Getting away from it all with them all

Family vacations have become a staple and a tradition in our lives.  Both Kevin and I did not have parents who took us on family vacations. We both have memories of our parents leaving us at grandma's while they went to Hawaii (no wonder Kevin and I are meant for each other).

Vacationing with the whole family can be expensive and I do believe in quality time as a couple, but leaving the kids for more than 3-4 days is just too hard - we miss them. Plus, we can't find anyone who would take the herd of kids while we leave to a tropical paradise for a week.

So we compromise. At least a few weekends a year for just the two of us. A couple of weekends away for the whole family every year and a week long vacation every two years. The kids look forward to this, and so do we.

Vacationing as a family was easier when we only had one kid. Ethan went on a Mexican cruise with us at just two years old. We could just pack him up and bring him along. We went to Disneyland on 4th of July for a week and had a ton of fun.

Once Emmett came, things got harder and more expensive, but we still managed a long camping trip up to the Redwoods and northern coast and then San Diego for a week when Emmett turned three - my sister came to help us out on both those trips. It was exhausting (note: tent camping with 8 month old is NOT fun), but we still enjoyed ourselves.

Then Ellis came. Now it was even harder and even more money to take five people anywhere. Yet, we went to Los Angeles for five days before Ellis was a year old - no Disneyland, but a bunch of other fun kid activities.

Then, we got brave. Time to fly somewhere. We got the kids passports and planned a trip to Mexico. We had to change destinations due to the crazy violence happening down there and decided to go to Florida instead. We weren't crazy enough to fly without some help, so we offered my cousin the chance to go with us. She agreed and made life much easier - one adult per child. We had the best time ever! The kids talked about that trip for months.

This year the kids really wanted another trip - they kept asking for Hawaii. I reminded them we had our big trip just last year and explained it wasn't going to happen. Plus, we really can't afford to fly five people to Hawaii right now. I told them to pick a weekend destination.

As luck would have it, Ellis turned three in September and the kids reminded me that we owe Ellis a trip to Disneyland ( a tradition - see yesterday's post), so we agreed to go in October when we could enjoy the Halloween decor.

October is now here, and I just finished packing for our trip to Southern California. Yes, we are driving (crazy I know). We leave this weekend, and I am as excited as the kids are.

I need a vacation, some time to get away from it all - even if it means bringing it all with me.

Wish me luck.

P.S.

We are already planning a big road trip for this summer - we are driving back to Boston to see my friend - we are going to be gone for three weeks. However, I might change my mind after next week ;)

The Things Kids Remember

I want my kids to have happy childhood memories. I know that having traditions is one way to help kids remember those early years with fondness. Kevin remembers almost nothing before the age of 10, and most of my memories are of significant trauma, not fun family things.

To change this for our children, Kevin and I agreed to come up with some traditions our kids could look forward to. Here is the warning: if you try this, it may backfire.

Here are some of our traditions:

The kids get a new Christmas ornament each year for the tree.
We chop down our own Christmas tree and string popcorn for it.
We also bake Holiday themed cookies or cupcakes for all major holidays.
The kids buy each other small gifts for Christmas and Birthdays using their own money.
The kids make handmade gifts for grandparents each year.
We take the kids to Disneyland for their third birthday (thus our trip next week since Ellis turned 3)
We go to Apple Hill to pick pumpkins and go to the pumpkin patch up there.
We go out to dinner for birthdays and the birthday person gets to pick the place and the cake.
We do a family vacation at least every two years - the kids big for every year.
We scrapbook the family vacation as a group for our album.
We pose for pictures the first day of school and they always get a fun shirt for the first day.
The boys names all start with E, and one of the children has their father's name as the middle name (the boys love this and refer to themselves as the "E brothers")

You can see the list starts to feel endless. I find joy in doing most of these things with and for the kids. Even if I forget some of them, the kids will remind me - or hold me accountable. Sometimes life  interferes, and it isn't possible to complete one of our traditions.

For example, last year we were in the middle of remodeling our house and moving, so we didn't go to Apple Hill. The kids thought the world was going to end.

 I was hoping they forgot this year, but the first of October, they asked about going. I told the kids we had apples and pumpkins in our garden and didn't need to go. The kids were not having it.

They convinced me we needed to go. How you may ask? Ethan simply plucked my heart strings. "But mom," he told me, "it is a tradition, and I thought you wanted us to have happy memories?"

Told you those traditions would backfire. Set the expectations your children have very low, and you will never disappoint them.

A curse or blessing?

I love my iPhone. I wasn't thrilled when I received it as a gift, but I was won over rather quickly. Kevin also has an iPhone, and I bought him an iPad for his birthday.

This all sounds lovely, but our kids are addicted to these Apple products. The kids have the phones when we are home and Ellis has the iPad upon waking. In fact, the only time they are without these electronic gadgets is when I insist they give them up and go play - you know, outside. Or, when I take the "media" away as punishment.

I never wanted to be that parent -you know the one that buys their kids the expensive electronic stuff, but when I got the iPhone 4, I wrapped up my iPhone 3 that was in great shape and gifted it to Ethan for Christmas. Naturally, Emmett got Kevin's when he also got a new phone.

We mostly did this to save our sanity - the kids could play their games (Dragonvale and Angry Birds) and Kevin and I could have our phones back.

The new iPhone was released and Kevin and I decided to upgrade. I have never seen kids so excited because they knew that meant our old phones would be available for 24 hour use. I told the kids they weren't getting our old phone. Uh huh. Sure.

Within days, they were referring to the iPhone 4s as "their" phones. Ellis also calls the iPad, "my iPad" - yes, he does know how to work it better than I do.

I reassure myself that I haven't become "those" parents because I don't pay for service on the old phones - they use them like an iPod touch on our wifi at home.

Ethan asked me just yesterday how much it is to get internet service on "his" phone - I told him way too much money and that wasn't going to happen. I think.

Dad...the moon!

Oh, the dreaded bedtime. When we only had one child (do you sense a theme of too many kids yet?), bedtimes were so easy and so easily enforceable. 7:30 the kid went to bed - mom and dad got some quiet time together or I could get work done. The child was well rested and happy each morning.

I never understood the parents who couldn't get their kids in bed before midnight. I get it now. Wait, my kids go to be well before midnight, but a 7:30 or 8:00pm bedtime are dreams of the past.

Kevin and I agree, almost every week, that we need to get the kids (especially the younger two) into bed earlier. The problem is in the execution. If we have an activity after school, like soccer, forget it. By the time we get home and eat dinner, it is already 7:30. Trying to round up the kids, let alone get baths done, is impossible.

At 8:00 we realize we have failed and insist they get ready for bed. It goes like this:

Emmett get off the iPhone and get ready for bed - he ignores you. You start the bath, and he ignores you. You drag him into the bathtub, and he plays for the next 40 minutes while you chase the three year old around.

Ellis runs from you - around and around the couch. You finally grab him to change the diaper and get him into pajamas but he squirms away and the chase begins, again. You yell at Emmett to get out of the tub and then Ellis insists you find his blanket and make him a sippy cup.

