There's No Place Like Home...

This weekend my husband and I celebrated our 13th anniversary (two months late). We've been doing this yearly for about 7 years now, and it's great. We pawn the boys off to my sister and take off for a couple of days to a hotel where we get to do things we love without the joys of interrupting offspring.

In the past, we've stayed somewhere in Salt Lake City. (We went to Park City one year, but that was the exception.) This year, our Salt Lake plans were thwarted. The hotel didn't have the room we wanted for the price we needed. What to do? Hmmmm. How's this for a novel thought: why not stay somewhere in Provo? (audible gasp of horror) No--seriously. It's cheaper, since gas prices are so high, and we know where all of our favorite restaurants are. Given that we are on a pretty strict budget, the whole "low-cost" thing cinched the deal.

How was our vacation at home, you ask? It was great! Who knew that staying at La Quinta, with a lovely view of the roof of Walmart, could be so relaxing? Maybe it was going without the kids--that's definitely a stress reduction right there alone. But you can't get any better than getting to take a four hour nap without kids bouncing on the bed asking you every 5 minutes if you're done sleeping. I tell you it was heaven--right here in Provo. We read books outside in their gazebo, set artistically in the lovely gardens, with our backs towards Walmart (of course). We went to see a late movie. We went to the Provo College and got full-body massages (for $12 each). We lounged around and chatted. We slept in. Oh--and did I mention the four hour nap?

So if you and your honey are needing a little time away, why not try your own hometown? It's amazing how different it feels to play the tourist in a familiar territory. Who knows... you might actually enjoy yourselves!

"Y" Not?

A couple of weeks ago, in a moment of weakness, I agreed to hike to the Y on Labor Day (today) with my husband and three boys. I'm sure at the time I was thinking of the joy of family togetherness and the spiritual aspects of communing with nature (as much as can be done while hiking Y mountain). I also thought that being outside would curb the incessant arguing that occurs between sons 1 and 2--at least for the duration of the hike. Such delusions had even me--camping/hiking/roughing-it challenged that I am--looking forward to the hike.

WHAT kind of DRUGS was I ON???? Hmmmm....let's go through the list, shall we? Allergy pills, birth control, multi-vitamins, allergy stuff, anti-depressant, asthma inhaler..... None of them could possibly have put me into such a mental state as to cause me to agree to such nonsense, could they?

Let's just say it wasn't the best hike I've ever been on. Yes, once we got up there the view was spectacular. I loved being up that high and trying to figure out where my house is using the landmarks I recognize. I loved seeing that, from a long ways away, Utah lake is blue. I loved looking down on the city I was born and raised in and seeing the many ways it has changed and just how beautiful it is when seen from above. (There is so much to be said about a higher perspective.) I loved seeing the absolute joy on the face of my almost 2-year-old when he saw helicopters and airplanes almost at eye level. Those parts of the hike I loved. It was the rest I could have done without.

Things I hated about hiking the Y:

1. The climb up. I never knew I needed so many breaks to rest! Granted, last time I did this I was probably 9 or 10, but sheesh! I didn't think I was that out of shape!

2. The climb down. Can you say "rubber knees"? 'Nuff said.

3. Son #2 saying "I'm tired of hiking this already" only 10 yards up the trail and repeating this phrase continually all the way up to the top.

4. Son #1 saying, "Well, actually ...." every time son #2 expressed an opinion on anything and then proceeding to make broad generalizations and presenting them as absolute fact. Must we argue about everything????

5. Getting a blister on the tip of my big toe. I've never, ever had a blister there in my entire life.

6. Listening to son #1 (A---) complain that he was getting hot spots on his heels. In his pre-hike talk, Phil had instructed the boys that they were to tell him immediately if they felt any hot spots so that he could put moleskin on them and prevent any blisters. A--- took it to heart and beyond. When Phil asked if the spots were really hot or just warm, the only answer we could get was "I can't tell." When Phil asked A--- to wait till we got to the top to check his heels (since we were almost there), we had to listen to him whine the rest of the way up about how unfair it was that Dad was annoyed with him for doing exactly what he was told to do. (Of course, he totally ignored the fact that Phil had asked him a direct question which he refused to answer.)

7. Having to change a poopy diaper on son #3 in the bushes just above the Y. Where do you have the kid lie down? And then you have to pack the smelly thing with you all the way back down the trail.

8. Sunburn. I actually suggested bringing sunscreen, but my spouse insisted that we wouldn't need it. I should have listened to my inner voice. I got burned to a crisp. Of course, dear hubby and our three sons don't even look pink.

In the spirit of being fair, I must say there were other things I liked about the hike, other than the aforementioned reasons. My favorite part was when husband Phil instituted a 5 minute no-talking rule. We did this twice on the way down, and it was heavenly! I don't think the boys liked it very much, but Phil and I sure did.

I also loved it when son #2 found a "walking stick" to use on the way down. Let's just say that a more accurate term would be a walking log. He loved it, and he looked so cute trying to use it. (He generously offered to let me use it so I wouldn't fall down the mountain.) The thing was as big around (probably bigger) than his arm!

