Fave Quote of the Day

Captain Owen says (through giant tears and choking sobs):
"MAMA, YOU ARE RUINING MY HEART!"

Mama says (with great concern and compassion):
"Why, sweet boy?"

Captain Owen (with great emphasis):
"BECAUSE YOU WON'T DO WHAT I SAY!!!"

Mama says:
"Three words for you.....

Pot.

Kettle.

Black."

A Little Love Letter

Dear Husband:

Oh, how I love you so!!

I love your thick and meaty hands.
I love that you dream with me about future home plans.

I love that you make homemade ice cream.
And that together we make a good team.

I love that you work so hard
Carefully sculpting and manicuring our big giant yard.

But with every love story there has to be this,
There has to be something to banish our bliss.

There is something I just cannot stand.
If you try real hard, you'll understand...

I DO NOT love your soda cans!!!!!!!

I do not love them here:

or there:

I do not love them ANYWHERE!!!

I find them in the sink and car.
It's like our house is a soda bar.

Please don't think my feelings are rash....
But I rarely find soda cans in the trash!!!!

Our baby hunts them high and low.
The caffeine drug, he shouldn't know.

So consider this your final strike.
I've banished soda day and night.

You will not find them here:

Or there:

You won't find soda ANYWHERE.

I love you still
It's for the best.
'Cause I want our marriage to stand the test!

So its me or the cans,
One has to go.

I've spoken my peace
And now you know!

The Engineer

I have a superhero of my very own... Captain Owen. I'm in possession of an astronaut-in-training named Kai. Jay is my partner-in-crime and right (and left) hand man.

Now I'd like to introduce the world to my little engineer.....Drew.

He "reads" books about inventions that are meant for boys twice his age. But no matter, he pours over his books devouring the pictures and stories about how plastic came to be or that the first dentures were held in place by painful springs. He sits transfixed.

This is a boy who likes Discovery Channel and Animal Planet and feels that "Dora" and "Diego" are beneath him. Quite frankly, I agree. I mean, what 5 year old knows practically every fish in the Gulf of Mexico by sight AND the food value of said fish? My little engineer, that's who.

Drew's process of play is procedural. Every person, object or toy has a reason and an order of events which they must follow. When other children are throwing caution to the wind, Drew is calculating where the wind is coming from and how that might affect his intricately assembled ship made out of found objects.

He isn't prone to sudden outbursts of love and affection or unplanned displays of childhood abandon. When I get an unsolicited, "I love you, Mom" I cherish the moment because one might not come for a little while.

He is gangly and awkward with a snaggly, bucked-tooth grin. (Which I take no credit for. Jay is the one that muddied up that gene pool.)

He has hair so thick that it repels water and limbs so long that he trips over his own shadow. After he lands in a heap and pauses a minute to contemplate the forces of nature that sent him tumbling to the ground, he gets up resembling a baby giraffe trying to figure out what to do with all that yardage of limbs.

I could run in front of the TV waving buckets of candy, blasting a bugle and twirling fire batons, and Drew would not even notice. He can concentrate better than anyone I've ever known.

He's in a tough spot. He isn't a precocious redhead like Owen or an adorable, squishy baby like Kai. But he has a brilliant mind and a tender heart.

I hope I don't ruin him. I hope that I can understand him enough to be a good parent to him. I hope I can help him to dream big. And I hope I can instill in him a confidence to follow whatever dreams he dreams up.

For now, his dreams are manifested with his Lego's and pipe cleaners and army men. Pretty brilliant, if you ask me.....an unbiased and completely impartial observer. Right?

He was missing a hanger....so he engineered his own.

Drew's battlefield.
Mr. Potato Head is surrounded.

Everything is very precise and orderly.
And Ms. Corn is a goner.

It was pipe cleaner day and he made me a bracelet of "gems."
And spectacles for himself.
We were very bored.

Fear and Trembling

What can I say about being a mom?

It is hard.
It is exhausting.
It is thrilling.
It is unpredictable.

And it is also scary.

Sometimes very scary.

There are a million things that could go wrong with these wonderful little beings that are entrusted to my care. There are germs and viruses and accidents and ticks.