Ethan comes out and wants to know if he can stay up another hour to watch some TV show - you ignore him because you are still trying to chase the three year old and get Emmett to put on some underwear.

Finally, you get them all in their rooms in their beds, but you have to do the bedtime routine: tuck them in, find the blanket or stuffed animal, cuddle, and turn on the moon nightlight that has a great 20 minute timer.

Okay, great you shut the door.

Emmett yells he is thirsty and Ethan is hungry.

You tell them both to be quiet and go to bed.

Emmett yells he is hot, so you go and turn on the fan - Ellis runs out the door, so you chase him down.

Everyone now is happy.

Peace and quiet is here.

Until you hear a scream, "Dad!!! The moon turned off!"

Did I mention it is now 10:00?

I don't want to step on another LEGO

We have an unbelievable amount of toys in this house. I do a pretty good job of disguising we have so many by stashing them in every conceivable place. I did learn long ago that many toys is the price I pay for having so many kids. You see, having three boys, each three years apart, means that I have toys from every possible age range.

Ellis' preschool toys: blocks, Mr.Potato head, fake food, doctor's sets, trains, cars, and books.
Emmett's grade school toys: action figures and more action figures, weapons. Oh, and Legos
Ethan's older boy toys: science supplies, art projects, video games, board games, and more books.

We determined with all of these toys that it is not practical to let the kids have the toys in their rooms - because they will NEVER get picked up and everything will get broken and lost, so in every house we have lived in, we have had a playroom. Usually, the playroom is a disaster, but I could just shut the door - then maybe once a month I would insist the boys clean it up.

Now, no matter how organized you are, the toys never end up back in the right spot when the kids clean up. They throw the toys in the closet or into whatever bin they can find. This means that eventually it is such a disaster that they won't play in there because they can't find anything they want to play with.

This leads me to the clean-up. Every few months I conquer the toys. I sort them, find all the pieces I can match, and throw out the broken or missing parts. I also purge the toys that they have outgrown or don't play with. I am amazed at the amount of cheap crap they collect: fast food toys, dollar store stuff, things from the prize basket. All of this stuff loses their interest and collects in every bin and drawer in the house. This means I throw out a trash bag of stuff from the playroom at least a few times a year.

Before Christmas and birthdays, I also make the kids go through the toys and donate the stuff that is in good shape, but they don't use. We usually pick a kids' charity, and they go with me to deliver the toys; I am always shocked at how willing they are to give up some prized possessions to some kids in need - it is a win/win and makes us feel good. Plus, we have the rule: nothing new unless something old goes. This makes the toy pile manageable.

The house we are in now does not have room for a playroom - it also means Emmett and Ellis share a room, so the amount of space we have is limited for their toys. We purged a ton when we moved, and I am strategic in the play area we have carved out in the corner of the living room. The toys are limited to one giant cubby shelf - 5'x5' with 16 cubby holes. The toys mostly fit in there, and recently I made a cloth cover, so you can't really tell they are toys. There are some things in their bedrooms, but only stuff that really can't get to messy.

The problem with the play area in the living room is that there is no door to simply shut to hide the mess. It also doesn't help that it is right next to the backdoor - the main door we use to enter and exit the house. This means my house seems to be a disaster all the time. It also means that the odds of stepping on a Lego and screaming in pain are really high.

Family time together

We try to spend "quality time" with our kids. We take them to do activities, play outside with them, and shower them with attention when we are home and they are awake. Honestly, I think we spend too much time with them. My parents didn't play with us - they sent us outside to play. In fact, I am pretty sure my parents didn't talk to me unless it was to tell me to do something or punish me.

We are trying to be better parents, I guess, so we play with our kids. One of our kids favorite activities are board games. We have around 35 games (at least most of the game if they haven't lost pieces, but that is another blog) for a variety of age groups. Games for preschoolers like Candy Land and Shoots and Ladders to the classics like Monopoly and Scrabble.

Just like in a cheesy TV commercial, we all settle down around the game we have agreed (okay, fought about) to play. That lasts for about 15 minutes. You see, I am the only honest player in my family. My husband is notorious for his cheating, and the kids have learned it from him. Now, I can play with cheaters because I am on to them, but they are also poor losers. Yup. They cheat and they still lose and then they throw fits.

Usually this ends with a kid in tears or someone throwing the board. Not so much family fun, now is it?

One of my favorite stories about this issue isn't actually about the kids. It is about Kevin. We were camping (our last camping trip I might add) about five years ago when we decided to play Monopoly - a whole group of adults and Ethan.

Kevin was up to his usual cheating ways, but I was still whooping his ass. In fact, he started yelling at me about how I must be cheating (I wasn't), but what was funny is he seriously started a fight with me over the game. It was 10 at night and quiet in the campground, but you could hear him yelling about this stupid game.

The next morning, I was in the campground bathroom when I heard a group of people talking about the "crazy guy yelling about Monopoly last night." I was mortified and hysterical at the same time. Nothing like a little sportsmanship being taught to your kids, right?

Another poop story

Who doesn't like a good poop story? I seem to have many, so here is one embarrasing one.

Boys are gross. They just don't really care about hygeine in general (at least until they get a girlfriend or some social pressure). Emmett has toilet issues. Seriously. He potty trained late (almost four, really!) and still doesn't like or refuses normal bathroom behavior.

There are two really gross things about Emmett: he doesn't wipe his butt, and he won't flush the toilet. Now, part of this I blame on Ethan and Kevin in a strange way.

When Ethan was three, he was traveling with Kevin and his mom to San Francisco. They stopped at a Denny's for some lunch. Ethan was newly potty trained and needed to use the bathroom before they left. Kevin took him to the bathroom and when Ethan was done using the toilet, he flushed it. What happened next traumatized poor Ethan. The toilet was broken and the dirty toilet water sprayed into the air and soaked Ethan from head-to-toe. The poor guy was so scared and upset. It took him about a year before he would flush the toilet, and this continued on for years - asking us in public places if the toilet was going to explode and insisting we flush it for him.

So, Emmett was finally potty trained, but Ethan told Emmett the story of the exploding toilet. We tried to reason with Emmett that our toilets at home would NEVER do this, but Ethan's fear had transferred over to Emmett. I have no idea why he doesn't wipe his butt. I have tried to ask, but his answer is usually something crazy.

I know my grandma's answer is to beat him, but so far we have tried other things. We remind him, we threaten him, we punish him (that really doesn't work). We have tried family shame; we tried social shame.

Nothing works. Emmett is told a THOUSAND times to flush the toilet. Everyone in the family freaks out at his toilet surprises; I think he likes the attention.

He also like to pee on the toilet seat, so I forbid him to use my bathroom.

I have tried threatening him with illness - I even had his doctor tell him he was going to get an infection on his butt because he won't wipe.

I asked him the other day who was the stinky kid in school. When he told me he didn't know, I told him it was him. He thought that was funny.

I thought about wiping his butt for him, but I fear he would like that too much.

The only good thing of these disgusting habits: we all know who is responsible for the toilet nightmare.

Advertising our way to nonsense

I really have to give props to advertisers in America. They know their audience. Kid TV channels aren't really for entertaining kids (okay I know no TV really is), but the line between show and commercial is even more blurred on the kid channels.

