On having 9 AM church...

There was a time in my life that I didn't really care what time church started.

Then I had a baby.

At that time, church started at 1:00 pm. For the first few months (maybe it was only weeks?) it was great. We could sleep in, leisurely eat breakfast and get ourselves ready. At church, Thomas would sleep in our arms or the car seat. Life was good. Then he started not sleeping in our arms or the car seat. Life (at church, anyway) became very complicated. Seasoned parents all around is said, "Ohhhh...1:00 church is really hard on the little guys. 9:00 AM is SO much better!". I was excited to finally experience the wonderment of 9 AM church.

Then we moved.

And guess what?

Our new church started at 1:00 pm.

After another year of enduring a cranky, nap-deprived child at 1:00 church, it was finally our turn for the coveted 9 AM time slot.

And guess what?

I've had nearly a year of 9 AM church....and I still don't think it's any better. Granted, I now have a baby that takes morning naps and (obviously) cannot take her morning nap very well on Sunday. If it were just Thomas, we'd be spreading the good news about how wonderful 9 AM church is.

Truth be told, there probably never is a good time for church when you have a napping child. Church is always going to interfere with someone's nap, whether it's your child, or the child that is antagonizing your child in nursery because they are sleep-deprived. Somebody is going to get the short end of the stick. If you have a baby that no longer naps peacefully in your arms or in the car seat, you will probably spend a good deal of church pacing the hallways, so as to limit the amount of noise your fussy child will inflict upon other churchgoers.

When my mom was a young mom, she was once out in the foyer with my oldest brother (he was barely one year old) and my sister (she was a newborn) and a man asked her, "Why do even bother coming to church when you end up sitting out here for most of it?". This upset my mom so much, she vowed right then and there to never let any excuse keep her from attending church - even if it meant spending the majority of it out in the hall with her children.

I thought about this every Sunday when Thomas was a baby, as I walked the halls with him in my arms. I think about it now when I walk with Abigail.

Did I get to sit through an entire class at all today? Nope. But I did make it to the last 5 minutes of Sunday school. I might have missed the entire lesson, but I did deduce that the class had been discussing the Book of James. I left the class thinking, "Hmmm...I should really study James when I get home". I would have missed out on that inspiration if I had chosen to just stay home today.

After Sunday school, I ended up back in the hall again with Abby. I saw her point at a picture of Jesus on the wall and smile. Shortly after, we went to pick up Thomas from nursery and he came running to me with a picture in his hand And said, "It's Jesus, Mommy!"

This is why I go to church. Never mind that Kenta was sick today and I had the kids by myself and we had three epic cheerio spills all over the pew and aisle within the span of about 30 seconds. I was where I needed to be. And even though Kenta was sick, he was super helpful getting the kids ready......even if he didn't exactly know how a cardigan is supposed to be worn. And Thomas looked dapper, as usual, because his daddy always ties his ties with the utmost care:
I thought we'd try and get a group shot, but things got out of hand(don't know what's with the creepy baby cataracts...maybe my lens is dirty?)
really quickly
Maybe next Sunday?

Tough decisions

After an epic battle between Thomas and I over sitting on the potty, I was trying to decide whether or not to a) skip Thomas's nap so he would go poop in the potty or b) take a risk and put Thomas down without him pooping first. (sorry about the poop talk - if you've potty trained a kid, you know it can be a huge obstacle in pt-ing, if you haven't potty trained a kid....just you wait! MWHAHAHAHAHA). Anyway, I couldn't make up my mind what I wanted to do because what I REALLY wanted him to do was just go poop in the dang potty, but obviously, I couldn't force that. So while I was stewing in the kitchen and Thomas was stewing in the living room, I noticed that it had become eerily quiet from his end of the house. Uh, oh. Alarm bells were ringing. Silent children are never up to any good. I dropped what I was doing and ran into the living room and this is what I found:

I immediately forgot how frustrated I was with him and remembered the last time Thomas fell asleep like this:

Thomas, July 2010

Coincidentally, this also occurred after a tantrum.

So, thank you to my adorable son for making a tough decision easier for me today by making the decision himself.

That said, my fingers, toes, and eyes are crossed that I won't find any unpleasant surprises in his bed when he wakes up.

It's only taken him 8 months...

...but Thomas has FINALLY figured out how to get his little digits properly arranged in response to the oft asked question, "How old are you?"