Son #1 demonstrated his joy in bossiness when he told his brother (son #2) that "S---, since I'm your older brother, and no other grown-ups are around, it is my job to keep you safe up here." This was reported to me by a total stranger when Phil and I finally hobbled our way up the face of the Y to the top with son #3 walking between us. The man was impressed by A---'s sense of responsibility. I was impressed that S--- wasn't in tears because his brother was dragging him all over the place in his efforts to "protect" him.

I guess I must say, begrudgingly, that it wasn't that bad of a hike. It's an easier hike than the one to Timpanogas Cave. Maybe I'm just not cut out to be a hiker. I tried really hard, on the way down the mountain, to picture my little family as the Von Trapp Family Singers, hiking bravely into the Alps to escape Nazi rule, but I don't think "The hills are alive....with the sound of fighting" would cut it in the lyric world.

Muck Walking

Yesterday my second son told me that his big brother is always in trouble. So I asked him, "Do you ever get in trouble?" His answer caught me off guard.

"Only when Daddy's home. When Daddy's home, he makes sure that A-- and T-- and I get in trouble."

I'm wondering what this means. Am I a disciplinary weakling or is my husband a tyrant? I'm not sure. Phil comes down pretty hard on the kids sometimes, so maybe I subconsciously try to be more lax to "even things out" just a bit. Maybe I'm just plain lazy.

Parenting is such a unique challenge when you have more than one child. Each child is different and they each respond differently to discipline techniques. Case in point: when A-- gets in trouble (which is a regular occurrence), he responds defiantly and will argue his case till the proverbial cows return to pasture. Most times, we have to physically remove him to his room to cool off. In contrast, when S-- gets in trouble, he bursts into tears and is quite penitent. As a result, all I have to do with S-- is speak sternly and he'll usually toe the line. He rarely needs a time out.

Sometimes I find myself getting angry at the boys for doing something that I know their dad will be upset about just because I don't want them to get in trouble. On those occasions, the offense is usually something that isn't that big of a deal to me. I know I should present more of a unified front, but I hate conflict, and there's nothing worse than getting "the eye" when I try to explain why I didn't punish the boys for something that I didn't think was that serious. In my defense, however, I try very hard not to interfere when Phil disciplines the boys. I figure that the boys are pretty resilient and will bounce back even if they do get their feelings hurt when Dad gets a bit loud.

I realize it may sound like I don't agree with any of the rules that Phil considers most important, but that's not true. On the whole, we agree on almost everything. We're sticklers about regular bedtimes and having the boys sleep in their own beds from an early age; we insist on good behavior (though we don't always get it); personal cleanliness is a biggie; and we're getting better at cracking down on backtalk. To some, I might be considered a bit of an ogre. (Just ask my oldest--he tells me constantly that I don't parent fairly and that I'm a mean mom. He has the whole "victim" thing down pat.) But I realize that I could be a better disciplinarian in other areas.

I find it interesting how much I used to know about discipline before I had kids. We were talking to Phil's nephew, Jeff, and his wife, Shauni, the other night. Shauni is due to have their first child in just a few weeks. Jeff was talking about all the books they had read about sleep schedules and discipline and what they plan to do with their own baby. I had to smile to myself--not in ridicule but in recognition. I was once one of those "parent by the book" people. I still am, to some extent, but I also recognize that kids come preprogrammed, and their program doesn't always match "the book." Books can be helpful, but most of the time you just have to wade through the muck and find your own way. And let me tell you--when you become a parent, you have to deal with plenty of muck (and poop and urine and vomit and attitude and messy rooms and skinned knees and......).

But as Dalene said about Lorien's garden, the secret to a good crop is plenty of crap (see The Lo Down, "Harvest Plenty" blog). If that's true, I'm gonna have an awesome harvest when these boys grow up! Anyone have a spare pair of Wellingtons? Time to go wading....

Would You Rather Be Right or Be Happy???

I have a nine-year-old son. Some would say that's all that need be said, but I feel the need to expound. He has developed this habit of contradicting anything and everything that his younger brother says. If S-- says that the sky is blue, A-- will say, "Well, actually it's not blue. At least it's not always blue. It's blue most of the time, but not all the time. So it's not actually blue but ......," and it goes on and on and on.

Each night at dinner, we have to listen to A-- argue every word that comes from S--'s mouth. Sometimes he argues with me or his dad. When Phil has had enough, he will stop A-- and lecture him on the need for this arguing to stop. Inevitably, A-- insists that he has only one more thing to say, but it's always the same point he's been arguing for the last ten minutes. (I find it funny, though, when he makes statements, presented as factual of course, that are completely wrong.) He seems to have this intense need to be right about everything.