Like all kids, my kids fall for the crap they sell on TV. The believe everything told to them and insist they need to own it all. Kids are told what to buy and what to eat by the ads on the TV. I get it - how else would these companies sell all this crap to kids? But, it is extreme. I try at a young age to explain ads to my kids, but they really can't understand that the action figure will never be as cool as on TV once they get it home. They can't even fathom that it would be any different then what they see on the boob tube.

What I find even more strange is that the companies advertise for adult items on kids' channels too because they know many parents are in the same room as their kids - or perhaps that kids will pressure the parents into buying some cool As Seen on TV stuff.

My first recognition of how much kids absorb these commercials came when Ethan was three. We were at the California State Fair walking through the exhibit building where they sell stuff when Ethan got very excited and wanted to show me something. The Adjust-o-matic bed - "look mom it is just like the one I see on TV, you can sit up and read in bed, you really need one of these" - he could recite the whole infomercial, and I was kind of shocked and disgusted at the same time.

Then, Emmett kept telling me he wanted NEW BERRY LUCKY CHARMS at the grocery store. I couldn't find them anywhere until I realized that wasn't the name. He was just repeating the commercial for me word-for-word. New! Berry Lucky Charms!

Of course I am rather naive - I try not to watch commercials - so I am not an expert on most of the cool new products. However, I do keep a list of things the kids would like for gifts. A list I send out to relatives before Christmas and Birthdays.

Last year, I sent the boys' lists to my sister, Jamie. Jamie called me immediately laughing. She wanted to know why Kaboom toilet cleaner was on Emmett's list. I told her I didn't know what she was talking about - he asked for Kaboom and I added it to the list - I had no idea it was a toilet cleaner. I called Emmett into the room and asked him what Kaboom was. He told me it was a toilet cleaner, so I asked him why it was on his gift list. He responded, "the commercial said it would help keep the toilet clean, so I thought you could use one since you are always complaining the toilet is dirty."  Obviously, marketing to kids is the BEST idea ever.

Extra curricular activities...you know, torture.

I am undecided about organized sports for the kids. I know some people think ALL kids should play as many sports as they can fit into their schedule, and I like the idea of sports. I just don't like the actual commitment of sports and sports teams.

First, they cost a lot of money; second, almost every activity is 3-4 days a week; third, they require me to volunteer or sell shit. None of this is all that appealing even if the kids will learn some cooperation and develop some self-esteem. It also doesn't help that I have more than one kid to juggle. 

My father wouldn't allow me to sign up for any activities Softball, and I wasn't really an athletic girl, so I passed. I have regrets as an adult that I never got to take dance or music classes, which may be why I am so willing to allow my kids to do whatever activities they ask.

Except, my kids would sign up for every activity known to children if possible. Ethan as done: golf, baseball, guitar, choir, theatre, and dance. Emmett had done soccer and baseball, so far.  I made a rule last year that they can only do one activity at a time because there was a point Ethan was doing THREE all at the same time.

My issue, however, is not even with this, really. My issue is with the complaining and whining they do about going to activities they BEG me to join. I sound like my dad when I threaten and cajole, telling them no more activities in the future and reminding them of how much money and time it costs me.

They don't care. Take Emmett last week. He is in the middle of a soccer season; Kevin is even the assistant coach. They get to practice and Emmett refuses to participate. Literally plops himself down in the middle of the field. This is not the first time he has done this.

 Kevin comes up with a brilliant idea: he tells Emmett to either participate in soccer or run laps until he decides to participate. Emmett chooses to run laps.

Ten laps to be exact. Yes, he ran laps for the entire hour of soccer instead of playing.

He won, and we lost. Again.

Heaven...or just some clouds

We aren't religious people. Kevin was raised without any religious upbringing (which I still find strange), but I was raised as Catholic until I was in my teenage years. My family never went to church or really participated or even talked about God, but my dad thought it was his responsibility to make sure both of his kids went to Catechism and went all the way through Confirmation in the church. After that, his duty was done.

Now, as adults neither Kevin nor I are religious. We don't attend a church, don't ascribe to a particular religion, or even recognize a god. However, we do openly talk about religion and beliefs people have - we are very open to allowing our kids to believe what they want, but we do think it is a personal decision they should make as adults.

Ethan has been to a couple of different churches with family members and various friends, but he doesn't seem very interested.

Emmett, on the other hand, profoundly believes in God. We have no problem with this - and usually send him to grandma to discuss and or explain the questions he has since we don't feel capable answering him.

Sometimes these things backfire. Death. Handling the death of a loved one is difficult even as an adult. As a child, it is a scary unknown that can cause an obsession with who is going to die and when. Ethan was almost three when my mom died of cancer - he knew she was very sick and that her body was going to die. We talked about how people die and how they live on in your heart and memories. That was a perfectly acceptable explanation to Ethan.

But, two years ago, my grandfather died. Emmett was four and was devastated. We tried the same explanation we gave Ethan at that age, but he just kept asking, but where did he go? When we buried grandpa, Emmett couldn't handle the idea he was in the ground.

So, naturally my grandma told him grandpa was in heaven and one day he would see him again. The curious four year old quizzed my grandma about all things heaven, but especially where it was. Grandma explained heaven was in the sky above the clouds. Problem solved.

Fast-forward six months. We are taking our family trip to Florida. We board the plane and get high up in the sky, and when Emmett sees we are above the clouds, he wants to know where grandpa is. I looked at him in a puzzled way, and he tells me, "We are in heaven above the clouds, so where is grandpa?"

I was speechless. I had no idea what to say, so I told him the only thing I could think of: I don't know; you better ask grandma when we get home. 

Not in the store!

My kids, like most good Americans, love to shop. The problem is I hate taking them with me shopping. I have even contemplated paying the babysitter to watch them so I could shop alone. I am talking about the normal grocery store and Target trip. Forget Costco - we try to do that while they are at school.

The problem is they get a case of the "I wants" the minute we walk in the store. Parents (and magazines and books) give the advice that you need to set the ground rules BEFORE you go in the store. You know, telling them that they can't have anything so not to even ask.

Uh huh, sure. I am not sure whose kids this works for - maybe the same people that get them to do chores - but it doesn't work for me. At all.

Even once we are in the store, I hear them start to ask and remind them: no asking and no getting ANYTHING. That lasts five minutes until I am saying no 22 times to each of my three children. It isn't like I am just saying no to toys - we do avoid the toy section - but they ask for the most ridiculous things. They ask for every snack food, candles, cups, socks. It doesn't matter. If they see it, they ask for it.

They also pull out all of the stops: "please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please. I promise I'll be good/do chores/pay you back." And when all else fails, the TANTRUM. Then, there are the looks from the "amazing parents" who think you are crappy because you can't control your kids.

I tried compromise - pick something from the dollar section; if you are good and don't ask for anything else, I will buy you that one item. Nope, one item is not enough. Don't even get me started on the dreaded candy section at checkout.

I am seriously over it. 

A few years ago, I did come up with a plan that works some of the time: the list.