It seems like a very small accomplishment, but we're all about celebrating the little things around here. We've endured months and months and months of guiding his little fingers into their proper position...only to have him let his thumb go loose and straighten out his ring finger and pinky. It always looked like he was telling people he was five years old (instead of two).



His little fingers are getting tired of me trying to take a good picture.

To save ourselves the trouble of having to explain that Thomas really isn't five (or two, since we FINALLY got that one figured out), we've been thinking ahead to the next birthday:



You'd think he'd be happy to mug for the cameras and show off his new skillz. Ha! Do something that I request him to do? NEVER! Luckily, I'm not opposed to marshmallow bribes.

I might have stuffed this in his mouth while he was throwing a fit. Also, please enjoy the sticker that he had Kenta tape to his left hand.

I suppose I'd be a little resistant, too, if my mom kept letting the flash go off in my face.

Conversations with Thomas

This morning while I was getting the kids dressed, I paused what I was doing to rub my eyes a bit (you'd rub your eyes a lot too, if your baby was waking up at 5:00 a.m.). Apparently this concerned Thomas and the following conversation ensued:

T - Mommy, are you sad?

K - Nope. Just rubbing my eyes.

T - Are you happy?

K - Yes, I am. Are you happy?

T - Yeah!

K - Why are you happy?

T-Because I'm not sad!

Ahhhh....the joys of a simple life. To need nothing more than the absence of sadness to declare oneself to be happy! No wonder Christ told us to become more like little children.

It was a good weekend

I know it's been a few days, but in case you haven't heard, we beat Texas again. It was a happy day here en la casa de Hood. This was Abby's first OU/TX. She may not have been "Sooner born" but she is definitely "Sooner bred":

If her onesie looks familiar, it might be because Thomas wore it two years ago (when the Sooners, unfortunately, did not fare as well):

Yay for awesome hand-me-downs....and BOOMER SOONER!!!!!

Neglect

Three years ago, I would have wept at this sight.

In case you can't see what is so gut-wrenching: there, my friends, lies not one, but TWO broken harps strings. I'm not even going to out myself by mentioning how long they have been this way.

In my BC life (or "Before Children" life) these strings would have most likely broken while I was a) practicing or b) getting ready to practice. The broken strings would then have been promptly replaced, and a record of it would have been kept in my "string replacement journal" (yeah - I used to keep track of which strings would break, so I knew which ones were needing replacement most often so I could always have spares handy). In short, broken strings would NOT have gone unreplaced for more than a few hours.

Unfortunately, this beautiful creature currently isn't getting the love and attention she deserves. I look at her and long to spend time with her, but my attention is pretty divided these days. My goal is to change the strings tomorrow. And if I change them, I have to tune them. And if my harp is tuned up, I might as well strum a few chords. And if I'm strumming some chords, I could mix it up and play some arpeggios...and as long as I'm doing that, I could just go ahead and play some real music, right? Right.

I'm already feeling better about forgoing my Sunday afternoon game of fruit ninja scripture study for a little quality time with the old gal. I've missed her.

Conference: a review

I am always grateful for the advances of modern technology, but perhaps the time I am most grateful for this is during General Conference. In my pre-kid life (or, as another mother once told me "my B.C. or 'before children' life"), I was a diligent, get-dressed-in-my-Sunday-clothes-and-go-to-the-church-with-notebook-in-hand-for-all-four-sessions-of-Conference type of attendee. I think I started attending all four sessions when I was about 14 or 15 and with very few exceptions (a few Saturday sessions on my mission and Saturday morning during my race), I haven't missed watching a session of Conference live. Since having kids, we have only watched Conference at home (either our home or someone else's). In some ways, it's nice being able to watch Conference while the kids nap upstairs. In other ways, it makes it sooooo much easier to get distracted and not pay attention (or fall asleep on your couch). And when the kids are awake? I'll just let the picture speak for itself:

Kenta, trying to calm Abby (who was having a major meltdown) with a round of "Ito maki maki" while Thomas drives trains in the buff (he apparently likes to get REALLY comfortable while watching Conference). So...yeah. Bits and pieces were definitely gleaned, but my first thought at the end of Conference was, "Wow. I really need to listen to all of that again. And again. And again."