I understand exactly what my son is doing because I remember doing it myself. I have always had this intense need for accuracy. I don't like ambeguities or inaccuracies. I used to interrupt stories being told if the person telling the tale left out or twisted what I felt was an important detail. It's a bad habit that I've worked on for years. I finally came to realize that my "perceptions" of the truth may not be the truth for someone else.

A few years ago, a very wise friend asked my husband a question that has become a catch phrase for us: "Would you rather be right or would you rather be happy?" Yes, you might be absolutely correct about something, but is it more important to establish your position when it will cause contention and anger or is it more important to create peace and happiness? It's all about picking your battles.

Poopin' Is Cool!

At least that's what it says on the pen I got from some website called ColonBlow.com. (The pen even has one of those yellow smiley faces on it. Does this mean that I should smile every time I go to the bathroom?) I heard about ColonBlow from someone in book club and just had to check it out. I thought, "No way could this be real!" I have one word for you: WAY. They claim that there are up to 10 undigested meals residing in your intestines at any given time. How gross is that?!?! The make their money off of health-conscious folks who feel that a regular, internal housecleaning of sorts is a good thing. A word of warning if you decide to check it out: there are pretty disgusting pictures of actual poop.

So I'm wondering what the fascination is with fecal material? My good friend Lorien had a rather "hands-on" experience with it recently that she so kindly shared on her blog. A comment on that blog mentions a child who grabbed a handful out of his diaper and decided to take a bite. Other children have decided that poop makes great fingerpaints for the walls of their room. One of my former neighbor's kids took a bite out of a dog jobbie that he found on the grass. I've had personal experience cleaning poop out of the bathtub when one of the boys suddenly got the urge during tubby time.

And then there's the story my sister's friend and fellow R.N., Terry, tells of a patient she had once. (Hold on to your shorts, folks, this is a good one.) The lady was old and senile and was convinced that she was pregnant. Every time she had a bowel movement, she'd wrap it up in toilet paper and hide it in her room somewhere. These bits of shit were her "babies" and she would become distraught if anyone took them and threw them away. One day Terry was taking care of her and trying to secret these little bundles into the trash can. She was pretty thorough in her gathering attempts, but she could still smell poop. She bathed the lady, changed the sheets, and did everything she could think of but the smell wouldn't disappear. Terry had her coworkers check her over to see if she had somehow gotten a stray smear on her, but they saw nothing. When she got home and could still smell it, she had her husband check her over again, unsuccessfully. Finally, she decided she'd better shower. When she went to take off her uniform, she discovered something in her shirt pocket. You guessed it: the old lady had tucked one of her "babies" safely inside.

Anyone want some Exlax?

That's Nutrition!

Guess what my 22-month-old chose for his lunch today? A small piece of bread, some Honey Grahams cereal, and a handful of Reese's Pieces. Hmmmmm. Sounds close enough to a peanut butter and honey sandwich for me. He ate it, too. I felt like I stepped directly out of the Bill Cosby routine where he gives his kids chocolate cake for breakfast: "Hmmm, eggs, flour, milk...that's nutrution!" Sure--bread, peanut butter in the candy, and honey from the cereal--it works. I doubt my husband would agree with my logic.

I hate making lunch for my kids. There--I've said it. I, a stay-at-home mom, go against all conventional images of mom's who choose to be at home and state my position on the mid-day meal. I guess most of it stems from the fact that my three sons won't all eat the same thing, but I think some of it comes from my lack of confidence as a nutritionist. All moms obsess about food with their first child. You know how it is: no cereal until 4 months, start with vegetables and then go to fruit, no milk products until 1, then no orange juice or peanut butter until 2, restrict juice intake, and so on and so on. You'll jump through any hoop to ensure that your child will be as strong and healthy as possible--no early onset of heart disease or diabetes.

I followed "the books" religiously with my first son. He was pretty picky for a while, but he's now nine and will eat most anything I fix. He still has his dislikes, and I try to respect them within reason. My second son got pretty much the same feeding program as the first, with a few exceptions. (Is it normal/healthy to allow your 15-month-old to eat an entire jar of green olives all by himself?) He turned out to be an incredibly picky eater. I don't know how he does it, but the kid survives on cereal, chocolate milk (Ovaltine) and fruit snacks--literally. He'll occasionally throw in a ham sandwich, some baby carrots, and some applesauce, but that's it. I worry that his skinny little body isn't getting what it needs, but he's still growing taller and taller.

So given that my other two sons have thrived in spite of my efforts, it's no wonder that when son number three came along I started to not care. Not that I gave him uncut grapes at 6 months or anything, but I didn't have a heart attack if he took a bite of my peanut butter toast. In fact, he'll be two in October and is the only one of my three boys who LIKES nuts! I wouldn't have know this except that my RN sister, who should know better, has been feeding him nuts at her house and proudly announced to me that Tommy likes them.

Knowing that my kids seem to be healthy regardless what I feed them or what they eat when I'm not there, it seems almost pointless to make lunch a big deal. You want chocolate chip cookies with milk for breakfast? Sure, honey. How about some ice cream on your waffles?