 from the normal 9.8 m/s^2. It's a very fast slide. William loves it, but it is a little too fast for Marie. We anticipate Marie enjoying it later this Summer.

William and Marie having fun with the box it came in

PROJECT #2: SANDBOX/GARDEN
STATUS: *PUFF, PUFF* . . . IN PROCESS

While my neighbors spent last Saturday sprucing up there lawns, I spent a good amount of calories tearing out my lawn. Clearing out 108 sq ft of sod is quickly becoming my new exercise program.

Like many young lads, William loves trucks, tractors, etc. He loves to drive and dig these items in the one inch of dirt that we so graciously provided him in his wagon. However, understandably this has become quite dull. The boy needs a sandbox and Mommy needs William and Marie to play in the backyard for a portion of the day.

We are also putting in the garden so we can eat homegrown foods that Bethany enjoys, Brandon tolerates, William gags on, and Marie eats because they are carbon based.

Sprinkler pipe moved

Pressure treated lumber purchased

Ground cleared for sandbox; garden is next on the agenda

Look at me. Look at me.

It was recently brought to my attention that some people consider blogs as being self-centered. I never really thought about blogs as being self-centered. I mean, if it is a personal blog, what else are you going to write about besides yourself and your family? Especially when long distance grandparents are in the picture and they yearn to see their sweet grandkids each day, but can't; I don't think they would appreciate anything but posts about our comings and goings. If I think this way, does that mean that I am self-centered?

I only bring this up because now I am self-conscious about putting up a picture of me and my new hair color. I mean, really, what is more self-centered than that? "Everybody look at me and my new hair!" Huh. Whatever.

Self-centered or not, I am sharing the fact that I am no longer blonde. Thank goodness. Being blonde is totally overrated. Um, except when you are my husband. In that case, it is perfect.

William-ese

Grandpa has been in town which is fabulous for all of us, but especially for William. He has really been spoiled lately with visits from BOTH grandpas (and one grandma) in the same week. He loves visitors and adores his grandparents. Life doesn’t get much better than it is when they are around.

So, last night we were eating dinner and I told him he needed to hurry up and finish his dinner because grandpa bought ice cream for dessert.

William looks at my dad, pats him on the arm repeatedly and says, “Thank you. Thank you, Grandpa, for buying me ice cream. You’re a good boy.”

He knows how to win over somebody pretty fast, doesn’t he?

The Train Song

The train is rolling down the track,Listen to the wheels go clickety clack,

Over the bridge, around the bend,
Taking me for a ride.

The engine's up at the front of the train, pulling all the cars  through the sun and the rain,

Over the bridge, around the bend,
Taking me for a ride.

Now we sit here in the passenger car,

And the freight car's next in line,

And way in back is the little caboose,
Rolling along behind.

The train is rolling down the track,
Listen to the wheels go clickety clack,
Over the bridge, around the bend,
Taking me for a ride.

Swimming

As part of lifeguard training (way back in the day) parents in the community were invited to bring their children to the pool on a Saturday. Eager prospective lifeguards were each assigned one or two children to "practice on".

A red-headed boy was passed on to me. He screamed. And screamed. And screamed. I carried him into the pool and walked out into the middle of the shallow end. He screamed. And screamed. And screamed. I sang to him. He screamed. And paused. And screamed. And paused. I kept singing. He paused. He looked. He smiled. Fifteen minutes laterI walked out of that pool with a happy 3-year-old and picked his parent's jaws off the pool deck.


After my first expereince with the red-headed boy I never looked back. Teaching kids (and even a few adults) to swim became my passion. My peak summer I taught from 10 to 12 at the Parks and Rec went to our athletic club and taught from 12:30 to 3:30 and then finished out the day at the Parks and Rec from 4 to 7. No child got the better of me and very few walked away after 2 weeks not knowing how to swim at least a few feet.


I was a "damn good [swim] teacher," in the words of my manager. (I had a Sunday School teacher that used to swear all the time. He was always quoting his father when he used swear words. He told us that it isn't swearing if you are quoting someone.) I tell you this not to brag, but to put you in the right mind set. To set the stage for the recent parenting dilemma I faced.