I tell the kids they can't ask me for anything, but if they find something they really want, they can add it to the master list. The list is what we use to purchase Christmas and Birthday presents - we even send it out to relatives. The problem with this is you actually have to keep a list. The kids will remember if you don't put something on it, but they buy into the idea rather easily. Emmett: "Mom, can I have this Power Ranger?" Me: "Nope, but I can add it to your list."

It doesn't always work, but most of the time they are happy to add things to the list as they shop. The small stuff that they randomly want never makes it to the list, but I tell them it does. The bigger stuff actually goes on the list I keep on my phone.

Not a perfect solution, but it does decrease the "I wants" or at least the amount I get coerced into buying.

Creative or Crazy?

My kids love art. They are creative creatures who love many mediums to help them create the ideas in their heads. I am often impressed by the stuff they create, even at a young age.

I am not sure why I am surprised by their artistic view of the world since I like to think of myself as a creative person. However, I find that much of my creative energy never gets focused into actually creating things, unlike the boys. I try to encourage this urge they have to make things. I keep an abnormal amount of crafting and art supplies around the house. I have almost everything they might need to draw, paint, sculpt, cut, glue, build, knit, etc.

Ethan began crafting normal everyday items around the house into sculptures. At the age of three, he had taken binder paper and napkins and stapled them into a very realistic looking dog (I wish I had a picture of that). In fact, it was so well done, that I thought an adult had to help him with it. Nope. Ethan is also interested in crafty stuff. He made me teach him how to knit and crochet. He likes making jewelry and friendship bracelets. He is an all around crafty kid.

Ethan also loves to draw. Again, at the age of four, he drew a rocket ship that was so impressive (really, because at this age, it is a struggle to color in the lines) that it hung on our fridge for a few years. I have encouraged his love or art and projects because he obviously loves it and has a gift. He subscribes to Family Fun magazine because he loves the projects they have in it. We often make deals that if he saves his money, I will match it to allow him to buy art supplies. His latest purchase was a sketch book (with some instructions on drawing people) and a charcoal set. He was in heaven.

Now, Emmett also loves art, but in a much more hands-on kind of way. He likes to create things using the glue gun and whatever scraps he can find outside. Often, he is creating some sort of weapon. Still, this is a creative process. That kid loves molding clay and paint. He can spend hours at the dining room table "playing" with the art supplies. It is not unusual for them to choose art to do out of the many, many activities available to them on our farm.

This all sounds lovely, doesn't it? The problem is they destroy my house in the process of creating this art. The messes are unbelievable. Sometimes I find myself telling them they CAN'T do art because I don't feel like cleaning up the mess. The other problem is the stuff I need to do my work goes missing from my desk.

In this house we have endless supplies:

13 pairs of scissors
4 staplers
3 tape dispensers
2 drawers of pens, pencils, markers, and crayons
5 drawers of paper
3 drawers of stickers, buttons, brads, beads, flowers, bling, etc.
A half of closet of yarn and knitting/crocheting supplies

Basically, anything you would want to complete whatever project your creative brain had come up with, yet many of these things disappear.

Yesterday, I needed scissors. The two holders on my desk had not a single pair (there are usually 4 pairs there); I checked my stash (the drawer), nope. The kitchen drawer? Nope. The bathroom? Nope. 13 pairs of scissors completely gone. I ask the kids, where are the scissors? No one knows. They claim they haven't touched them. So, I go into Ethan's room and pick up his clothes off the floor and find ALL 13 pairs. I guess he needed scissors to finish his art project.

Last week, I wanted to use some tape. EVERY. SINGLE. TAPE DISPENSER. EMPTY.  Even my drawer of refills had none left. I was trying to figure our how they could have used 200 yards of scotch tape, and then I saw it. A giant ball creature of tape, plus a "sticky" trap between the beds in Emmett's room. That is right. He had used ALL of the tape in the house to create a spiderweb and spider out of tape.

I find myself angry at the "misuse" of my supplies and the messes they create in the same moments I am awed by their creative minds. In my dreams,  I would build them an art shed - a studio for them that they can make messes in and design all of their heart's desires without me flipping out. Or I just need to get over it.

Boys and hair. Bad News.

My kids dislike haircuts, okay this blog seems to be turning into stories about things my kids hate, but they really do dislike haircuts.

 

I am not sure why; I suppose it is scary having a stranger use scissors really close to your face. Maybe it is that they are attached to their hair - pun intended. I do find with each one, though, the hair fiasco is different.

Ethan never wants a haircut, not even a trim. He wants a full head of thick tangled long hair. He even got mistaken for a girl at Target when an older woman asked me if my daughter - pointing at Ethan - liked a particular toy. I didn't bother to correct her - he did look and sound like a girl. I told Ethan that is the price you pay to have long hair. I actually can care less what "style" the kids choose for their hair. In fact, if Ethan wants to have a tangled mop, he can, but I draw the line at the smell. He refuses to wash it and refuses to comb it. It is disgusting, and of course, people judge me if he looks like a homeless abandoned child. 

 

 I have let the boys choose their hair cuts as soon as they were old enough to talk. This is why Emmett went through a phase where he had a Mohawk. A colored Mohawk. You should have saw the dirty looks the old ladies on the street gave me. 

Ellis had long curly hair until he turned one - then we cut it off. We got tired of explaining that Ellis was not a girl. Ellis is still at the stage where he screams and wiggles to get away from the haircut. Not a good idea to take him to Supercuts, where the women tell me I should get "more control" of him. 

Perhaps part of the reason I let them choose their hair is because it is not worth the fight. Yes, I believe in self-expression, but more importantly, I believe in self-survival. I have better things to fight with them about (no, you can't stab your brother) then when and how they should cut their hair.

The current compromise? Ethan gets his hair trimmed twice a year, and I get to scream at him to wash it at least once a week, especially if we go out in public.

Emmett and Ellis: I simply hold them down every other month and buzz cut their frizzy curly hair down to nothing - then I can't tell when they don't wash it, and it doesn't matter if they don't comb it.

Now, if only I could apply some of this to my husband's hair...

To poop in the potty...

Trying to potty train is  one of the more frustrating experiences as a parent. When Ethan reached the age we wanted to start potty training, I conquered it the way I always do: I read a bunch of books.

Everything I read, said that you should make it fun, no pressure, reward for the small things. Well, this hasn't worked. After potty training two boys, I feel like an expert. An expert at knowing that nothing works.

None of the books are right. All I know is that kid will stop pissing and shitting in diapers when they feel like it - not when you want them too. I know that some parents will say that isn't true - my kid responded easily to stickers on a chart, or just putting them in underwear, or letting them run naked, or giving them candy as a reward, etc. But, I will argue that you just tapped into the idea that your kid was ready - that or you have really easy kids.

None of mine were that easy. Ethan never was into the micro-managing of potty training. We tried. He refused. When he was about 2.5, Ethan really wanted this $70 Cranky the Crane (Thomas the Train) play set. Kevin told him if he started using the big boy potty and went a week without needing a diaper or having an accident, Kevin would buy it for him. That week Ethan was potty trained and never looked back. Yes, Kevin had to order the $70 toy, but in our minds, that was $70 well spent.