All of this to say, I am very grateful for the speediness at which Conference talks are available for reviewing after a session has ended. On Saturday while Kenta was at his Priesthood meeting, I watched part of the Saturday morning session that I had missed. When I was growing up (well...the pre-internet years of my growing up) we had to wait a few weeks for the Conference talks to come via the Ensign. Now, you can almost immediately access them on the internet. And as I've started listening to Conference again, I can't help but thinking, "where much is given, much is required". We have all of these inspiring messages, readily available to review and share. What am I doing with them? Am I reviewing them? Am I applying them? Am I sharing the messages with others?

While there were so many good talks (as there always are at Conference), there was one in particular that touched me. Boyd K. Packer specifically addressed the "rising generation" (and I still include myself in this group) with some very wise counsel. He spoke of personal experiences, such as his reaction to the news of Pearl Harbor when he was a senior in high school. He was very unsure of his future, if he would live through the war, or if it was "the beginning of the end", as far as the world was concerned. Hearing him speak about his concerns and uncertainty during this time, I was reminded of my own concerns and uncertainty right after 9/11 - when I was a senior in high school. And here he was, 87 years old, having lived (and still living) a long, full life, despite living through troubling times. With all the uncertainty and turmoil in the world today, it was a good reminder to me that I need to look forward with faith. I do not know what tomorrow or next year or the next decade brings for me, my family, my country, or the world, but I know in Whom I trust and Whose side I am on. What a beautiful message of hope that is for all of us.

And now, a word from Abby:

"Hey - wanna listen to some pretty music with me?"

"It's the Mormon Tabernacle Choir"

"Dontcha love Conference?"

Race report

I finished the Applefest 1/2 Marathon today. After Abby was born, I set a goal to run it as a way to motivate myself to get back in shape. I actually started (finally) getting back into running right around the time I got pregnant with Abby. I had registered to do the Applefest last year, but when I found out I was pregnant, I decided to run the team 1/2 marathon, with Kenta as my teammate. Here was me at the Applefest a year ago:

And here I was today:

I totally chose the picture where I wasn't looking, but Abby was.

Abby was a passenger last year. I was more than glad to leave her with her daddy and run alone this year.

It was a cool, wet day. Nearly perfect running conditions. I felt pretty good starting out, but around mile 5, I really started hurting. And getting thirsty. There were water stops every 2 miles, but I was needing them every mile. I started to feel better again then things really started to go downhill around mile 8. Correction: things starting going UPHILL - I just started going downhill at that point. The hills really kicked my butt today. I walked. A lot. Am I disappointed that I had to walk? Yes....and no. I was not feeling well, and the walking did give me a temporary recharge, but walking is seriously the kiss of death. Once you give in, you can't stop. You just want to walk. And walk. And walk. Around mile 9, a very kind lady came up beside me and pulled me through the next 1/2 mile of hills. She was so very nice. I never found out what her name was. But she chatted with me and told me that she has four kids and started running about 5 years ago. She asked me if I had run a 1/2 before (yes, one) and I asked her if she had run the Applefest (no, but this was her 14th 1/2!! Pretty impressive). And she offered me some of her Gatorade. I happily obliged. I wish I could have stayed with her because she was being so nice and I felt bad letting her down when I had to walk, but I sent her on ahead.

Kenta was awesome. He played with the kids in the back of the minivan because it was wet and rainy outside:


Behold the hypnotic powers of Thomas the Tank Engine on the iphone. Thomas wasn't looking at the camera in a single one of these pictures.

Then he packed them up in the trailer and biked to the top of the hill at mile 10. It was so good to see them. I felt like a huge disappointment because of all the walking I had done, but I forged ahead, knowing that the end was pretty near.



I did eventually finish. I think my time was somewhere around 2:05. Not my best time, but I was just happy to finish......at least I keep trying to convince myself that I'm happy about it.

warning: the next few paragraphs contain serious Debbie Downer material. May not be suitable for happy people. Or any people, for that matter. Viewer discretion is advised.

I should feel good about having just run 13 miles, but the truth is - I'm really not. Back at the beginning of the summer when I started training, I was really excited about the Applefest. I could feel myself getting faster and stronger each time I ran. Then I got injured in August and couldn't run for almost a month. That was supposed to be the peak of my training, and I could.not.run. At that point, my emotions went from excitement to concern. I was worried about being able to run at all. I rested and eased back into training and had a really good training run about 2 weeks ago, and started to feel the excitement come back. Then I got sick and hurt my back late last week. So I went from excitement to dread. I felt like the energy and life had been sucked out of me. I knew I HAD to finish the race, but the way I was feeling, I was not looking forward to 13 miles. This week I mostly rested. I went out for one run. I wasn't feeling bad on the run, but I wasn't feeling awesome, either. I just knew I would be able to finish. After all I had been through with injury and illness, I really didn't care how long it took me. So, I was feeling pretty apathetic about the whole race in the days leading up to it. Probably not the best attitude to have if you want a good race. I just wanted to finish. And finish, I did.

