The Tooth That Had To Go!

When I was a kid, my dad yanked all of our loose teeth out with pliers. I did not really understand why he did this until I grew up and discovered how annoying it can be to look at your child's tooth barely hanging by a thread for an entire month before it finally dislodges itself completely.

Soph lost her first tooth about a year ago, right around her 6th birthday. She lost all four bottom teeth in a painfully slow manner, refusing to let us just pluck the little rascals out of there. Then, came the first top front tooth. That thing was barely hanging in there, looking all crooked and gnarly for months! The second top front tooth was slowly getting looser in a likewise manner, until one day, I noticed that the permanent tooth was already growing in alarmingly far back in her mouth. "That tooth has got to go!" I declared.

The tooth was already so loose, I didn't think it would be much of a problem. The next time Soph and Photoguy were both around, I informed him of the situation and he went to get his pliers (for those not familiar with this method, it ensures a firm grip). Neither of us were prepared to deal with the amount of sheer terror that Soph unleashed. It was awful to see her so utterly out of control! After trying to reason with her, I felt that the best thing was to just get it over with, but Photoguy and my combined efforts were no match for her determination. We could not get her held down and her mouth open and it seemed like we were going to ram the pliers up her nose in all the struggle. We relented, but told her firmly that she must pull the tooth herself before the next day.

I simply did not have the heart to try again, and before we knew it, another week had gone by. Despite her diligent efforts and considerable pain in trying, Soph had been unsuccessful in pulling the offending tooth.

"That tooth has got to go!"

I tried numerous times to reason with her, explaining how small and short lived the pain would be, talking about the ills of braces later on in life. Nothing, I mean nothing would change her mind. The mere mention of pulling her tooth would send her screaming to the bedroom. Then, I began the shameless bribes. "I'll give you $10 if you let me pull that tooth right now." Not even a chance. After hypothetically offering $100 and being denied, I realized that she would not be bought with money.

Still, everyone has their price. "I'll take you swimming." No. "To the movies." No. "You can buy anything you want at the dollar store." Now, that's a big one with my kids, but, still, no. "You can have any friend you want over." No. Finally, I gave in to the big one. I've been storing a spotz maker that she desperately wants for her birthday gift. "I'll give you a spotz maker right this minute if you'll let me pull your tooth and you can pick out something else for your birthday." At last, she at least considered it, but as Brian went for the pliers, she lost her nerve and ran screaming to the bedroom.

"That tooth has got to go!" I knew it had to. It was ruining her permanent teeth. What is a parent to do. Should we take her to the dentist? Who goes to the dentist to have a tooth pulled that is almost ready to be swallowed with the next bite of food it is so loose? Plus, what is the dentist going to do? Tie her to the chair?

We both knew what we had to do, but it was one of our hardest moments as parents when we pulled our little shaking daughter out from under her bed and used all of our strength to extract that tooth. I have to admit that it was so traumatic, even I was crying.

So, one minute, Soph was screaming shrieks of bloody murder, and the very next moment, <tink> the tooth was out. Immediately, she sat up as calm as anything and excitedly exclaimed, "You got it!" I meanwhile was still a sobbing mess feeling that I would need therapy to recover from the whole ordeal.

The Know-It-All Who No Longer Knows

Whoever said that moms deserve some time to themselves obviously did not have kids. Or, at least no "spirited" kids like my AiAi. The last time I tried to post while all three kids watched a video, I later found that AiAi had emptied an entire box of goldfish crackers on the floor. I'm talking about a Costco sized box roughly large enough to fill a bathtub. As if that weren't enough, he then entertained himself by walking, jumping, skipping through, and otherwise pulverizing the crackers into little tiny pieces. I admire his creativity at least. It just seems that those small moments of time carved out by moms are usually counter-acted with additional work in some way, doesn't it?

Who could get angry at a face like that?

I never use to have any interest in blogs, until I received this story via an e-mail forward. Check it out for yourself if you would like. It is a very creative and humorous story about a mom taking her six young kids grocery shopping. Apparently, the kids sneaked some Pokemon cards into her cart and she unwittingly purchased them. Later, she posted the cards on E-Bay along with a funny story. It resonated with so many moms that soon tens of thousands of people were reading it.