Now, Emmett has always been head strong and stubborn. About the same age, we tried the same trick. That didn't work. We tried the stickers and the candy. No luck. We tried letting him go naked or pee outside (he liked that), but it didn't translate to no diapers. At the age of 3.5, I thought we would be an adult still in diapers, but one day he just said to me that he would like some underwear and to be a big boy - I think that Ellis was about to be born played a role. That was it. Seriously, no bribery needed.

Here we are with Ellis. He turned three in September. We have a potty seat in the bathroom, which Ellis will sit on before baths and pee in there (but no other time). Ellis finally has enough language skills to communicate his needs, so we figure time for potty training. Low pressure should work, right? Nope. He will tell you he is stinky, bring you a diaper and wipes to be changed, but he won't go in the potty. I always tell him he is a big boy and should go in the big boy potty, but he just tells me, "no way."

We went and bought him some cool Cars underwear and put them on him - telling him he has to go in the potty. That lasted one hour before he had soiled all three pairs. I am tired of paying for diapers, and I know he will eventually decide the toilet is great, but until then I am not sure I can survive.

The idea of all three boys using a toilet and no diapers just seems like a dream come true -- until I go into the bathroom and see their definition of using the toilet.

I can get you $40,000

For Ethan's second birthday, my grandmother generously decided he needed a swing set to play on in the backyard of our home. She went to Toy 'r' Us and bought one of those small all metal play sets that has some swings, a teeter totter, and a small slide. Kevin and my dad spent all weekend reading the 57 page instruction manual (52 of those pages were safety warnings) and assembling it.

They wanted to make sure if was safe and sound for our precious first-born. Ethan was excited; he loved to climb up the slide and slide down head first, or con one of us to "sit" on the teeter totter and rock him back and forth. But, he loved the swings the best. Since he was only two, he couldn't get himself on and off the swing, nor could he get himself going. This meant he had to be pushed (usually by Kevin).

We had the swing set for a little over two months. On a lovely Saturday morning in the middle of the summer, Ethan was outside being pushed on the swing. Suddenly in mid-swing he let go and went flying off. I guess he didn't realize that would happen, but he didn't fall far, and caught himself on his hands so his face never hit the ground.

Of course he cried - we thought mostly from the shock - but he was holding his right arm. It wasn't disfigured; there were no bones sticking our and no swelling, but we put some ice on it and waited a few hours. He wouldn't use his right hand at all, so we called the advice nurse who suggested we take him to the Emergency Room.

We load him up and head over there. They take us in pretty quickly and do an X-Ray of the arm and wrist. Nothing is broken. They tell us it is sprain and it will hurt him for a few weeks; we can give him some Advil for the pain.

For the next three days, Ethan complains about his arm hurting and refuses to use it even though I tell him he is okay and it will be fine.

On Wednesday Kaiser calls to tell me that I need to bring Ethan into Orthopedics that day because they were reviewing his X-ray and want to have his arm checked again. I am fine with that and we head in.
When we get there, the doctor comes in and asks me what color I want Ethan's cast to be. I am completely confused and ask why he needs a cast. The doctor explains that the bone in his wrist is broken - apparently the ER doctor missed it. I am pissed and wonder (out loud) how this could happen. Apparently, kid's bones are pliable - so when they break them, they compress instead of snapping. Ethan's wrist bone was shaped like an S; it was only caught because Kaiser has a policy of reviewing all X-rays before they are filed away.

I felt so terrible; I had been telling this kid there was nothing wrong with his arm! Ethan had to be put in a full arm cast (above the elbow), so he couldn't bend his arm at all. He had the hardest time eating or playing. When he got it off six weeks later, he freaked out because he didn't want it off - he was afraid it was going to hurt again, and he insisted on wearing a splint for another week until he realized his arm was healed.

The funniest thing is that Kevin worked at a law firm at the time. His buddy (an attorney) told him that we should sue the swing set manufacturer - he could get us about $40,000. The reason? There was no warning in the instruction pamphlet and 52 pages of warnings that said not to let go of the swing! We didn't sue, but this is proof that common sense is not so common, especially in two year olds.

Picture obsessed?

We are, as a society, obsessed with documenting every single part of our, mostly, boring lives by taking thousands and thousands of pictures that no one will probably ever look at.

I fall into the this category, especially because I have children. In fact, if you meet adults and they say that have no baby pictures, we feel bad for them, or sometimes we can't believe it. What kind of bad parent doesn't document their child's development from birth to adulthood? What kind of parent doesn't record birthdays, holidays, and other special occasions for their children?

I used to say these types of things. When I met Kevin, he told me he had never seen a picture of himself as a baby. In fact, when I had Ethan, I really wanted to see if he looked like Kevin as a baby, so I asked his mom if she had any pictures of him. Her answer? Maybe. Somewhere. Probably not, though.

I instantly judged her as a terrible mother, and I felt cheated that I would never be able to see which of our kids resembled their dad as babies.

But now, I understand. Taking snapshots of family events means two things: I don't get to participate and I am never in the pictures. I do get the camera out, but I am more likely to catch random everyday events on my iPhone camera, then I am special events on my fancy digital camera. I forget to get the camera out. I forget to charge the batter in advance; I end up taking pictures of random things that never turn out well. I don't appear in the pictures, so there are plenty of the children and Kevin, but you would think I was absent as a parent.

Don't get me wrong, I go and get the kids pictures done professionally at least once a year - I have thought about stopping that, but my guilt gets to me every time.

But this post is about the dreaded family picture. One more way we are supposed to immortalize our family history. Plus, it is part of the American Dream to have a beautiful framed picture hanging over the mantle. At least a family picture every couple of years, right?

When we only had one child, it was fairly simple. Go to your local Sears, plop the kid on your lap, and smile. The photographer was usually good enough to get the kid's attention and get a decent picture. Granted, you had to wait about a month until your pictures were ready, but that was fine. Then, I discovered the Picture People, available in every mall. They were child ''friendly," had cool props, and were supposedly experts. The upside was you walked away that day with pictures in hand. The downside was they were expensive, usually costing us a little over $100 for the picture package we wanted.

Now, we decided that we would take the kids each year (near their birthday) to get their pics done - the school-age kids got pics done at school, so this means we are just down to getting Ellis' pictures done each year. Each year, we also try to get a picture of the three boys together done - let's be honest, these are the pictures are extended family wants, really. Of course, we also try to get a whole family pic done. That means Kevin and I plus three rowdy boys.

I am not so ambitious to attempt some grand theme (like some over-achievers) or even really to color coordinate. I just want a picture of all of us looking at the camera without picking noses, bending over, or looking over their shoulder. This is much harder then you think.

We did get a family pic done at Ellis' second birthday photo shoot. It was exhausting. In fact, it was so bad Kevin took the boys back two more times (mother's day and before my birthday) to try to get the boys to behave for five minutes to get a picture of them together - he gave up.