I'm not writing this because I want anyone to feel sorry for me - I (mostly) ran 13 freakin' miles! That's a huge accomplishment! I could have NEVER done that 9 months postpartum with Thomas. I'm just disappointed that I really let the hills get me today. They royally spanked me. And I'm feeling very "blah" about the whole thing. I've never felt this way after a race. I usually feel like I can conquer the world. Instead I'm feeling like I wasted Kenta's time as he hauled the kids around the course in the bike to cheer for me in the rain. Not a legit way to feel, but I really let myself down, so I guess I feel like I let everyone else down.

When I got injured, I told myself that I should probably adjust my expectations, but I thought, "nahhhhh...I got this! I can gain that endurance back in three weeks!". It was more of a setback than I realized. Missing out on those long runs really hurt me today. I hate that I'm feeling so disappointed, but it is what it is. I guess I just need to write all my feelings down so Future Kendall can look back at Present Kendall and say, "Girrrrrrrl...you need to lighten up and GET.OVER.YOURSELF. This isn't the last race you will run. Learn from it and MOVE ON". And that's what I intend to do.

I try not to take myself too seriously when I run (three words: green, sparkly skirt). And I try to "enjoy the journey" as much as possible while I'm training. I have accomplished something great. I might not have PR'd today or broken 2 hrs. (that was my goal, pre-injury), but I am in way better shape now than I would have been if I hadn't chosen to train for the Applefest. And we'll be around here for a long time. I see many Applefests in my future.
And one last photo:

This is my awesome midwife, Autumn. She's looking pretty awesome for having just run 13 miles - after staying up half the night at a birth. She amazes me.

There you have it. I did it. Hooray! I've had a few hours to mull over the events of the day. I know I should (and absolutely do) feel lucky that my legs are capable of carrying my body 13 miles. It's just that feeling of disappointment that comes when you set a goal, work really hard for it, and it slips through your fingers. But life is all about overcoming challenges. Maybe this is why I keep getting sucked back into endurance races. There is nothing that feels quite as good as knowing that you did something hard and knowing that you did your best. There is also nothing that feels quite as disappointing as knowing that you stared a challenge in the face and let it smack you around like a rag doll. So, that's what I'm dealing with. Being a smacked-around rag doll. With really sore legs.

And the mother of the year award goes to.......

In the past 24 hours, I have:

1) Hit him in the face with a tennis ball during a game of catch
2) Exposed him to cat dander, which, apparently he is deathly allergic to
3) Caught his belly button in his zipper while putting his jammies on (the hazards of being an outtie)
4) Stepped on his fingers while chasing after a ball (during another game of catch)
5) Left a bottle of "Easy to Open!" ibuprofen within reach of his curious hands*
6) Hurt his feelings more times than I can count

* All the pills were counted and we calculated the number of missing pills that I know I have taken in the past three weeks. We are pretty sure he didn't ingest any, but poison control was called anyway. Note to self: don't leave medicine on the counter. Even if you think your 2 yr. old can't reach it. And buy childproof bottles.

And after all of this, he still loves me.

Okay. It took a little bribing.

But I maintain that he would have loved me anyway.

I really appreciate that Thomas loves tomatoes so much

I just wish he wouldn't swipe them from the displays at the grocery store. And then proceed to take a bite out of them.

Just a friendly reminder

Christmas is only 3 months away.

Thomas would like you to know that he (apparently) is in need of some new trains.
Despite having to raid the silverware drawer amidst the train shortage, he found it in his heart to spare one to share with his little sister.

It really makes this mama's heart sing to see Big Brother learning how to share his toys. It's been a long time coming.

Remembering

I actually wrote this post three years ago. Since then, I have had two children and have forgotten a few of the details. How grateful I am that I wrote this down before my memory got fuzzy. I never want to forget how I felt on September 11, 2001. And I want my children to know how I felt on that day, too. Ten years has passed, but I still feel these emotions so vividly when I read or hear about events that took place that day. Here is my repost of my memories of 9/11:



I am going to deviate from my usual light-hearted posts and comment on something that has been on all of our minds today.

