There’s not much that I dislike more than making an doctor’s appointment, sitting in the waiting room, waiting in the exam room and then having the doctor tell you that a) there’s nothing wrong with or b.) there is something wrong with you but there is nothing that can be done for you.  So I avoid the doctor as much as I can…

Well…

I think motherhood makes you crazy.

I can remember being in college, knowing that all I had was a cold, and my mom telling me I should go see the doctor.  "Mo-oom. (rolling eyes)  There is nothing wrong with me."  When sick with "a cold" I will only take myself to the doctor when the pain is so great that I KNOW that something else is amiss.  I admitted myself once when I had such intense ear pain I couldn’t sit still (ear infection–now I know why babies make such a fuss) and I pulled into an urgent care once when I was driving because I could hardly turn my neck to see where I was going (strep throat).

But when it comes to my children, I am all to ready to see the doc as soon as possible.  To a point I guess.  In the past two weeks, I have made two appointments for Sugar to see a doctor, and then cancelled them less than 2 hours later.

Last week, Spider was lying around like a zombie with a fever and I wasn’t going to take her in until she said she had to go potty and then couldn’t.  Thinking possible UTI, I made an appointment, took her in they told me it was a virus, not the flu, and she was better the next day.  Of course, last year she had pink eye for over a week and I didn’t take her in because it started to look better, her brother comes home with a screaming earache, I take him in and am told that Spider has pink eye.  (It looked better, I tell you!)

So NOW, Sugar has the same fever/virus as Spider did last week.  Same comatose behavior, lack of appetite, BUT her eyes are red and her fever seems higher.  (Hence the made and then cancelled appointment yesterday.)  Web MD says it’s the flu, in the which case (perhaps it isn’t) there isn’t anything the doc can do anyway and I don’t need to be spreading it around.  But MAYBE it’s pink eye and somehow she’s the only one that got it?

GAH!

I think I just need my own medical degree.  Yep.  That’s what I need.  

..at least I am hoping so.  The following videos are not for the faint of heart.  I shouldn’t even watch them…

Disclaimer: If you are the super baby proofing mom who keeps her children away from scissors until their teens, please take no offense at this post– none is intended.

We are doing a preschool co-op group this year.  Five moms take turns teaching preschool and for the other four weeks get "free" education for their little one.  I haven’t decided yet if I like it, but I think it’s going well.

Yesterday was my turn to teach.  

The first activity we did involved cutting out little animals along very straight lines.  Two of the children (mine included) cut perfectly without need of any of my help.  Rocked it.  The other three… umm… struggled… as in didn’t even know how to hold the scissors.  It was very frustrating for them.  It was frustrating for me as well (I’m untrained in scissor instruction and not being paid) trying to help each of these kids individually, while praying the other helpless scissor children did not cut themselves during this time of private instruction.  It quickly became clear that these kids never had any opportunity to use scissors at home.  As I glanced at my own rockstar scissor-ess sitting amongst my chaotically unclean home, I pictured these other kids in their super clean, well kept homes and I got a little irritated.  Felt a little judgmental. Thought, how dare these moms clean their houses and never let their child cut paper with little blunt scissors.

Until I called my mom.

Hoping for validation that my way was clearly better– I may not have a tidy house, but my children have experiences– I asked, "Mom, which way were you, I can’t remember, were you the free and easy mom or were you the mom who kept the scissors away until we were in jr. high?"

Her answer: "I was the one who kept the scissors away."

My reply, "Really? But I’m not that kind of mom."

Hers? "Your children cut their own hair."  (You know how everyone says that every little girl cuts her own hair at least once?  I never did.  Now I know why.)

So of course, I felt deflated.  Because at near 30 years old I am expert with the scissors and I pretty much turned out awesome, so clearly the clean scissor free house method of parenting works…ahem… well. So much for my parenting theories.

So to all the scissor free and tidy mom’s out there, I apologize for my judgment and criticism.  I salute you for your baby proofing skills.  It does not make me excited for scissors at preschool, but at least I now know your children stand a chance of turning out as great as me.  And I hope my parenting style yields as great of results in my own children.  I think I’d be okay if my girls turned out to be hairdressers.  They do have mad scissor skills after all.