Ellis refused to stay on the set, then screamed his head off at every attempt we tried to entertain him. We tried to get the three boys to pose together, but Emmett kept picking his nose, and Ethan kept looking at his feet or at Ellis. It was a nightmare. Don't ask me how (maybe we exhausted them), but we managed to get two decent pictures of the family. It is an awkward pose -- me leaning forward, Ellis clapping his hands --cute, and good enough. 

My favorite family picture from that shoot isn't that one though. It is the one that reflects our true family: me smiling and completely unaware the rest are ruining it, Kevin awkwardly bending forward with an annoyed look on his face, Ellis playing with his hair, Ethan looking confused, and Emmett making, well, an Emmett face.

This is a picture I will treasure.

Bribery doesn't work.

My kids are pigs. I am sure most kids are pigs, really. If you have any hints on how to train kids or make the act like robots and not be pigs, please leave a comment explaining what I am doing wrong.

I have read a ton about parenting, child development; I have even taken some child development classes. Everything I have ever learned tells me that punishment doesn't work. I agree with this. Supposedly, "positive reinforcement" does. I don't believe that either.

I do believe that some parents get their kids to be OCD neat freaks --perhaps by not letting them have any fun at all? - but I am not one of those. It isn't serious cleaning I ask them to do; just picking up the daily messes that they make.

I have tried a thousand different things:

• allowance (bribery)
• no allowance
• earn money for each chore
• earn "behavior bucks" - yes, I made my own money and we have prize baskets
• making it a game
• five minute clean-ups
• punch cards (thanks Cherri - the latest attempt)
• loss of privileges
• making them pay me to do it
• not letting them do anything else until it is done

In case, you haven't figured it out, none of these work for very long.

Emmett just drops everything where he is. He throws the trash and his clothes on the ground. He empties his drawers when looking for clothes or shoes to wear. He shares a room with Ellis, so I get in there and pick everything up most of the time. We started the punch cards - Emmett will do chores sometimes, but refuses punches or rewards (punishing me, right?), but most of the time he will just run to his room and go to bed when it is time to clean up.

Ellis, even at three, is more willing to pick up then his brothers. He actually says, "oh no! mess" and tries to help. I have hope for him, but the other two were like this at his age, too, until they realized they didn't HAVE to do it. 

Sometimes the five minute clean-up will work. As long as I stick to the rule "no other chores today" if they participate. That is hard, but I am usually grateful for the five minutes of work they do.
One of the reasons rewards don't work is that the kids know we will give them money and take them places regardless. We try really hard to not "give" them stuff, but we fall into this new-age trap of wanting to make them happy.

Ethan usually will do the basics: feed and water the animals (which is a lot), and empty the dishwasher, but he ALWAYS needs to be reminded (read: nag) to do it. However, Ethan's room is always a disgusting mess. I came to the conclusion last year that it isn't my room. If he wants to live that way he can - until it smells or things start growing, so about once a month I insist he clean it. My last brilliant idea was to give him  the deadline of the weekend to get it done, then he would pay me $10 an hour to do it - if he didn't finish it in time. Of course, he waited until Sunday afternoon. He cleaned most of it, and then came out and said to me, "I think what is left should take you about 30 minutes, so I am willing to pay you the $5 to finish it up, mom."

Shit. He won. For some reason I think they are all playing me, and I am losing.

My grandma's solution: beat them. Literally.

10 year olds or teenagers?

The day Ethan turned 10 (in June) something snapped. He suddenly became this sullen, mouthy, eye-rolling teenager, but he is only 10!

He likes to think he is clever and funny (okay he is most of the time), but he goes through these phases that really get on my nerves.

This week? He says "What is this __________ you speak of?"

The first time he did it was funny. I reminded him to empty the dishwasher, and he said, "What is this thing the dishwasher you speak of?" Funny. I laughed. I shouldn't have. That line gets really old, really quickly.

Come eat dinner Ethan! - What is this "dinner" you speak of?

Ethan, give the chickens water! - What is this "water" you speak of?

Did you take a shower?  -What is this thing "shower" you speak of?

Let me check your homework. - What is this "homework" you speak of?

You get the point. I actually told him if he says it one more time I am going to "show" him. I thought that was funny. He didn't.

Of course, his response was "What is this "show me" you speak of?"

I swear to you. I almost died. 

Emmett did it!

Emmett has always been wild and a bit of a bully. He has a hard time with impulse control. When he gets angry or frustrated, you don't want to be within his reach.

Ethan is 3.5 years older than Emmett. So when Emmett was 18 months old, Ethan was about double his size at 5. This didn't stop Emmett from bullying Ethan. Yes, that is right the 18 month old bullied the 5 year old.

It wasn't uncommon for Ethan to come running and crying to me that Emmett had hurt him. Emmett, of course, loved this power. He could make Ethan run away and cry, what a fun game! I often told Ethan that he was bigger than his brother - just turn around and face him. Take away whatever he is chasing you with, but Ethan wouldn't. He told me Emmett was too scary.

I intervened a lot and we had been working on teaching Emmett how to be kind and gentle, but there is nothing in the world like sibling rivalry between brothers.

One particular night, the kids were playing inside. Kevin was working late, and I was cooking dinner. Emmett had found a weapon (jump rope) and was using it a a whip to chase Ethan around. I had told them to knock it off, when suddenly I heard the loudest squeal - I thought they had stepped on the cat. Ethan comes running into the kitchen with blood pouring down his face. I calm him down enough to see the gouge above and next to his eye in his eyebrow. He tells me that Emmett was chasing him, and he ran into the corner of the hallway wall (they weren't exceptionally sharp corners, but the house was built in the 1950's, so there was no modern rounding of the wall edges). I realize he is going to need stitches, so I get him a towel to mop up the blood, and load the boys into the car.

I call Kevin on the way to the hospital, and he agrees to meet me there. We arrive and the ER takes us in right away. They determine Ethan is going to need seven stitches, but first they need to question us about what happened to him.

It is policy to question the injured kid and parent separately - to make sure the kid isn't being abused. I understand this, but they still treat you like you are a criminal. They ask me to leave the room, and they question Ethan about what happened.

Then, they bring me back into the room, and they start asking me, "who is Emmett?" I am confused by this, so I laugh and respond, "his brother." They want to know where Emmett is - in the waiting room with his dad - "can you bring him in," they ask. I am a little weirded out by this, but I comply.

Kevin and Emmett come in, and the doctors now looked confused. Apparently, when they asked what happened, Ethan told them, "Emmett did this to me. He always hurts me."  When the doctors told me this, I laughed. I couldn't help it. I explained that Emmett was chasing Ethan, and Ethan ran into the wall.

Once that was cleared up, they had to convince Ethan to let them put a needle in his face. He wasn't going for it. They put Ethan's arms in a pillowcase behind his back, and then put him on his back. I had to hold his head still as he screamed and they sewed his eye up.

Ethan was fine within a week - he still has a scar from that mishap - and he is still convinced that Emmett is an abuser.

Do you let your kids cuss?

I cuss. A lot. I like those seven "naughty" words because they express how I am feeling in that moment better than any other words in the English language. Perhaps because I majored in English, I believe that a language is a living, changing thing. I recognize that words are given value (positive and negative), but that the word itself if not offensive unless we have been taught that it is. That might be the reason I love those bad words so much - okay, that and the shock value doesn't hurt.