I (and the thousands of others) just had to read more of her funnies, so I started reading her blog (which was brand new at that time). In record time she went from having approximately one reader (her mom) to surpassing one million hits. She has been in the media a lot since then, including a spot on ABC News, and now she has a book about her adventures in motherhood being published this summer.

Anyways, I just love her honesty and her amazing sense of humor. She lives in a 1,000 square foot home with SIX kiddies! I don't know how she does it. But, her love of motherhood is obvious. She is a Christian and said that right before she was "discovered," she had been praying hard to find a way to contribute to her family's income and still be able to stay home with her kids. I'm not in any way hoping that my blog will be "discovered" like hers was. I don't even have it linked to any search engines. I just really love her story and she helps me to not take my life too seriously.

The other day, I was reading one of her posts (about a funny bad dream where she is a waitress and can't stay on top of it all), and, I don't usually read the many comments, but I must have been exceptionally bored or just feeling lazy because I started to skim through them.

I found one of the comments to be extremely ironic. It was coming from another mom who begins:

"I understand what you mean about waking up in a cold sweat. I have one child who is 5 and getting everything done around the house use to stress me out. I know, one kid to your six, but . . ."

And, she proceeds to give advice about how she's got it all figured out.

"I found an easy way to get things done . . . when I do laundry, she is doing laundry. When I am cooking, she is doing dishes. Kids can do anything and since you have six - put them to work. My youngin' knows how to do the laundry, dishes, vacuum, dust, clean the tub and sweep. She also has daily chores that if she doesn't do them, then she doesn't play with friends . . ."

I don't know why that comment just struck me as so funny. Hello? You have one child who is five? Hmmm . . . It must be nice to have all the answers.

When Soph was my only child, I loved to have her right with me doing everything I did. She has always cooked with me. And, even when E-Man came along, I still loved to have them cooking with me. I even bought them matching stools to make sure they could always reach to help out in the kitchen. Now, with three, it is usually more of a chore than anything. What with all the ingredients being spilled and only a portion of them making their way into the bowl, all the fingers picking things out of the bowl, and it is always a joy to let the kids crack the eggs, and let's not forget the problem of sneezing.

It's even more interesting to cook when I am babysitting three kids who are the same ages as mine. I let them take turns "helping," because I don't think I could handle that much "help" all at once. But, it's pretty hard to be involved in the kitchen and averting other catastrophes (like the babies tearing the house apart) all at the same time.

My kids also like to vacuum (just the other day Soph, E-man and I were taking turns vacuuming upstairs while AiAi was pushing all of the toys off the shelves downstairs into one huge broken mass), help with the laundry (it is really helpful when two of them run around putting socks and underwear in the correct drawers while the third tries to pour a glass of juice but ends up pouring it all over the floor), and wash the dishes (Note: Young kids doing the dishes is not, in fact, less work than doing them myself but I persevere in hopes that someday it will be less work).

I don't mean to sound judgemental of the gal who gave the advice. I'm sure she had the best intentions. Just as we've all thought we had good intentions at one time or another when we've thought we had the answers.

Here is just one story of when I, myself, was guilty:

With pregnancy #1, I was not in particularly great shape, and when the unbearable nausea set in during the first weeks, I gave in to lounging about on the couch and eating crackers around the clock because having something in my mouth at all times seemed to make me feel better.

This resulted in a miserable pregnancy.

When I began pregnancy #2 I was determined to "do better." I faithfully went to the gym and I found relief by eating extra protein. The pregnancy went much better -- well, that is until I hit week 30 and had to go on bed rest to combat pre-term labor. Still, overall, it was much less miserable.

So, I loved to tell nauseous pregnant women "my secret" -- "just keep exercising and eat some extra protein, you'll feel better!" I really thought I had learned a lot . . . until . . . pregnancy #3.

I started out pregnancy #3 in the best physical shape of my whole life. Mentally, physically, emotionally, I was ready. Strangely, I was overcome with misery and sickness almost from the moment of conception. Trips to the gym resulted in entire days spent in bed recovering. Extra protein meals sent me hurtling to the bathroom. What of my great attitude and my learned secrets? The only possible explanation was that it must be a "girl" pregnancy thing, so I was in utter shock when the doctor assured me that I was having a boy. How could it be? Slowly I'm learning how little I know, but it was nice to have it all figured out while it lasted.