I usually describe myself as having a "swiss cheese brain": lots of information enters, but most of it escapes through the holes. However, there are some experiences and moments that I will never forget - and September 11, 2001 is one of those moments.

I remember driving home from my early morning seminary class to eat breakfast before I went to school. Right before I got home, I heard about a plane that had crashed into the World Trade Center. I mistakenly thought that it was a small cessna that had had some unfortunate accident. I went inside and my mom was watching Fox News (that is the only TV that she ever watches). In between the time that I had heard the news report in the car and the time that I saw the news at home, another plane had crashed into the towers. They appeared to have been commercial airliners. At that point, I began to doubt that it had been an accident.

I drove to school in a haze, not really processing what was going on. Most everyone was still confused about what was happening. I did not yet realize that it was a deliberate act of terrorism. I got to school and found my brother who had gone early that day for a marching band practice. None of the band members knew about the planes. I told him quickly what had happened and then I rushed off to class.

My first class that day was AP Biology with Ms. Hill. She had a reputation as being kind of a "tough chick" - I always imagined her as Rosie the Riviter - but on this day she was particularly quiet. Nobody could really concentrate on school work, so she found a teacher that had a TV in their classroom and we all went to watch the news. That's when I saw the towers fall. As I saw them fall, I felt as if my whole future was crumbling along with them. I couldn't hold back my tears and Ms. Hill put her arm around me and gave me a hug. She was crying, too. Here I was, a senior in high school and I thought my life was over. As with the rest of America, I felt fear and vulnerability for the very first time.

The rest of the day at school was spent listening to or watching the news. We heard about the other planes and the Pentagon. We slowly learned that it was a planned terrorist attack. We still couldn't understand why it had happened here - America! - the place that was supposed to be the "land of the free and the home of the brave". I remember watching the news at home that night and thinking, "Do I even bother applying for college? Will I even be able to go? What is going to happen to us?". My sister Maren had just left on her mission the month before (as did Kenta - but I didn't know him yet). Would she be okay? I remember talking to my oldest sister on the phone a few days later and she told me about the nightmares that she had been having. She was so worried for her children. What would the world be like when I had children? Would I even get to have that opportunity? I really felt like my future was gone.

With all of the concern and uncertainty that I was feeling, I remember being anxious to hear General Conference. I wanted to hear the Prophet. I wanted to hear reassuring words that would bring peace and comfort to my soul. I remember clearly President Hinckley's remarks:

"Now, brothers and sisters, we must do our duty, whatever that duty might be. Peace may be denied for a season. Some of our liberties may be curtailed. We may be inconvenienced. We may even be called on to suffer in one way or another. But God our Eternal Father will watch over this nation and all of the civilized world who look to Him. He has declared, "Blessed is the nation whose God is the Lord" (Ps. 33:12). Our safety lies in repentance. Our strength comes of obedience to the commandments of God.
Let us be prayerful. Let us pray for righteousness. Let us pray for the forces of good. Let us reach out to help men and women of goodwill, whatever their religious persuasion and wherever they live. Let us stand firm against evil, both at home and abroad. Let us live worthy of the blessings of heaven, reforming our lives where necessary and looking to Him, the Father of us all. He has said, "Be still, and know that I am God" (Ps. 46:10).
Are these perilous times? They are. But there is no need to fear. We can have peace in our hearts and peace in our homes. We can be an influence for good in this world, every one of us."

How grateful I am to live in this chosen land. I am grateful for all the freedoms and opportunities that we enjoy as citizens of this great nation. I am so thankful for the men and women today and throughout history, who have given their lives to preserve those freedoms. I hope that I will always remember the way I felt on September 11, 2001 because it changed me forever.

Do you remember?

We lost a member of our family this week...

A loved and revered member of our family met a premature death at the hands of a toddler this week:

These are the remains of Thomas's first bouncy ball. It was the first toy that captured his attention for more than thirty consecutive seconds. He learned how to walk by pushing himself to a stand while holding onto the ball and then picking up the ball from the ground. Thomas and this ball shared some good times:

Untitled from healthyfatboy on Vimeo.