Yes, I use them in my adult classroom. Typically, I explain my reasoning and most students are fine with it. This doesn't mean that they don't have questions or shitty comments:

• Don't you have a broader vocabulary?
• Shouldn't you act more professional?
• I would expect more from an English Professor. 
• Did your parents let you talk this way?
• Those words are a reflection of your behavior!
• Don't you have any morals?

But my favorite of all times is: Do you let your kids cuss?

Now, let me clear about this - I do NOT cuss at people. I don't call people names, but I may tell my students to turn in their shit that is due, or stub my toe and yell, "Fuck." I mean, honestly, that word serves the best when you stub your toy or step on a Lego.

In my house, stupid is just as bad a word a bitch. Honestly, I might have my feelings hurt more if someone called me stupid. So, in response to the people who as me if I let me kids cuss, I tell them if they want to - as long as it wasn't directed at someone. However, I also tell me kids the truth. There are many, many people who believe those words are "bad," and if you chose to use them outside our home, people will think I am a terrible mother.

What? That isn't manipulation - it is the truth. So do my kids cuss? Nope, not really. They love me and wouldn't want anyone to think I am a bad mom!

The funniest thing is that kids have an uncanny way of using foul language in the most appropriate ways - that is why I hate to forbid any words.

For example, Ethan was three - I told him to go play on the swings in our backyard, so he headed out. A few minutes later he came back in, so I asked him why he wasn't playing out back anymore. His response, "there is too much dog shit out there because dad hasn't cleaned it up." Funniest (and most honest) answer ever. Really, how was I supposed to stop and correct him to say poop, not shit. I mean it was only the truth.

I just laughed and moved on. In my house, you are more likely to hear Emmett call one of us a dummy, stupid head, idiot - then one of the seven forbidden words.

The ways kids think they punish you!

Emmett likes to punish me, well try to punish me. Depending on his mood, a simple request, put on your shoes,  can turn into a giant life-ending fight.

A few months ago, I asked Emmett to sit at the table and eat his dinner (as opposed to running around the house dropping various pieces of food on the floor). His response was that he was running away because I didn't love him. Now, I don't buy into his antics -all attention seeking - so I just said okay, you should pack a bag because it will be cold tonight outside.

Emmett doesn't bluff. He packed a bag and decided he was going to live under the trampoline, a whopping 10 feet from my bedroom window. He went out there about 7:30. He dug around, gathered some scrap wood to build a fire, brought a pillow and blanket, and some food. It got dark around 8:30 and he was still out there. My husband started to freak out - you aren't really going to let him stay out there are you?

I reminded him that soon Emmett would give up and come in. I watched him through the window. He had shed his shirt and shoes, had smeared mud on his face for war paint, and was sharpening a  stick to use as a spear for hunting. When this kids decides to do something, he goes all out. I hear him scraping two sticks together to start a fire - no luck. I tried to talk to him - he told me he didn't have a family, and he doesn't talk to strangers. I left him alone.

About 9:30, he comes and knocks on the door. He acts like he doesn't know me - and asks if I could "spare a meal and a bed for a homeless person" (I swear!). And I say sure - then I ask him where he is traveling from - he tells me Sacramento - his family ditched him (hahaha). He comes in and eats his dinner, climbs into his bed and goes to sleep.

The next morning he comes out and acts like nothing happened. I think he realized he was only punishing himself, but I did have to appreciate his creativity and stubbornness. One day those traits are going to serve him well in life.

I promise I won't shoot anyone in the face!

When we first decided to have kids, Kevin and I sat down and discussed the basics of how we wanted to parent. We agreed we would never hit or spank our kids. We would try to be kind and understanding. We would set limitations and rules about TV, video games, music, toys, etc.

With our first child, those rules were easy. Only age-appropriate media, no toys of violence, etc. We wanted to encourage our kids to play with all toys - this meant our sons would have dolls and a kitchen - and we would limit the number of toys that encouraged violence: no guns, knives, swords. I know some of you are freaking out at this - I mean how will a boy be a "boy" without these things. Honestly, I just knew that those toys would lead to someone getting hurt. I was pretty strict about this rule, even though every single family member bought these toys just to annoy me, I would just put them "away" and the kids never missed them.

This rule, however, became a problem when Emmett turned about four. You see all of his friends and cousins were allowed to play with those weapons - and Emmett in particular LOVED them. He would make his own weapons out of anything he could find. Lego guns? Check. Chicken strip swords? Yup. Sling shots out of sticks? Sure. He is just a violent kid by nature. No matter how much I explained that he was hurting his friends and brother with those "toys," he didn't care. In fact, he took great pleasure in bullying others with his created weapons. I was losing this battle.

Finally, Emmett begged, borrowed, and saved enough money for a toy trip to Toys 'r' Us for his birthday. All that kid wanted was a giant Nerf gun. Not the normal small one, but an automatic rifle that shoots 50 foam darts at a time.

We tried to persuade him, we reminded him of our no weapon rules, we tried to distract him with other really cool toys (giant action figures), but we could not be convinced. I knew what he was thinking: of all the havoc we could wreck on everyone in the house. So, Kevin and I made a decision to let him buy it. We reasoned that the foam darts would be safer then any weapon he created at home (have you ever been hit with legos? They really hurt).

We let him buy this giant gun. He even bought 200 replacement darts, and we insisted on a target. We set some ground rules: No shooting people or animals without their permission, never shoot in the face, no shooting mom and dad's stuff - the target or things outside were fine.

We thought this would work (okay, we were hoping). Worst decision ever. It didn't last five minutes before he had shot both his brothers in the face. Kevin's idea was to even the playing field - so he went and bought Ethan the same gun. So apparently the parenting solution was to let them all shoot each other until everyone was hurt and crying.

The guns ended up in a timeout - I couldn't handle all the whining, crying, and tattling about who shot who in the face. It is our constant battle - I get talked into giving them back and all hell erupts.

Perhaps I should have just bought them all knives, crossbows, sling shots, and staged our own hunger games in the backyard. At least then I wouldn't have to  regret that I didn't stick to my own parenting rules. *Sigh* Did I mention that I really wanted girls?

The doctor has a key...how not to talk to your kids about sex.

Deciding at what age to have the sex talk with their kids is a tough decision all parents must face (okay, maybe not - I suppose some never have that talk).

I am a believer that you shouldn't lie to kids about sex, but you should provide age appropriate info. The sex talk is easier to avoid if you are never pregnant when your kids are old enough to have questions, but I was never that lucky. It also is hard if your kids are curious and smart.

My first encounter with this issue was when Ethan was three. I was very pregnant with Emmett, and Ethan naturally wanted to know how the baby was going to come out. He asked Kevin, and Kevin's brilliant response was "the doctor has a key and will unlock it." That response worked for about five minutes until Ethan said, "okay, but HOW does the baby get out of mom's belly." So I told him the truth: Mommy has a hole under her pee pee and the baby comes out of there. The brilliant response from Ethan was, "doesn't that hurt?" I told him yes, and then he wanted to know if I would be okay - I reassured him I would be fine.