Celebrity Look Alike

Today at church, someone said my two-year-old looks like Gene Wilder, the star of the original Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory. Perhaps it is the wild curls? Dreamy blue eyes? Maybe it's that mischievous twinkle or the expression that always looks like he's got some trick up his sleeve. I'm not really sure. What do you think?

That Pioneering Spirit

The kids and I started to read the Little House on the Prairie series about a year ago. We just finished the eighth book. In it, little Laura Ingalls grew up, became a teacher at fifteen (incidentally, also the age she and Almonzo Wilder began to take notice of each other), and then got married at the end of the book at eighteen. There is one more book in the series, and then I guess we're done. Actually, the kids are already done. They began losing interest when the story line switched to more "grown-up" themes. I, on the other hand, have become completely entranced by these lives. And, no, it isn't much like the T.V. series really.

On the one hand, I feel grateful for modern conveniences. Perhaps, most especially heating, air conditioning and transportation. On the other hand, I feel a bit envious of their lives. In some ways, times back then were simpler than this fast paced information-age era-of-technology. I love the innocence, the industry, and the images of family gathered together in the home for mealtimes and evening sing-alongs. I am humbled by their spirits, their strength, and courage to endure multiple hardships.

In the first book, Laura described their life in a log cabin in the woods of Wisconsin from a very young child's perspective. A fascinating read about life in the 1860's.

Most of the second book described how Pa built their new log cabin with an ax and his bare hands after a move west. I was shocked at the very end when the boundaries for "Indian Territory" were re-drawn by the government, putting their new home just over the line, so that, in the blink of an eye, they had to pack up and leave it all behind.

Later in the series, the family settled in after yet another move and Pa dreamed of becoming rich off his hard earned crops until a cloud of grasshoppers descended and everything was lost. This put them on the move going further west again. I hadn't realized how many times they moved and the devastating hardships they faced (fevers that took Mary's sight, abject poverty, near starvation and almost freezing to death).

To sum up, near the end of the series the family finally settled in the Dakota Territory. Throughout their lives, Pa and Ma repeatedly told the girls that "there is no great loss without some small gain" -- a spin on finding the positive in all of life's situations no matter how seemingly unbearable. They seemed able to keep joyful spirits no matter what.

In the seventh book, the family had just endured seven months of relentless blizzards, during which they nearly starved to death, and they were about to have all of their cash crops eaten by blackbirds (the small gain here, incidentally, was a feast of blackbird pie). Laura takes her blind sister Mary walking and, arriving home, finds Mary's shoes and skirts filled with Spanish Needle Grass, a weed so noxious that cattle must have it cut from their mouths after grazing in it. Laura says:

"The prairie looks so beautiful and gentle, but I wonder what it will do next. Seems like we have to fight it all the time."

Ma replies:

"This earthly life is a battle. If it isn't one thing to contend with, it's another. It always has been so, and it always will be. The sooner you make up your mind to that, the better off you are, and the more thankful for your pleasures."

Just one of the many gems of wisdom found in this series. Wonderful words from someone who had such a hard life and figured out how to endure it with patience, an unfailing sense of humor and an eye on her blessings.

Marshmallow World

I'm back and I'm more techno savvy than ever. I finally had five minutes of Photoguy's time so he could help me post some pics. Hooray! I've been wanting to write about our move to Alaska (or, so it has felt this winter) and I just had to have the pics to go with the post. So, here goes my first try at combining text and visuals.

We've had unusually large amounts of snowfall this winter. I'm not basing this on any technical data, but here in Ogden, it is surely the most snow we've seen in over two decades. Early in January, we got 22-inches in one day! We Utahns are so good at handling situations like this that they didn't even close one school and I somehow drove my kids to all their lessons. The storms continued steadily, dropping 2-5 more inches every day, always conveniently during the morning commute, or in my case, carpool. Then, about one week after the big storm, we got a solid 12-inches more in just one day. Photoguy was such a trooper about diligently clearing our driveway day after day, but it was getting to the point that there was nowhere left to pile all that white fluffy stuff.