And when Thomas inherited a basketball hoop from a friend, this was the ball he learned to dunk with. However, the thrill of dunking in a hoop three feet off the ground was pretty short-lived. Which is how the bouncy ball met its demise here:

in the top of the floor lamp - Thomas's choice for a more challenging basketball hoop. It might have gone undiscovered for some time if I had not turned the light on, heard a huge POP! and the immediate smell of melting plastic. (and yes, that is me on the floor. I've sloooooooowly been tackling the huge task of painting all the trim in our house white - more on that, later.)

We were sad to see the little guy go. The ball really was a huge part of Thomas's babyhood/transition to toddlerhood. Thankfully, bouncy balls are in abundance and we soon found a replacement for our fallen friend:

But no bouncy ball will ever be the same as The Original. RIP, Bouncy Ball. You were the best $1.50 that I ever spent.

Addendum to "The Experiment"

Okay, so I had a comment suggesting that putting the wet item in the dryer for four minutes might work just as well so I did another experiment! I also commented on using a dry iron. I appended it to the bottom of the original post so see the previous post for the extras. I figured this was the best way to get it out. If it's not up, then please check in the morning as the video is still uploading and may take a little time to be completely ready.

You think you do not understand boys...

This was a long time coming but I FINALLY got around to trying it out.

So, in response to this post, I decided to defend my idea and do a little experiment. For those that do not remember, read the post.

In my attempt to keep people from nodding off at my description of the experiment, the experimentation process, and the experiment itself, which would ultimately become WAY too long to even care to read, I decided to make a video. Yes, a video. I tried to keep it as short as possible but it still ended up being 7 minutes long so forgive me and my boringness, although if you watch it all, you will be treated in whatever way I could think of on the fly with what I had available to me in the man cave.

I present, The Experiment...

View on ExposureRoom

So, there you have it. The result is in the video for all the world to see, or those who faithfully read our blog. So, do you understand boys any better now?

Disclaimer: If you ever decide to try this out, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE make sure there is no metal or anything that can melt on any piece of cloth you put in. The microwave does bad things to metal and melty things. Now, if you're in for a show, and like sparkly things, by all means, stick something metal in BUT I do not take any responsibility and should not be liable for what happens to you, your microwave, your article of clothing, your house, or anything else you may own that may be damaged in the process. In other words, DON'T DO IT!

One more thing, just to be safe, don't leave the microwave unattended if you try this out yourself. In the off chance something happens, you want to be right there to catch it just in case.

You thought you could get the result without watching the video huh? Mwa ha ha ha...and yes, we have a microwave in the basement, but it's a spare.

ADDENDUM:

View on ExposureRoom

Sorry I wasn't up to doing much during the actual experiment so I fast forwarded really fast during the four minutes this time.

There was one more comment that using a dry iron would do the trick. I think it would do a fine job but only if the iron was already on and hot. If it is cold, I think you're going to wait a little for it to heat up and then you have to dry the piece of clothing so in a bind, it's probably not the fastest way to dry something BUT if the iron is already hot, I think it will be fine. I still prefer the microwave (assuming it's clean) since I can just throw it in and do something else as I watch it on the side, but that's just me being lazy. Yes, I am a man and admit to my laziness.

Last week was a very good week.

After my last post about not getting anything done these days, I was blessed with a flurry of activity during Birthiversary week.

Kenta and I had already given each other a gazillion dollars (did you know we were gazillionaires? more like multi-gazillionaires.) worth of food storage. Kenta had packed it all back in April, but we made a special trip down to the basement on our anniversary to admire his handiwork:

Celebrating 5 years of wedded bliss. (And, yes, that is a microwave in our basement.)

Because we have blown most of our cash on such frivolous things as a house, a baby, and food storage, we decided to keep the gifts simple for our/my birthiversary. The kids gave me AN ENTIRE THREE HOURS IN WHICH THEY WERE SIMULTANEOUSLY NAPPING IN PEACE with which I managed to do a little painting, priming, and mending. In fact, I regifted Kenta a shirt that I had given him for our first anniversary. It had gotten a hole in it prematurely, so I patched it up and gave it to him. It's pretty much brand new since it spent the last two years or so sitting in my mending pile. How's that for a thrifty present?

