Sophie's Choice or: Why My Children Will Prefer to Take the Stairs

So, I'll save you some grief for when your youngest child is no longer in a stroller. Kids are afraid of escalators. I had absolutely no idea. See I have had one, if not two, kids in strollers for the past seven years now rendering escalators impossible. And even if I were to be naughty and fold up my stroller and take the escalator the child in question was probably small enough that I carried him/her up the darn thing.

So today I had a return to make at sears (side note, never buy anything from sears.com unless you know for certain that you won't be returning it, I am 2 for 2 on nightmare return situations). So I took the three kids with me, we made our return and wound up with $15 on a gift card. I figured it would be easiest to just use it while I was already there. The kids section was on the second floor. And that, my friends was when the "shizzizzle" hit the proverbial fan.

The way it goes in our family is that Ivy and I lead the way while Bentley and Gwen fight and bicker and putter along behind us. So, proceeding in our typical fashion I had Ivy's hand and got on the escalator going up. 1.5 seconds later I realize that Gwen had made it on the escalator but Bentley was still at the bottom quivering like it was a death trap. I urge him to just step on, certainly he had done this before, right? Meanwhile Ivy and I are drifting further and further up and away from Ben.

He finally gathers his courage enough to make a move but then freaks out and tries to go back down off a stair. He's completely panicking as he realizes that he could be stuck there forever and is not getting any closer to the bottom. He starts trying to go faster and... faceplants it on the escalator. He's wailing. Absolutely wailing, but Ivy and I are approaching the exit and as I think of her trying to get off the escalator alone horrible stories from the past of people's shoelaces and hair and phalanges getting gobbled up at the top of escalators flash before my eyes.

It's a real pickle. I felt like Sophie in Sophie's Choice. I really did. I quickly made a plan of action, despite Bentley's situation looking awfully precarious, I figured I would have time to get Ivy safely to the top of the escalator and then run down and catch Bentley before he made it to the top. It was kind of a nightmare all of the sudden as I contemplated the possibility that I could lose two children to the monstrosity.

Then a nice old man (who looked at me with utmost disdain for so carelessly abandoning my son-- can't blame him) saved the day. He picked up Bentley and carried him up the escalator to me.

Whew.

So life goes on and ten minutes later we are ready to leave the store, we have to go down the escalator. Having graduated the school of elevator hard knocks I picked up Ivy and Bentley and proceeded with caution to the mighty beast. It was then that I noticed Gwen cowering and nudging her way backwards away from the escalator.

For twenty minutes we sat there at the top, trying to help Gwen muster up the courage to get on the escalator. Ivy, Ben and I went up and down ten times to try to show her that it was going to be okay. Now, I could have understood if Bentley had a little post traumatic stress but Gwen? Really. I got lots of fun looks from passersby as I gave my best motivational speech about how if she was afraid of escalators she would be stuck on the "first floor of life" for ever. She didn't care.

Finally, finally, after much bribery and much motivational speaking we finally made our triumphant return to the first floor of Sears. None the worse for the wear but having learned some valuable life lessons. Like that you should maybe not just assume that kids know how to use escalators. Or at least put them on it first. Or better yet...just take the elevator.

Chipmunk Cheeks

That was my nickname. Chipmunk Cheeks. We did a lot of things with my great aunts when I was a kid. Our Christmas traditions involved lots of great-aunt visiting. We enjoyed eating talerina with Aunt June (and getting a pair of socks with a fifty cent piece inside), then going over to enjoy Aunt Audrey's vast collection of cuckoo clocks and birds (of the real, non cuckoo variety). It was a fun childhood. Except for that they both called me "chipmunk cheeks" like all the time.

Anyway, flash forward two decades later and Bentley's favorite thing is to play "Chipmunk Cheeks" by stuffing whatever food we are eating in his cheeks before chewing and swallowing. It's endearing, and...kind of gross.