Here is a photo lest my words seem an exaggeration. January and the first part of February of this year were the most magical weeks of winter in my life so far. Since Photoguy had to shovel it, I don't think he shared this sentiment. Every few mornings I was greeted by the sight of a newly remodeled marshmallow world. I would take Soph to school and the entire grounds were covered in a solid mass of white with kids pulling each other around on sleds between classrooms (Soph's program is housed in outdoor portables). I felt that I had stepped out of some picture from a book about Eskimos, sans the fur skin clothing. Which, by the way, would have been really helpful and totally appropriate.

One day early in February, Photoguy had one of his, hands down, best ideas ever. He was outside dutifully scraping the snow off of our driveway and adding it to the mound now taller than his 6' 1" frame when this brilliant idea formed in his mind. Why not hollow out that enormous mound into a gigantic snowcave? He made some phone calls to some good friends on his way to work and by late that afternoon, we had four other families gathered at our home for the best snow party imaginable!

The guys (or should we say "little boys" trapped in men's bodies as they most definitely were for this affair) worked together to hollow out a snowcave large enough for several full grown adults and children to gather in.

Just look at their boyish grins.




Pictured are a few of the 12 kids at the party.

They also built a 50 foot sledding hill down our parking strip. The neighborhood kids would spend hours gleefully speeding down the hill for the next few weeks. But, on that night, our group took turns gathering in the enchanted snowcave lighted by candles to eat bowls of steamy soup, nibble flat fry bread and sip cups of hot chocolate under the stars. It was truly a night like no other. I know that I will remember it forever.


The surprisingly fast and fun sledding hill was the biggest hit of all.


After the snow party, for the first time in my adult life, I actually felt that I did not want winter to end. We had a fabulous frozen playland right in our own front yard after all.

However, a few warm days since then have significantly diminished the sled hill and the snowcave. So, now I say, "Bring on the sunshine!"

We Thank Thee O God for a Prophet

It seemed everyone had tender feelings at our church meetings today as we contemplated the amazing life of our beloved President Hinckley.

I was so blessed to meet him in person at my sister-in-law's wedding (she married a Wirthlin). She said he even made a wise-crack to her when he shook her hand. Photoguy was shooting as many pictures as he could to freeze frame the moment.

A few years later, Photoguy had the rare opportunity to have a one-on-one interview with President Hinckley. He and a reporter that is. After the meeting was over, Photoguy shook his hand and said, "I met you at my sister's wedding," to which the Prophet responded, "Oh yeah, you were the bald guy running around taking all the pictures." President Hinckley had such a way of making everyone feel important and of putting everyone at ease with his humor.

Photoguy also had the choice experience of covering the funeral yesterday and the procession that followed with families and children waving their white hankies and canes as the Prophet passed by.

I remember when he first became our prophet, all those years ago when I was just starting college. My testimony was like a new rosebud then. I remember the first General Conference he spoke to us as our Prophet. It was probably the first one I had really paid attention to in my life. I was charmed by his charisma and I felt the Spirit like I never had before when he said simply, "I feel inspired to tell you that the Lord loves you."

I don't really have words to describe my feelings for this outstanding individual who did so much for us and for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I'm just glad I got to live while he was our leader.

Blissfully Optimistic

Yesterday, Photoguy and I celebrated our nine-year-anniversary. Well, we didn't so much celebrate it, yet. We came to the day that marked one year shy of a decade since we were married, but we will have to truly mark the occasion at a later date because yesterday we were too busy.

For one thing, Photoguy started teaching a photo class at a University on Wednesday nights. For another, Wednesdays have turned into my taxi days. Here is an example of what I mean:

Typical Wednesday
5:45 a.m. drive to gym
7:15 a.m. drive home
8 - 8:30 a.m. drive Soph's carpool
9:30 a.m. drive E-Man to pre-school
10 a.m. drive AiAi to mommy-and-me gymnastics
10:45 a.m. drive home
11:30 a.m. drive to pick E-Man up from school

short interlude for lunch

1-1:30 p.m. pick up Soph's carpool
2 p.m. pick up friend's kid from piano lesson

Then, I should theoretically have the afternoon off from driving, but usually don't, before we get to the evening activities.