Kai had a tiny little deer tick on his arm that may or may not carry Lyme disease. Such a tiny little thing carries such uncertainty. (I'm referring to the tick as Kai isn't tiny!)

"May or May Not." I hate that phrase. All it really means is that you sit around sweating bullets and crossing your fingers while some dread disease could be percolating in your child. And just when you are convinced that you are in the winner's circle, you start to wonder....maybe not.

All I can say is DON'T look on the Internet. It is an evil device that seeks to destroy your sanity and make you worry and wonder about a simple paper cut that may or may not, eventually, some day, possibly lead to gangrene and the amputation of your finger. All because some man in eastern Mongolia actually had it happen to him. It may or may not happen to you so perhaps paper should be banned. And while you're at it, remove all the pencils from your home because lead is a serious danger!

I like absolutes. And nothing about being a mom is absolute except for the fact that I love them even when they toot in church and embarrass me in the grocery store. What mom doesn't have an embarrassing grocery store moment....or two....or ten? It's a rite of passage.

I don't live in fear every day. In fact, most days I don't think of it at all. Usually I am the one slaying fire breathing dragons with a single death stare and banishing the boogie man under the bed with a magic night light...or two.

But some days I want to construct a Spencer family bunker and haul all sorts of necessities in it (like a TV and DVD player) and gather Jay, Drew, Owen and Kai in our protective nest and stay there for a long time; blissfully impervious to danger and doom (and ticks).

But then I realize that I'd be couped up in extremely close quarters with 3 rowdy boys and 1 restless husband. That certainly isn't safe. Not for my mental sanity or the boys' necks that I'm sure I'd want to wring.

There is no easy answer. I'm discovering that some days are just days where you wish with all the energy you have left, that time would freeze and boys wouldn't grow up and seek after the danger you so desperately tried to shield them from.

Then there are days and weeks that can't go fast enough until those same boys can learn to do it on their own while you sit back and admire your parental handiwork.

That is, assuming I can last that long and still have the mental faculties to enjoy it!

Trip to Washington DC Temple
July 3rd

Mangrove Seed

I LOVE the beach!

I ate only minimal amounts of sand and shells and didn't get carried away by the manatees and dolphins that were swimming in front of us!

I got lots of attention from some nice ladies on the balcony that confessed that they enjoyed watching me play every day. They said it has been a "real joy and pleasure." Who knew that being a celebrity would be this great?

I discovered a mangrove seed washed up on the beach. Actually seeing anything below my considerable girth is an accomplishment! I had a very good time figuring out what to do with the funny looking thing.

Perhaps I shall conduct a symphony...

Do a little taste testing...

Maybe play a little "Yankee Doodle" on my recorder...

Perfect my Sherlock Holmes impression...

When in doubt, it is always a good idea to stick whatever you can inside your belly-button.

p.s. I heard Mama say that she didn't really want to publish these pictures of me because she can't figure out how to edit them to make them look better. Apparently, Photoshop is NOT her friend and she's ready to give up on the whole post-production side of photography. That being said....I think I look downright dashing and adorable, even if the exposures aren't exactly right! I'm only one year old, I don't need editing!!!

Kai's Odyssey

I endured the drive to the beach with grace and dignity and unsurpassed patience and maturity......I thought. After all, I was strapped into a seat with a 5-point harness like you might find on the space shuttle. Only this seat wasn't inside a rocket that propels you into outer-space with the force of 3 G's. THAT would've been cool.

Instead, my seat was strapped into a gray Honda Odyssey that I bet was only being driven at 75 mph. Not nearly fast enough to fulfill my need for speed.

The trip started off without a hitch. I enjoyed the beautiful Virginia countryside for about the first hour. I was a Saint! Nice and quiet and amenable. And then, long about Fredericksburg, it got pretty monotonous and mighty boring.

So I did what any other self-respecting one-year-old would do. I threw my sippy cup on the floor.....152 times! Boy, that was a fun game!!! Uncle Dane really seemed to be enjoying his part, too. Time after time he retrieved my cup and said the same thing, "Stop throwing your cup down, little man! I'm not going to pick it up again!" He's a good Uncle. I really thought that he would quit our game a lot earlier than he did.