So last weekend was our family camping trip to Fountain Green. At the end of the trip my dear sister-in-law Stef offered to take Bentley for most of the next week (WOOHOO*)

The kids were exhausted when we finally got all packed up to go to our respective homes, and Stef sent me the following images of the first five minutes of their drive.

Woohoo! Riding with cousins is the best. thing. ever! (Note that poor Bentley gets lobsterfied anytime the mercury creeps past about 75 dgs, good thing we aren't in Texas anymore eh?)

A few minutes later Stef's kids had fallen asleep and Bentley looked a little...distressed. She asked what was wrong, he replied, "I'm doing schimpmuch sheiks". It took a minute to figure out that he was, indeed, doing chipmunk cheeks. But then he fell asleep.

And since he was asleep she decided to help rid him of the Chipmunk Cheeks.

And the grapes kept coming, and coming, and coming. I am not sure I know what the final count was, but I am certainly glad that the poor kid didn't choke to death!

It sure has been quiet around this house with little Bentley gone. Gwen and Ivy have been downright civil to each other. Not sure what it is with Gwen and Bentley, but they fight incessantly. But despite the peace and quiet and calmness that has presided over our home the last several days, I miss this kid! He is like a walking exclamation point and I can't wait to kiss his face off when I see him again tonight!

* I remember one time when I only had one kid someone who had two kids saying something to the effect of "well you only have one kid so you don't understand". It really bothered me. But, I have to admit in the last two months I have had the chance to only have two kids a couple of times (thanks Stef!), and it does not matter the combination of kids but in my personal experience two kids is WAY, like tremendously, extraordinarily, extremely and downright miraculously easier than having three kids. That is not to diminish anyone's one-kid or two-kid lives at all, those times were hard too. But jeepers, two kids is like a stroll in the park compared to three. But that could just be because I never really got a chance with two kids. Remember how I was pregnant with Ivy when Ben was the tender age of seven months? yeah. I am sure that three kids is a walk in the park compared to having four. Which is why I only have three :). The end.

Why I Should Not Be Your #1 Choice for Family Portraits

Oh blurgh. Twenty pictures and this is the best one I can get of my three children together? Not exactly mantle worthy.

On the bright side though, I'm starting to get the hang of taking individual shots.

PS Gwen is the only person who can hold still long enough for me to adjust my settings to take a decent picture though. Oh well : )

gaga ooh la la

Bentley is a loud guy. Not in a bad way, he's not usually whining or complaining. He's usually singing. His current favorite is "Tonight, tonight"
La, la, la whatever
La, la, la it doesn't matter
La, la, la oh well
La, la, la

Really, he knows the whole song. It's really sweet and fun, but it can get quite loud, and perhaps a little embarrassing. You never realize what song lyrics are actually saying until your innocent child starts blaring out pop music at Costco (that one was Bad Romance, by Lada Gaga, "rah rah ah ah ah roma ro ma ma gaga ooh la la). Yeah, nothing like wide eyed glares from passersby as he belts out at the top of his lungs.

Anyway the other day I had a really bad headache and he was singing in his typical boisterous way and I looked right in his eyes and said "SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh" to which he responded "why?" (usually Gwen is the shusher in this family and I try to tell her to only shush bad sounds not happy singing). I responded "sorry bud, but I have a headache" and then he said, "well, what is your headache trying to sleep or something?"

I love the things kids come up with!

Clarification

My child is NOT named after a car. I just want to clear that up. Because when Blaine clicked on an article about, and I quote, "the most despised baby names" we were a little horrified to see that Bentley was near the top of that list.

I have a thing about names. I like awesome ones. I take a great deal of deliberation when choosing them. I don't want a common name. Ivy's name was on the top 1000 (#299) when we named her and that was pushing it. But I loved it so much that I made an exception.