There is something about having three kids that causes people to ask me this question.  "Are you going to have more?" they ask when they find out the ages and quantity of kids at my house.  I didn’t get it as much when I just had two, so I have concluded it is because I have three.  Or it could be that they are so close in age.  Or it could be because I don’t look older than 22–it’s a curse, I know. 

So what is it about having three people in tow that inspires this question?  In a nation where most families have one or two kids (if any), do they see people with three as being some kind of "mass producers"?  Is there some invisible line you cross when you have a third child?  Is there a sign on my forehead that says "BABY MAKER?"

I mean, the truth is, I totally do it to other people too.  When a mom is young, her kids are close in age and she has more than 2 kids, I ask.  I want to know.  I ask people with 2 kids or 1 kid too, so maybe maybe people are just naturally nosy. Maybe we (I include myself) shouldn’t be inquiring so much into other people’s reproductive plans!

A few months ago when people would ask me if we were going to have more I would tell them I didn’t know.  Or I would say, "not right now" or "maybe."  I mean, really, who knows for certain anyway?  I could say no, and then get pregnant on accident.  I could say yes and then be infertile for the rest of my life.  I’m not really in charge when it comes to the miracle of life department.

But I have finally made the crazy decision to go big or go home.  When people ask me now, I say with certainty that, yes I want another one.  I sort of wish I could answer with my previous response of vaguey vagueness, as people’s responses have been varied and surprising.  My peeps at church smile and ask me about pregnancy every time they see me eating a cracker so no worries with them.  My protestant mother has been practically begging for another child to emerge from my womb for months now, so again she’s a fan.  But other people, mostly strangers and acquaintances give me borderline negative responses.

Most people just look at me in shock.  (Which is funny, because they asked the question, they knew it could only go 1 of 2 ways).  "Really, why?"  "How could you handle ANOTHER one?"  "Wow."  I mean no one has ever gone off on a tirade about population control or told me I was unfit, but sometimes when they don’t say anything, I can see it on their faces– the disapproval and disbelief in their minds is formulating.

It made me really thankful that the nurse practitioner who took my iud out was pretty neutral on the subject.  She asked why I was getting the iud out, how many kids I already had and told me to take some prenatal vitamins and get a flu shot.  (Trust me, I was ready for the lecture/the refusal to remove my birth control).

I think I know why we ask each other though, if we are going to have more.  I think it’s because we want to seek commonality amongst each other.  Moms seek validation from other moms.  Validation for why we don’t want more, or why we do.  I naturally ask other mom’s of three kids if they will have more to see if they are like me.  It doesn’t matter to me if they don’t want more, because I totally get that, I haven’t always wanted more myself and at times (during Sugar’s tantrums) still don’t. But when another mom of three says she wants more, it makes me feel more normal.  It makes me feel less alone in wanting a big family.   So I think it’s probably okay to keep asking.  But I think we all could be a little more careful in our response.  Mom’s are fragile people too sometimes. 

P.S. Don’t take this post as an announcement, Mom.  Definitely not pregnant yet.

Sugar always has the best prayers…

Dear Heavenly Father,

I am thankful for this day and for my family.  I love my whole family.  Even the ones that live in different houses- aunts, uncles, grandmas and grandpas.  I love even the old ones that are about to die.  I love them until they are done.

Lord of Commandments, Love One Another, In the name of Jesus Christ,

Amen

First grade is a whole new ball of wax.

I can’t get Engineer to tell me anything about his day until he is lying in bed trying to sleep.  And then if I want to get the dirt, I lay next to him and he won’t stop talking.  Ask him during the day and you get nothing but a blank look.  Ask him when he’s supposed to be asleep– jackpot.

I found out recently he’s been spending recess with Julia, a girl from his kindergarten class.  They hold hands apparently– which is fine since he holds hands with his 5 year old sister all the time.  And they talk.

Last night I asked about recess and this is what I got: "I just played with Julia.  We walked around and we talked.  We talked about the time when we saw the wood where they make love."