6 p.m. drive Soph to piano lesson
6:30 p.m. pick Soph up
7 p.m. take kids to gymnastics
8 p.m. pick kids up

For full disclosure sake, I must admit that a friend and I just started carpooling for gymnastics -- I drive the kids there and she picks them up. Which is a really good thing because my 2 1/2 year-old AiAi is determined to give up his much needed afternoon nap. So, by the time I drive the kids to gymnastics, he is passed out for the night (I'm also on my way to passing out for the night). Not having to go out one more time at 8 p.m. is like a Christmas gift every Wednesday night!

I use to stay with the kids during gymnastics, but, one would have to witness it personally to fully understand the excessive amount of strength and energy required to keep up with my rambunctious and overly determined AiAi in a mine field like a huge open space filled with gymnastic equipment, pits of foam and things that bounce. It was fun to see him enjoying himself, but when he would be involved in an activity (say jumping on a trampoline) and we would need to exit so a class could enter, it resulted in a lot of tears (mostly his) and kicks (mostly to my face), and, let's just say, in the end it was better to stop taking AiAi inside at all.

So, this is my regular schedule on Wednesdays. However, it is almost never confined just to the dozen excursions listed.

For example, last Wednesday, Soph had to do a science project. Right after school, she and photoguy lit up a fire in the backyard for said project requiring me to make a last-minute jaunt to the grocery store to buy marshmallows for roasting.

After finishing up the project in the freezing frost-biting unbelievably arctic frigid cold, Photoguy took off early for his evening class and I was left to entertain six kids. I babysit for a friend whose kids are the same ages as mine. Yes, that means I regularly have two two-year-olds. But, it's not nearly as complicated as when those two were newborns and five of the six kids were pre-Kindergarten ages. Hauling all six kids to swimming lessons or a picnic in the park when all were so young is another story about feats of strength for another time.

After my friend retrieved her three kids, I and my three piled into the car to drop off film at a one-hour lab (for the science project display), then headed to Costco for toilet paper, then picked up our photos, then plunged right into our nightly driving routine. Whew!

It was apparent in advance that Wednesday was not the best day for our anniversary to take place this year. This whole week turned out to be pretty bad timing. Photoguy took some extra shifts at the newspaper this week meaning he committed himself to 10-12 hours of work Tues-Sat (afternoons-midnight). Then, after he made that commitment, he was given an emergency remodel job of sorts on a condo that he and a friend are flipping, that must be completed by next Monday. The good news is, if he can just get it done in time, we have a buyer. Hooray for money! Even if it is money earmarked to pay bills -- still, hooray.

I am confident that we will find the time sometime to go to a nice dinner or otherwise celebrate our marriage. In the meantime, the anniversary got me thinking about anniversaries past.

First, there was the day we were married, full of bliss and naive optimism for the future.

We took a fabulous honeymoon to Southern California and I (naively optimistic) believed that we would take the more expensive tropical cruise for our one-year-anniversary. Ha-ha! Right before our one-year-anniversary we bought our first house. So much for thinking we were broke when we got married. As new homeowners mired in years of re-modeling projects we become more intimately acquainted with the term "broke."

Let's see, I was hugely 8-months pregnant with our first baby for our two-year-anniversary.

When we married, I had also believed that I would get a second band of diamonds to compliment my wedding ring for something as big and important as our five-year-anniversary. This too brought me a good laugh when the actual time came.

Two-and-a-half years ago, our third child was born. This made me feel very grown-up and grounded or established or something other than youthful. Six months later, we celebrated our seven-year-anniversary and I had to come to terms with the fact that I was definitely no longer a newly wed. Funny that before I was married, anyone hitched for more than a year was out of that category, but it took me seven years to stop seeing myself that way.

Right after the mind-boggling seven-year-anniversary, I made the difficult transition to thirty. All that year, I was also coming to grips with the fact that my oldest was slated to begin Kindergarten the following year. Where had time gone? I responded to all of this growing up trauma by moving our family to China. Okay, not really, but it may have somehow played into our mid-life crisis, I mean, decision.

So, now, I find myself married for nine years, too busy to even go out to dinner, or lunch, or even save the date for the weekend. Do you think it is unrealistic to believe we'll be going on the cruise for our ten-year?