When I named Bentley it wasn't even in the top 1000 baby names. I practically invented using the name. Bentley was born in 2007, and the social security rating for his name in 2007 was #995 (it wasn't on the list for any year prior, ever.). But apparently there is some famous teenage mom (from one of those crazy shows that advocate teen pregnancy) that named her child Bentley and now, what do you know, for 2010 Bentley ranked #101 on the list of baby boy names. What a sham. And on top of being a now extremely popular name, people apparently hate it, because they assume people are using it because of the classy Bentley car. I kind of want to pull my hair out.

Let me tell you a brief history of my childrens names, lest you think I am a Bentley driving Gwenyth Paltrow fan whose favorite plant is Ivy (can you see the steam coming out of my ears?).

Gwen. Gwen is named after Blaines Grandma. Blaine's Grandma is absolutely the most Christlike person on the planet today. I am sure of it. So selfless, kind, caring, sweet. The salt of the Earth. If asked who I most wanted to be like on the planet, it would most certainly be Grandma Gwen. Gwen's name was 100% going to be Adilyn. Adilyn Paige. Up until the day she was born, when it just didn't feel right. And thank goodness for that. Little Adi would have been lost in a sea of Madi's, Abby's and Adi's. Dodged that bullet.

Bentley. My Grandma's maiden name was Bentley. It seemed perfect. We loved the name Ben but didn't want to use the common name of Benjamin. So one day I had an epiphany (I was in the HEB parking lot with Ralphie) to use my Grandma's maiden name. She was also a very sweet, kind, give you the shirt off her back, kind of Grandma. And bonus! We could stick with the using of the family name thing, which we never set out to do, but hey! Why not!

Ivy Jane. Now this was a hard one. We had used family names twice, but was that going to be our thing? I didn't want to commit to a trend. We stewed and stressed. My desire to name my child something unique reached an all time high. I really really loved the name Scout. I thought it would be darling for a little girl. I could not sell Scout on Blaine to save my life (much the same as Charlie with Bentley). One day on the phone I was teasing my dad, Ivan (goes by Don), that I was going to name the new baby after him and call her "Ivy". It was completely a joke. But then...I really liked it. In the hospital we had the names narrowed to Lyla Jane or Ivy Jane. We had penciled in Lyla on the certificate. Then I told Blaine I was sick of trying to figure it out, and that he was to leave and not come back until he had for sure named our new baby. He came back with tears in his eyes and said her name was Ivy Jane. He really wanted to honor my parents (Ivan and Jan). He new I wasn't the best at showing grattitude, and I really did have amazing parents. He wanted to show them how much we love and admire them by naming our daughter after them (in a round about way).

So SEE. My kid is not named after a car, nor was his name inspired by teenage pregnancy.

Now, if your kids name is popular, that's great. I love popular names too. And if you named your kid after a car, more power to you. I just didn't and I want to clarify so that if you think Bentley is a very uppity thing to name your kid you can realize...I named my Bentley after a humble old lady, who lived in a tiny house in Ogden and had a heart of gold, not a pot of it.

(PS the spacing on this post will not be fixed. I tried. Repeatedly. It's like hard wired in here. Sorry)

Fever Pitch

I've never been much of a runner. One of the many reasons I feel like a social outcast in the stay-at-home mom community. I've tried really hard to love it but I just....don't. On January 1, 2005 Blaine decided that he would run the St. George marathon that October. He wasn't much of a runner either. I sent him out on his first run with a big pat on the back and an enthusiastic "you can do anything you set your mind to Honey!!". He hobbled back heaving and ho-ing about five minutes later after having made it about half a mile.

He persisted though and his runs became longer and easier for him, until he was consistently running several miles a day. That summer we had the opportunity to live in Portland, OR (which ranks #2 on my "Places I Want to Live" list, right behind Round Rock, TX). Throughout that summer I would sporadically try to run. It usually didn't go well and would turn more in to a leisurely stroll.

Rarely did Blaine and I go running together because, well, what was the point? He would run at a much faster pace than me and he would actually, you know...run. But one day I was feeling particularly pudgy and I decided I would do my very best to go on a run with Blaine. I loaded Gwen up in the jogger and we were off.