When that game was done, I decided to play "Throw My Blanket to the Ground and See How Many Times Uncle Dane will Retrieve it."

I could play that game all day long! But shortly after I began the van stopped.

"FINALLY! We must be at the beach," I thought.

Mama got out and unbuckled Owen and away they went to go to the potty and get gas. She didn't get me out! She just left me in there, strapped in my seat with nothing to do and no beach anywhere in sight.

I was left with no choice.

No more mister nice guy!!!! I tried playing fun games like the sippy cup/blanket gravity game with Uncle Dane. I tried eating the endless amounts of goldfish and crackers Mama had squirreled away in her bag. (I even got 25% of them in my mouth with the other percentage going in my seat and on the floor.) Nevertheless, I was at the end of my rope.

I didn't want to do it, but Mama gave me no choice.

I resorted to screaming. I just opened my mouth as wide as it would go and let loose a squeal to end all squeals. Surely they would get the point that I was DONE with this restricting seat and slow-as-molasses vehicle.

But they didn't get it. We got more gas, visited more restrooms and even stopped at a rest stop. Still, they kept driving and I kept screaming.

I heard Uncle Dane mumble something about burst eardrums, ear plugs and worrying if his hearing would ever be the same.

Mama mentioned something about crazy little boys and the legal ramifications of strapping a carseat to the top of the van with a screeching pterodactyl still belted in.

After 2 days, just when I thought I couldn't take it any more...

We arrived at the beach and I got to explore and enjoy the wonder of the beach for an entire week. I used that time to rest up and recoup in preparation for our drive home with Grandma.

I wonder....will she like the sippy cup/blanket gravity game as much as Uncle Dane?

Drunken Sailor

Our vacation didn’t start out as planned. In fact, all the planning and plotting and anticipating didn’t prepare me for how our beloved family trip to Englewood, FL began.

As is typical of our trips to the beach, our preparations are mainly mental. We’re like seniors gearing up for the final football game of our high school careers. Jay talks about the fish that he’ll reel in and if there will be any more curious barracudas. I ramble on and on about romantic walks on the beach and yummy fresh caught fish for dinner. Will the water be blue and clear or hazy and green this year? How will Kai like the sand and the waves? Will the boys like to hunt for fiddler crabs in the sand?

The reminiscing of previous years and the anticipation of new memories made are part and parcel of the pilgrimage our family makes to the Gulf of Mexico. Gearing ourselves up in advance of the actual trip is part of the fun.

So, when Jay came home from work just a few short weeks before our vacation and told me that he couldn’t go because of work (something about a very import bid for a very important government job)….I lost it.

After the tears of sadness ceased their flow, the tides of anger came in and overwhelmed me with a fury.

I lashed out at anyone that I felt was responsible for ruining our trip. I started blaming Jay’s boss for decreeing that no employee was allowed to go anywhere in June. And I’m not going to lie. I used some “choice” words.

Bad words.

Really bad words to describe how I felt about the evil boss and his bleepety declarations and where he could stick this potential government job and where he could carry this blankety company to in a neat little hand basket , FOR ALL I CARE!!!

So prolific were my naughty words that I think I surprised even myself. I would’ve made a drunken sailor blush.

Once my tirade about some poor faceless man (who was just trying to do his job) was done I moved on to cursing the “real” reason my family wouldn’t be together on our beloved vacation. The root of the evil could certainly be traced to one person. I knew it in my heart of hearts.

President Obama.

If he hadn’t placed such silly restrictions on the allocation of stimulus money than the Department of Defense would not have changed the date of the bid for which Jay was a part of and blah…blah…blah….

In my defense, I must’ve gone mad. Perhaps I snapped. For I truly believed and had strong feelings of hatred towards the men that I believed took Jay away from the vacation that he so desperately needed and deserved.

After a few days of cussing the President out, I finally had my emotions under control enough to talk to my Mom about Jay missing our trip. I had actually gone a few days without talking to her because I didn’t want to sob uncontrollably in her ear or unleash another round of insults using objectionable and unladylike language. After all, my Mom raised me to be a lady and I didn’t want her to feel like she had failed!!!