The birthday part of the birthiversary was truly an occasion to remember. My good friend, Jenn, had given birth to twins earlier in the week (one late Monday night, and one ten minutes later - on Tuesday morning! Soooo cool!) I had signed up to feed her family dinner on my birthday months ago (as in, make the food and drop it off to them), but she insisted that I bring my family and celebrate my birthday with them. Uh. Seriously, Jenn? You just had twins and you are offering to host my birthday dinner? But, for anyone who knows the lovely Jenn, there is pretty much no refusing her kindness - the only thing you can do is work out a compromise of sorts. So I made the dinner, Kenta grilled it (kabobs - my favorite!), and she volunteered her husband to make a delicious funfetti cake:

Action shot of the candle blowing (check out the streamers in the back ground - her little girls decorated - so cute!):

The funfetti masterpiece, complete with a layer of strawberries in the middle. (and no, I am not 23 - we used our imaginations to morph the "3" into the proper number).

Thank you, Jenn and family, for the memorable birthday celebration: family, friends, fun, and food. Perfection!

Kenta - not to be out done by the kids' awesome nap gift - declared a celebratory trip to IKEA. Yay!!! We packed everyone up for a trip down to IKEA, so we could find a new computer desk and browse the sofa department. I have no photographic evidence that this trip took place, but let it be known that it was Kenta's idea to gleefully and willingly take us all to IKEA. Thanks, Kenta!!

So that's that. I've finally stopped, uh, "celebrating" my birthday. It usually takes me a week to get the celebrating out of my system ("pssshh..I can have a piece of chocolate after breakfast - it's my birthday chocolate!!"), but all the birthday goodies are gone, the kids are back to their non-simultaneously napping schedule, the special treatment is over, and it's back to life as usual. But it's a great life and I feel extremely blessed to be living it. Happy birthiversary to me!

Foiled again!

I just sat down to finally finish documenting our vacation (that we got home from six weeks ago!!). No sooner had my backside hit the computer chair, when a siren went off via the baby monitor. Most of this post was typed with a nursing baby in my arms. And I am so ridiculously slow at blogging when pictures are involved, I just can't do it very well when the little people are awake. This is just the latest chapter in my recently entitled memoir, Why I Never Get Anything Done During the Day: Reflections of a Mother With Young Children.

I'm pretty sure kids are built with a productivity alarm - as in "Oh no! Mom is being productive! I must stop this at once by causing a major disruption!!"

It seems like every time I get my hands covered in raw chicken or get shampoo lathered on my head or sit down on the toilet, I hear weeping, wailing, and/or gnashing of teeth that need my IMMEDIATE attention. And I only have two kids. I feel pretty lame that I can't get more done.

BUT

Even if I can't cram in the "extra" things I would like to do during the day - blogging, painting, practicing (sad that this is an "extra" in my life right now), finding Thomas a pair of new church shoes, looking for a sofa so we have somewhere to sit - the kids are always fed, clothed, and relatively happy. And that is the season I am in in life right now. I am working on managing my time better so I can fit in a few "extras", but even if I've been on task all day and still haven't made a dent in the to-do list, I'm trying to remind myself that it doesn't mean the day has been a complete waste.

I kind of felt that way yesterday, but then I saw this picture of the kids


and was reminded that no day could ever be considered a waste when it has been spent taking care of their needs.

It might take me a year to paint my downstairs, and I'm trying to come to terms with that. I will never be able to log as much practice time as I did in college. And that's okay, too. There was a season for that, and that season may come back again some day.

However, Thomas really does need some shoes that fit. If I find him a pair of shoes this week, I'll consider it to have been a wildly successful week. Kind of funny how your definition of "success" changes after you have kids.

I got absolutely nothing done today

Naptime was a complete bust today. It was pretty much like a game of whack-a-mole: as soon as I got one child settled, the other one would get up (too soon). Then I would try and get the one that got up too soon to go back down, only to have the other one wake up (again - too soon) before the other one got settled again. I'm usually frustrated when this happens, but I decided to take a different approach today. Shorter naps meant more time to run errands in the afternoon (a much-needed Costco run and some returns at Old Navy) - and even some time to whip up a batch of cookies for a church activity tonight. I very well could have been grumpy about a virtually napless day, but I've actually thoroughly enjoyed the company. Thomas is the best errand-running buddy a mom could ask for. He produces a constant stream of chatter and we totally rocked out to Primary songs and nursery rhymes in the car. And he's quite the sous chef:

I secretly enjoyed the napless day. How could you not when you've got that face to keep you company?