It was sunny and warm, the scent of pine trees wafted through the air. I was at the top of my game. We started out kind of together but eventually, and you may want to sit down for this part, I got ahead of Blaine.

Now I had never actually gone running with someone and gotten ahead of them before. I am usually panting and puffing and clutching my side, urging for the sweet release of death. This feeling of leading the pack was absolutely invigorating. I found a strength deep within myself that I hadn't known existed before. I ran and I ran and I watched Blaine grow smaller and smaller in the distance. I had never felt so alive.

Now you might think that maybe Blaine wasn't trying. Oh, he was trying. I could tell. He looked how I normally looked during runs. Once we got home I went on and on about how wonderful I was, I had really shown him who was boss.

And that's when he nearly collapsed. And that is also when we took his temperature and saw that he had a 104dg fever. And then spent the night in the Emergency Room. Yeah.... that explained a lot.

And that was the last time I went running.

Zumba anyone?

Seek First to Understand

I was fortunate enough to have the opportunity of working at Franklin Covey for several months right after finishing high school. I truly loved the job. It was a typical post-high school job, I took inbound sales calls. The beautiful thing though was that my shift was from 5AM-9AM every day. Being done with work by 9AM? That was something to rejoice about. Going to bed at 8PM though...was social suicide, but that's beyond the point.

One of the perks of being an employee of Franklin Covey was getting the chance to attend lots of seminars and things that other people had to pay hundreds of dollars to attend. For all of the seminars and motivational reading material I received there's only one thing that really stuck with me, "seek first to understand and then to be understood." I think that's one of the seven values of highly effective people, or something like that.

Even through my numbskull teenage head that phrase seemed profound. I made a concerted effort to apply it in to my daily life, and it's been my go-to wedding shower advice for nearly a decade.

It served me well when we were first married and Blaine was really really late getting home from work and I was worried (and we shared a cell phone - the horror! - so I had no way of contacting him). I was borderline call-the-police worried when he finally walked in the door. It's funny how as soon as you know the person you were worried about is safe that worry can turn in to anger real quick. Turns out he had stopped to help someone (or given someone a ride home and then stopped to help someone, something very selfless and kind), and I was sorry that I hadn't sought first to understand before I verbally assaulted him once he finally came in the door.

Anyway, I think it is a wonderful motto, seek first to understand and then to be understood.

Blaine just got home last night from a four day trip to Boston. A lot of yelling rang through the halls of our home while he was gone. Turns out single parenthood is emotionally taxing. And for some reason, completely beyond my scope of comprehension, I decided that while Blaine was gone would be a good time to dejunk Gwen and Bentley's room. After a very tiring day of sorting, cleaning, and dejunking I got to the last drawer of Gwen's dresser. And it that drawer, I found this...


*shudder*. What the WHAT? My mind raced thinking of how I had one time found an entire measuring cup full of sugar in her closet, all the candy wrappers I had found behind her bed, all the distrust she has earned recently. I assumed it was probably a hunk of cheese she had squirreled away to eat after bedtime and then forgotten about.

I took a breather, before berating her about sneaking food I decided to just try to seek first to understand. I asked her what it was.

Her response? "Your Mothers Day present!"

Boy did I feel loved. But then she continued, "remember a few weeks ago when we had pineapple with *salt on it and you wanted another piece but it was gone? I saved a piece for you to give to you for mothers day!".

Ahhhhh. See! Good thing I hadn't yelled at her, right? It was a sweet gift. I mean certainly what I want most of all for Mothers Day is for my kids to stop fighting for even just ten minutes, but a very close second is a moldy piece of pineapple that had been squirreled away with utmost care, remember it truly is all about the little things.

Happy Mothers Day, may you receive gifts as thoughtful (though hopefully not as smelly) as mine!


*Am I the only person who salts my pineapple, my husband and children think I am a such a freak show, but it is so much better that way!