Unfortunate Sequence of Events

Today was "one of those days."

I feel like I am the captain of a team that is 0 for 50 and each loss is by only one point. ONE tiny point! Somehow it is harder to lose by one point than to lose by 75 because, let's be real, losing by a lot means you were never in the ball park to begin with. Losing by only one means you just couldn't get your act together and go the distance. Very disheartening. You can smell the sweet aroma of victory but you're not going to get the feast.

And when the other team hoots and hollers after their mere margin of victory...well, you want to go over and duct tape them to the wall, take away all their toys and then climb in bed with a good book.

Here's the play-by-play:

I heard the captain of the "other" team opening the cereal box and leave it on the table. Before I could put up a block, the co-captain threw a hail-Mary and dumped the contents on the floor. Then the third member of the team snuck in for the extra point and stepped all over the Kix, doing the obnoxious victory dance.

Score one for the other team!
Zero for me!

I was a day late and a dollar short. Behind the 8 ball. Running to stand still.

Jay is trying to convince me that it isn't about the battles. It is about the war. So, it is with that little nugget of rubbish that I took the other team to the library and to Costco. Bound and determined to win one of the battles today.

Nineteen books and three kids excited about one day being literate...Score!!! I win at the library!

But......

They won in Costco. (Ask me later how loudly Kai's screeching can reverberate off the warehouse walls. I'm not prepared to talk about it. But suffice it to say...it's like the Swiss Alps in that place!)

So now the teams are all tied up.

Back on home turf I was ready for battle.....

Kai was thirsty (who wouldn't be after the opera he performed at Costco?) and I couldn't find his sippy cup. This isn't unusual, I found it in Jay's toilet yesterday. So I fill up another and go about the dinnertime routine.

I preheat the oven and head outside to start the grill and poke around the yard. I return to the kitchen and smell a funny aroma. I take note of this and head off to put the burgers on the grill and poke around the yard a little more.

Upon entering the house the funny aroma had given way to full-on noxious fumes and the smoke was stinging my eyes. I rush to the oven (preheated to 450 degrees, of course) and discover......

The missing sippy cup.
Kai found a new hiding place

Final Score: Me - 1
Other Team - 4,253,967

It wasn't anywhere close!
There is some consolation in that.

Poetry

I am NOT a poet.

If truth be told, I don't even like poetry.

The only poetry I've read is what was forced on me in high school and a college lit class. And it was torture. Like, poke your eyes with toothpicks to stay awake, or gag myself with my mechanical pencil with all the lovey-dovey, tortured soul poet stuff, kind of torture.

Robert Frost is not my friend and I'm not inspired by Emily Bronte or the like. However, give me a great Dr. Seuss book and I'm good to go. (I don't call his work poetry out of principle.)

Call me simple minded, that's okay.

I've never written a single poem in my life. So when I sat down to write my little "Ode to the Soda Can" a while back I wasn't thinking of poetry. I was thinking of Dr. Seuss and how to complain about my husband without sounding like a nagging, bitter housewife who is airing her dirty laundry on the information super-highway!

So it is in that vein that I write about our beloved middle child and his problem with socks. Yes, socks.

A wee tiny babe with bright orange hair
A mother's delight that made others to stare.

You've had stitches and super-glue
To mend your deep wounds
And you only eat food with self-titled "Owen spoons."

Angelic and peaceful you seem to appear
But under the smile is a sinister sneer.

You have a dirty secret,
An obsession so great
That rehab and hypnosis would be needed to break.

You refuse to eat bread or things of the like
A muffin, a roll, Sacrament bread...Not one bite!

But one thing you will have
And plenty, you do!
Socks! Socks! and more Socks!
A strange passion....who knew?

You love them, its true
You've made that apparent.
But why can't you listen to me?
I AM YOUR PARENT!!!

Put them, oh, put them, oh
PUT THEM AWAY!
I'm tired of just finding one dirty lost stray.

It must be genetic 'cause it is no joke.
You're just like your Dad and his wandering Coke.

You leave them on driveways and porches and grass
On counters and tables and in the gross trash.

My room and your room and Kai's room and Drew's
It would be nicer if you could just choose!

I've given you baskets and buckets and bins
Containers and cubbies to keep your socks in.

Old Navy and Target and Wal-Mart we go
In search of accoutrement's to cover your toe.

I've spent my life's savings (which wasn't that much)
To feed your obsession- Your 3 year old's crutch.

You've lost your inheritance. It pains me to know
That one day you'll ask me,
"Mama, where did it go?"

I'll answer sincerely, no sarcasm here.
(Well, maybe a little wee motherly jeer.)

"Look down and you'll find it! It's not hard to see."
My boy, you are wearing it so....

DO NOT BLAME ME!!!"

Another Fave Quote

And its only 8:30!!!

Drew yells from the toy room:
(Sometimes it is nice that he is a tattle tale.)

"MaaaaaaMaaaaaaa.......... Kai is putting some of Daddy's things in the toilet!"

So, I rescue said items.
I decide to lock the bathroom door.
Something had to be done,
I've fished Kai himself out of the toilet several times in the past week.


But I have a small confession....
Maybe I giggled, just a little bit, when I retrieved Jay's things from the toilet.
He'll never know what things they were.
I won't tell him.
Everyone needs an element of danger and "living on the edge" in their life, right?

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.