You see, William is now "of age." He needs to learn to swim this summer. If Marie picked it up as well, I would be thrilled.


Being in California for the last couple of weeks has offered great opportunity. Beach once (twice after tomorrow) and the pool three times. It was our first visit to the pool that I was caught off-guard.


Any swim instructor will tell you that the number one goal in teaching a person to swim is to help him become comfortable with going under water. If you try to swim with your head up your bum sinks. It's hard to swim with a sinking bum. Adults manage. Children really, really struggle. Put your head down and you are on your way to being the next Michael Phelps.


So there I was in the pool with my two darling munchkins. With another child I wouldn't have let a minute pass by before I had tricked them into going under water with me.


"Motorboat, motor boat, go so slow. Motorboat, motorboat, go so fast. Motorboat, motorboat, turn off the gas!" And blow in the face so they will hold their breath and down we go under water. The child comes up spitting and coughing and I come up with a big fat, "Hooray! You did it! Let's do it again!"


Suddenly I was dreading the underwater moment because, well, I knew they wouldn't like it at first. Suddenly I had great understanding for those pesky mom's that used to stand by the pool and ask if they could wait their with a towel ready because "Junior just doesn't like to get his face wet. I always wipe it dry whenever it gets wet in the bath." And in that very same moment I remembered how pathetic I thought those mom's were and the fact that they were enabling their children.


I dunked my kids. Repeatedly. In a non-child abuse fashion, of course.

Happy Easter!

William-ese

Reading Green Eggs and Ham to William was providential. Since then we have convinced him to eat many meals simply by saying,

Mommy or Daddy: You do not like them, so you say. Try them, try them, and you may! Try them and you may, I say!

William: Sam, uh, Daddy, if you will let me be, I will try them. You will see.

Without fail (so far) and without a fuss he will then take a bite of the meal that we have been begging him and pleading him to eat with as much diligence as Sam I Am. And without fail he will repeat,

William: Say, I like __(insert name of whatever he just ate)____! I do! I like them, Sam, uh, Daddy!

And then proceed to finish his meal and usually explains to us where he is as he takes each bite.

William: I will eat this in a box. Now on a train. The train is going to crash. Now I am on a boat. ……

Thank you, Dr. Suess. I owe you one.

___________________________________________________

We thought he took it a bit too far when he proceeded to dip a tortilla chip into his ice cream and said reassuringly to us,

William: I will like it. You will see.

___________________________________________________

Marie-esque

She fell just before I took this picture. If she hadn’t you would see that she was strolling around the house in her Daddy’s tennis shoes, in addition to her Daddy’s sock, and two pajama shirts. She is our laundry basket scavenger. If there is a pile of clothes within her reach she will pull one piece at a time out and scatter the clothes throughout the room. Or in this case, ask Daddy to put the selected item on her, “pwease, off, pwease.” (Yes, in her world off is the new on.)

And then there are those days

when you wonder if you should waste your breathe at all because your three-year-old isn’t listening to a thing you say anyway.

when you want to be the best mom possible, but it feels like you are continually taking one step forward and then ten steps back.

when you wonder if your 18-month-old will ever stop coughing and wish that love could cure her asthma.

when moments of frustration with your kids turn into lack of patience which in turn leads to frustration with yourself.

when your mind knows you are incredibly blessed and “this too shall pass” but your heart isn’t getting the message.

when the bad guys are taking over and you find yourself repeating, “This is my dream!” (minus the Shabby Apple outfit, of course.)

Those are the days when these words mean the most.

"You can’t possibly do this alone, but you do have help. The Master of Heaven and Earth is there to bless you—He who resolutely goes after the lost sheep, sweeps thoroughly to find the lost coin, waits everlastingly for the return of the prodigal son. Yours is the work of salvation, and therefore you will be magnified, compensated, made more than you are and better than you have ever been as you try to make honest effort, however feeble you may sometimes feel that to be.” Jeffrey R. Holland, “‘Because She Is a Mother’,” Ensign, May 1997, 35