When Emmett was born, Ethan came to the hospital to see us. The first thing he did was come running to me and ask if it hurt - I said yes - and he asked if I was okay, when I said I was fine - he went to see his new brother.

That wasn't so bad. Fast forward three more years. I am pregnant with Ellis. Ethan is 7 and Emmett is 3. Emmett wants to know how the baby is going to get out - and Ethan explains it to him. Hilarious. But then Ethan  looks at me and says, "So I get how the baby gets out - but how does it get IN there?" Uh oh. How do I explain this one?! I turned to him and said very matter-of-factly: mom has an egg, dad has a sperm, they come together and make a baby. Ethan says, "Oh, that makes sense, okay." Phew. Crisis adverted.

Nope. Not so fast. A year later, Ethan is eight. We are sitting in the car and he says to me, "so mom I know how a baby gets made, but I am wondering HOW does the mom's egg and the dad's sperm get together?" Oh shit. There is no avoiding this one. I tell him to ask me again when we get home, and I will explain it.

He forgets. A month later he asks the questions again. I tell Kevin that I am going to explain sex to Ethan. Kevin freaks out - but then we agree it is time. He is in fourth grade - he will know this soon enough from his friends and the internet. So, I explain puberty and sex to Ethan. I go through all of it - the technical info, the consequence of sex, etc. He is completely grossed out and swears he is never going to have sex. Then, he says, "wait you and dad do THIS? Gross!" I have never laughed so hard in my life.

I thought it went well. He seemed to take it in stride, but it was like pulling back a curtain. Over the next few weeks he would be singing a song he had sung a thousand times - then stop mid-lyric and ask me if this song was really about sex. He started noticing sex was everywhere. In fact, at one point he said to me, "Mom, why is everything about sex? What is wrong with grown ups?"

I didn't have an answer for him.

Guess I shouldn't sing FloRida's new song "Blow my Whistle" around him. Somethings kids just aren't ready to know about ;)

The tender hearted.

We have chickens. Lots of them. When you buy chickens, you can't know for sure they won't be roosters. So, we ended up with FIVE roosters- and we really don't want or need five roosters. For one, they will eventually get big and fight - you know cock fight - and hurt each other.

Of course, my instant solution was the killing cone (read kill and eat them), but I really don't have the heart to kill them myself. One of my friends takes hers to a farm where they will "process" them for $2 each. Sounded perfect to me.

This is a reality - most hens only lay eggs for about two years, so it isn't cost effective to keep them alive and feed them if they aren't laying anymore. Before we got chickens, we warned the kids that we are a working farm - animals are here to produce food for us - and they understood that. Of course, I knew that I would get attached too, so we agreed not to raise cows or pigs - there is no way we could eat these really smart animals that we took care of. We have no problem buying meat from other farms that raise these animals locally because we don't personally "know" the animals.

For this reason, we agreed to have hens for egg laying and goats for milking - no meat animals, but we didn't count on ending up with five roosters.

We break the news to the boys that four roosters need to go. Ethan is fine, but Emmett freaks out. This shouldn't surprise me. We have lost six chickens to predators in the last year, and every time Emmett cries. The chickens are his friends. Each chicken has a name and a personality. The kids spend endless hours playing in yard with the chickens - and that makes me happy - but it is hard when there is a loss. It makes it even harder when you have to be the one who chooses to get rid of some.

Emmett begs me not to kill them, and we give in. We ask the feed store if they want some roosters - and they say of course they can find homes for them. What a great compromise, right? Nope. The day comes and we catch the roosters (what a feat) and load them up. Emmett cries his little heart out. He says goodbye to each one, and sobs the whole way there.

My heart is broken too, so what do we decide to do? Two of our hens are brooding - so we let them keep seven eggs to see if they will hatch them. The chicken incubation period is 21 days, just 3 short weeks to see if we will have new chicks. Emmett and Ethan are ecstatic, okay the whole family is. Of course, knowing our luck we will probably end up with seven more roosters.

As I am writing this, Kevin calls to me and tells me we have our first chick. Yes, one has hatched. All we can do now is hope that it doesn't get killed - it isn't really a problem to me that my kids are gentle souls, but it hurts to see them upset. I guess the pros outweigh the cons - the joy these chickens bring to our family is worth the sorrow.

Ellis and the terrible threes

You have probably heard parents speak of the "terrible twos." In my house we know the twos are not so terrible - it is the threes you need to watch out for. The three year olds are terrible for a few different reasons:

• they realize they can say "no" to you an mean it
• they want to be independent
• they start to understand they have their own minds and can make their own decisions
• everything is funny - especially upsetting you
• they are big enough and heavy enough to use their bodies as weapons
• they assert their will over the stupidest things 

 Now, as the mom of three boys, you would think I would have conquered the "terrible threes" or at least come up with some great strategies to survive this overwhelming year of hell. I have, well at least I thought I had, until Ellis turned three.

You see every three year old approaches this year of terribleness with their own special twist. I was prepared to fight over getting dressed, eating, picking up the messes, etc. You know normal three year old stuff that kids battle their parents over. The problem is that Ellis doesn't really fight about any of these things (okay, part of this is because we offer him only five or six foods we actually know he will eat). We have learned the strategies of limited choices. Do you want to wear your Thomas or Buzz shoes? Blue shirt or green shirt? Pancakes or waffles? Clean up the blocks or the cars? This strategy usually works because the boss (three year old) feels like they have control.

Ellis can be easily persuaded when it comes to the normal battles.

His three year old antic is escaping the house and running away from us. Did I mention he is the quietest and sneakiest kid I have ever met? Now, thankfully we live on six acres, so his escaping doesn't put him in extreme danger of being hit by a car or kidnapped (not a danger we actually ever worried about), or the neighbors calling the police because an unattended three year old is running around the city.

The real problem is my pride. I feel like a terrible parent that he escapes without me noticing - and then when I do discover and find him (note he is usually down in the animal pen playing with the goats and chickens or on the play structure swinging away) he refuses to come to me. He runs (giggling and squealing) in the opposite direction.

We do pay attention to him, and the house is set up like Fort Knox - we have safety locks and back up locks on doors, but the little shit is too smart - he can open them (or drag a stool over to climb up and unlatch them) and then closes the door behind him before anyone even notices he is gone. Usually when we think he is absorbed in an activity, he has escaped the moment we turn our backs. It is exhausting being constantly worried about where he went this time, plus chasing him down the hill is a total pain. We should fence the immediate area around our house to help contain him, but we don't have the $500 for fencing that would cost. We have started punishing him when he goes out without supervision, but, honestly, it is hard to be mad when you see him outside having so much fun.

This week I have tried to do my grading on the back patio, so he can run to his heart's content - the problem with that? He just runs out of my sight.

I keep telling myself we only have another 11 months until he turns four. I hope he and I can both survive.

 

31 days of crazy kids...

This month I thought I would share 31 days of crazy kid stories. I have three really smart, funny, and insane children. This should be easy to share some of the crazy things they have done - some might be funny, some are probably embarrassing, but all of them are too good not to share.