A wha?  Excuse me?  A hem?

I asked him what he was talking about.  He’s 6!  I said, "What do you mean they make love?"

"There’s a big piece of wood with words on it."

"And they have people’s names on it?"

"NO.  There’s just a bunch of writing.  And a HEART!"

Ah.  Heart=Love.  Make Love=Make Heart.  Oh the innocence.

I am not sure my children really get the concept of prayer.  I know they know the words to say, the format, and the behavior expected during prayer, but it’s fairly clear that they don’t really understand yet what it’s all about.  Their prayers however continue to amuse me, and they are all over the board:

Engineer (the know it all 6 year old, excuse me 6 and a half year old boy)

"Dear Heavenly Father, thank you for this day.  Thank you for our family.  Please bless Sugar to be reverent during prayer.  Please bless that Spider will stop talking right now.  Please bless us to always be right.  In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen."

Sugar (the unpredictable, airy fairy 4 year old girl,)

"Heavenly Fath-eerr,  I’m thankful for our family.  I’m thankful we had fun.  Please bless us to be safe.  Bless us to have fun and do something tomorrow.  Lord of Commandments.  Love one another.   In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen."  (she will not finish a prayer without the italicized part)

Spider (2 1/2, blesses the food regardless of type of prayer)

"Heavenly father, thankful for this day.  Bless that daddy can go to work.  Bless safe.  Bless the food.  Thankful for the food. Chryst.  Amen."

 So there you have it.  Hopefully when they begin to have real life issues, they will understand that they can turn to Heavenly Father in prayer to give them strength and lift their burdens.  For now though, they can continue to ask to "always be right" and love one another.

(And may the food be perpetually blessed.)

One of my favorite things about Engineer right now is his writing.  I love seeing him write in his journal and I love seeing what he comes up with on his kindergarten homework.  I think this is my favorite set of sentences so far:

I love that he wrote: "I am over you."  He was supposed to use the word over in a sentence.  It cracks me up.  I am over you as in, I was totally in love with you and your paste eating ways little Cynthia, but then you broke my heart… those days are gone, I am so totally over you.

(I’m sure that’s not what he was thinking, but still….)

Every day the pooch grows larger.  My pants get tighter around the mid section.  The pooch grows rounder.    I start wearing more billowy shirts. I squeeze the pooch and cuddle it, thinking lovingly that this would be really cute if I were pregnant.

But seeing as I am most decidedly NOT pregnant, the pooch repulses me.  The pooch is NOT cute.  The pooch only brings me joy when I can squish and squeeze all the skin around it, thus causing Charming to decide to spend his evening elsewhere.

So here I am with a disgusting belly bulge.  A small, but ever expanding poochy-poo.   I have half heartedly tried situps.  Diet is a four letter word.  And when am I ever going to find the motivation time to exercise?

So, if I can’t get rid of the pooch there is only one other option for me.  I must make the pooch cute again.  It must be filled with child.

Yep, this is how seriously I take these kinds of decisions.  Can you imagine?  "Well, Baby Smith, we decided to bring you into this world because Mommy was resigned to the fact her tummy was going to be forever poochy and she wanted to feel cute about it."

I do want another baby though.  And if I am going to have more kids, I should do it while I am still young. 

And it would solve this pooch dilemma….

Engineer is into his calendars these days.  While looking at April today, he suddenly exclaimed, "Oh NO!  Easter is on a SUNDAY!"

I told him that it always was.

"But I don’t want to go to church on EASTER!  Why can’t it be on…. Wednesday?"

So we had a chat about why we celebrate Easter.  That it was about Jesus.  That we celebrate his resurrection.  Jesus=Church.  Easter Sunday. 

"I don’t want Jesus to die on Easter."

Well….

"Oh I know.  I have an idea."

He became satisfied only when he wrote on the calendar that there would be an Easter egg hunt the Saturday before Easter Sunday.  He asked about Good Friday.  Mormons don’t really celebrate it, so I didn’t know what to tell him.

This kid is so literal that it both irritates me and cracks me up.