As is typical of my Mom, she mobilized the troops, formulated a plan and put the pedal to the medal in record time. Uncle Dane came to my rescue and gave up a leisurely flight to the beach to endure 2 full days in the car with 2 restless boys and one howling, screeching, opinionated 1 year old. (I wonder where he gets it?)

So that is how my vacation started.

As I think back at all the bad words I said and the odious feelings I had towards people whom I’ve never met, I am searching deep inside for even the tiniest feeling of remorse or guilt at having such dark thoughts.

I’m searching….and searching…Is that a shred of regret I feel deep down inside?

NOPE!!! More photos soon.

Politics; Warning - Some Facts May Actually Be Opinion

In the absence of a leader that truly speaks my language and understands the struggles of the average stay-at-home mom, I am entering the realm of politics. I’ve decided to run for the office of….

Mother of the Year

Being as it is the early stages of my campaign, I am still in the process of fine-tuning my platform and what I stand for. After all, politicians don’t really have to stand for anything, right? At least not anything right.

So, please forgive me if there are some missteps and miscalculations in the beginning. I promise to work really hard to figure out what I stand for as the campaign goes along. I’m flexible on many issues.

I will work with the media to figure out what works best so I can get elected.

But as we all know, I can change my mind after I’m in office. It is all about “change” anyway!

I believe in:

No Shirt, No Shoes, NO PROBLEM

I didn’t grow up wearing shoes in the summer. My siblings and I ran around like little native children with nothing protecting our feet. My brothers only wore shirts when we went places and as soon as we got home, the shirts were off again.

As Mother of the Year, I will not require my children to wear shoes at home. I firmly believe that going barefoot strengthens a child’s ability to be one with nature. Calluses are good. They build character. And nothing is wrong with a little dirt.

Shirts are optional as well. (As long as you are of the male persuasion.) I do have my scruples!

Sometimes it is okay to have cookies before breakfast.

After all, most cereals have as much sugar as 10 cookies so it isn’t really that bad.
Kai spotted some cookies on our counter while I was getting his oatmeal prepared. Nothing would deter him from those cookies so I caved in. Despite my sparkly smile and rousing motivational speeches I am still only human.
*Now comes the confession and transparent apology...

I admit it; I am a sucker for chubby cheeks and toothy grins. Besides, he is the biggest donor to my campaign. He gets special perks!
*Was there actually an apology in there?

All Are Entitled to a Healthy Home

I have put into place many laws designed to protect our community and the health and well being of my constituents. One such law is that of hand washing after using the facilities. I require the use of anti-bacterial soap and vigorous scrubbing at the sink.

However, it is not in the budget to hire more law enforcement officers i.e. a nanny. (A casualty of the downturn in our economy.) Therefore, this law is often only enforced when we are in public restrooms.

If the law is broken in our own home, the offender often goes undetected and I happily revel in my ignorance. If caught, Offenders generally receive a stern look but no real hard time.

Hard time is reserved for grievous offenses like hitting or back talking. Offenders are imprisoned in their rooms where often times they have all the conveniences of home like a comfy bed, books, various toys and other items that make the “hard time” really not that hard.

Ummm, ahh, …..maybe I’ll need to consult with my advisers about this. I’ll have to return to this policy at a later date. Besides, my teleprompter isn't working correctly.

Economic Extravagance for NONE

My stimulus package is quite different from my competitors. You will not see fancy new video games being purchased or the latest and greatest gadgets littering our toy room. (Although if any of you would like to contribute a Wii to my campaign coffer, I would not complain. In fact, I would do my best to carry out some of your wishes once elected. You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours! But let’s just keep that bit of business between the two of us.)

We don’t have many toys or the fanciest new-fandangled gizmos. I believe in simple toys that have multiple uses. Having very few toys requires that children use their imaginations…..like the good old days….before the computer. See, aren’t I very progressive, forward-thinking and in tune with the common, average everyday American? (Once again, don’t forget about the Wii. I can be very discreet.)

Please stay tuned for more information regarding my bid for 2009’s Mother of The Year seat. Also appearing soon will be applicable and heart-warming photos to get you to vote for me at the polls. And remember one of my slogans is….

BECAUSE I SAID SO!!!

The Astronaut

Oh, my little astronaut-in-training.

The rocket boosters that NASA wanted back are still firmly affixed to Kai's stubby little feet. I fear that he has no plans to return them any time soon. So, in the absence of my own set of rocket boosters, I am forced to dash from one place to the next, yanking tiny Lego's and other hazardous choking toys (left out by 2 older brothers which shall remain nameless) from Kai's 8 toothed mouth.

On a recent trip to the pediatrician, our new doctor asked some routine questions about Kai. As he squiggled and squirmed in my arms, she asked, "Does he walk along furniture or try to take steps independently?"

I looked at her with a hint of annoyance (I'd been in that tiny little examining room waiting with 3 hungry boys for 15 minutes), and set Kai down on his rocket boosters. He quickly ran to the trash can he had been eyeballing and proceeded to rummage around. (Don't worry, it wasn't the red hazardous waste container!)

After more obvious questions and several shots, we were finally out of the office armed with the knowledge that Kai is a big boy. 80th percentile for height and 70th percentile for weight. If NASA won't take him maybe the NFL will!

So here are a few pics of Kai's recent happenings.

I let Uncle Dane do the chasing for a while. He did an excellent job!

Kai is learning to eat all by himself with a fancy baby spoon.

It is more hassle than it's worth!
This is good manners in some countries....right?

No shame!
Kai raking leaf.
Truly, just one tiny little leaf.
(He's the over-achiever of the bunch.)

Taking a break to look at a bird. Or maybe he's dreaming of the day he'll blast off into space himself. It won't be long.

Perfecting his raking technique.

Pausing one last time to admire the birds in flight before he makes a mad dash for the street.

Perspective

Today was going to be the day that I complained…..a lot. My life feels like a bad remake of the movie “Groundhog Day.” One day bleeds into another and the only thing that is different is the clothes I wear. Well, honestly, if you must know….sometimes I wear the same clothes I wore the day before. Seriously, does it matter? Who is going to know except children that have crusty oatmeal on their shirts 99% of the time? And Jay knows better than to say anything about the recurring pair of magical capris I wear that mysteriously clean themselves after a night spent on the floor of the closet.

I was going to complain about the poop that got on my leg and arm during a particularly difficult round of diaper changing with a boy that more closely resembles a greased piglet than a round-bottomed 13-month-old.

I was going to complain about the rain that has thwarted my efforts to take my nightly run for the past 2 weeks.

I was also going to lodge a complaint against little folks who insist on screaming, demanding, whining, crying and fighting while I try to have a phone conversation. I just *love* it when my 3 year old scoundrel yells in a voice that sounds like a fog horn, “MAMA! COULD YOU WIPE MY BOTTOM?” right when I’m on an important phone call. Sweet!

But as my fingers fly over the keyboard writing about the woes and ills that try to squash my spirit and suck me dry, I think of my friend. I think of her 3 young sons (one with red hair) and her awesome husband and how they’ve lost their anchor.

After a 3 day bout with the flu, she passed away.

The flu.

Not the swine flu, but the “regular” flu.

Suddenly, I feel like a brat. Faced with my own mortality and the fragile lives we all lead I realize that the “little stuff” that I turn into “big stuff” will quickly cloud my eyes from seeing the “good stuff.”

And I’ve got good stuff. REALLY good stuff. I just need to remind myself once in a while that amidst poopie pants, snotty noses, flabby thighs, and penny pinching I’ve got boys that belly laugh at an old episode of “Tom and Jerry” while cuddling with me on my bed. And I have a husband that still adores me after 10 years of me being…...me.

I’ve vowed to not ever, ever, ever say “Life isn’t fair.” Because no one is guaranteed anything. We aren’t guaranteed a long and happy life and a peaceful death in our sleep at the age of 92. We aren’t guaranteed our children will make the right choices and never be hurt or sick or sad.

But I can guarantee myself that I’ll try to drink the lemonade (that I made from the lemons life gave me) from a glass that I recognize is half-full and not half-empty. I can guarantee that I’ll try and do my best to love the life I have and not waste my energy longing for a different one. Because at the end of the day I should be grateful for the fact that I’m lucky enough to have experienced one more precious day.