Happy Memorial Day!

Unbeknownst to the weather forecasters, we had beautiful weather today. We went to the ward picnic at the park, where we ate, played games (water relays, water balloon toss, tug-o-war) and enjoyed the playground, as well as the large sandbox. Of course after being sweaty and playing in the sandbox, we came home for a dip in the pool -yeah, gross, I know. Since it was almost dinner time, after swimming, the kids grabbed a quick bath and got into their pj's. Cohen, once again didn't make it, and fell asleep wrapped in his towel on the floor. The twins made it long enough to get jammies on, and then they too were fast asleep. It wasn't even 5 o'clock yet! After dinner, the kids ate ice cream and played outside. I don't know why we had baths before ice cream cones. Cohen had melted ice cream all over his feet, pj's, hands, face, hair, etc. I never really thought about the art of ice cream cone eating. Cohen hasn't had much opportunity for practice and drank from the cone as if it were a cup -sticking his entire face into it. I'm sure he'll be a pro by the end of the summer, but next time we'll practice before bath time.

Butterflies

We went to a butterfly exhibit at a local conservatory with some friends yesterday. Gavin was super excited from the minute we got there, but the others were a bit nervous. Within minutes of arriving, a butterfly landed on Eli's head, then another on his shoulder, then another on his arm. They loved him, and as the feeling was not mutual yet, he took it in great stride, and even waited long enough for me to take a pic before removing them from him. Gavin could not get one to land on him though -it may have been the smell of death wafting with the clapping motion in which he tried to capture the fragile butterflies. Between sweetening himself up a bit with some nectar and learning to stay still, Gavin began to have success with more than just a few butterflies. Eli and Addie, also warmed up to them and took turns holding them (though Eli still preferred holding the dead motionless ones). But Cohen, was terrified by each graceful flyby, each child showing off their latest capture, or the unfortunate choice of resting spot of one on his pants.



Getting the hang of the butterfly ways.








After working up the courage to hold a butterfly, she was so excited to show everyone her big catch.

The perfect resting spot.

Still not happy about the butterfly that landed on his pants.

Toilet Tag!

The kids have been counting down the days until our neighborhood pool opens just 4 doors away. Eager with excitement, the last couple of weeks they have been sporting their swimsuits around the house and diving off the toy box -I even got in on the action and did a cannonball. Needless to say, even with the precision and good form in which I executed my stunt, there was not much of a splash, more of a thud.
The pool opened Saturday, and it has been rainy and chilly ever since. So, dressed in long sleeves and long pants, the kids found entertainment in a new rendition of tag. It's like freeze tag, only involving porcelain bowl replicas, it's toilet tag! Once tagged, you have to squat down like a toilet and stick your hand out and wait to be flushed. Then you are free to run again. Cohen, being littler, was tagged quite a bit, but apparently off the other kids flushing radar. He spent most of his time squatting and saying over and over "flush me, flush me, flush meeee". Since I'm on the subject of toilets, I always have to hold back a grin when Cohen starts his "potty talk" (we in no way support or condone potty talk, any parties taking part have been subject to washing their mouths out with soap). With that said, it's pretty funny what he thinks is "potty talk". He starts out with "bum-bum", then gets a mischievous grin in response to my disapproving look. While grinning (thinking he's being naughty and getting away with it) he rattles off "belly button... shoulders...back". Anything that is normally covered in clothes, to him is potty talk. Boy will he be surprised when we finally go to the pool and all of this potty talk is on display.

I He-ee-cot-er!

Cohen loves this hat! It was a gift from Grandma Ross this past Christmas and has been getting a lot of wear lately. He walks around the house announcing that he is a he-ee-cot-er (helicopter). I overheard Cohen telling Gavin he was a helicopter and Gavin told him, "No, you are a boy". Gavin thinks Cohen is pretty funny and loves the back and forth banter. Gavin told him he was many other random things and Cohen was adamant that he was a he-ee-cot-er. I guess Cohen had enough of the game because he turned red in the face yelling at the top of his lungs, "I not tor-ee-oh (torpedo), I HE-EE-COT-ER! This probably wouldn't be as funny if Cohen wasn't the most mellow child ever. He's always smiles and is very pleasant to be around. I would rather grocery shop with him than without- that's how good he is. But lately we have been getting glimpses of another side -the dark side. With the other kids, temper tantrums were a little frustrating for us. With Cohen, we have to hold back our laughter. It is just so foreign to his personality to act like that. We're hoping it's not the new Cohen and maybe just exhaustion from playing outside constantly, short naps if any (including but not limited to naps on hard wood floors), and our busy schedule. Hang in there Cohen, just a couple more weeks.

And he's going...going...gone!

Canadian Moms

There are many mothers around here lately (geese and ducks), but the one dearest to my heart is very far away. It is not until I became a mother that I realized all that my mom sacrificed for me growing up. She sacrificed time, lots and lots of time. Besides, the normal work involved with eight children, she went the extra mile. As we finished tucking the kids into bed the other day I reminisced about my own child hood bedtime, and wondered if my kids are missing out. We keep it pretty simple, scriptures, story, prayers, favorite thing from the day, hugs, kisses, lights out. Multiplied by four it seems to take a bit of time though. My mom, I'm sure did those things, but what I remember is her rubbing my head and singing me to sleep (Stay awake from Mary Poppins is what I remember most, and could never figure out why she didn't want me to go to sleep). This thought process started because after we tucked the last one in bed, Addie hollered down the hall asking for me to rub her back until she fell asleep. Instead of thinking "Of course, dear, sweet child whom I treasure so", I thought of how tired I was and all the things I still needed to get done that night. But remembering my mother and the example she set, I did not want to rob my daughter of similar fond bed times, and as I rubbed her back I wondered if my mom rubbed all eight kids heads and sang them to sleep. If so, when did she get everything else done?
My mom took the time to make fruit leather, play doh, and fresh homemade rolls or wheat bread weekly. At the time, we probably didn't show adequate appreciation for the work involved, as store-bought fruit roll ups and play-doh were more appealing-because that's what everyone else had. But, what I wouldn't do for some fruit leather right now.
My mom had a huge garden which we also weren't as appreciative of. To us, it meant weeding, and swiss chard with the possibility of unexpected escargot at dinner. The other fruits of her labor being, rhubarb, raspberries, strawberries, beans, peas, carrots, potatoes, corn, and whatever else was planted. I do remember tasty treats from the garden, including stewed strawberries and rhubarb, blackberry buckle and shelling peas on the back porch. One for the bowl, two for my mouth, one for the bowl...
She sacrificed financially. Instead of buying new clothes for herself, she was happy expanding her wardrobe with our hand-me-downs. And though we didn't have a dishwasher, I never heard a complaint about the cost of my traveling extra curricular activities in high school.

My mom who sacrifices so much for her children, never holds resentment only love and prayers for their well being. She is a wonderful grandmother. She is just as interested in my kids lives as if they were her own children. I always know she will be delighted to hear about the latest accomplishment, whether it's a first word, running really fast at a soccer game, or giving a talk at church. We don't see her often, but when she comes, she gives us her all. She cleans, babysits, weeds, plants, takes kids on walks, sings, whistles, puts up with my crankiness, reads to the kids, and has sleepovers with them which don't usually involve much sleep. . .and that's her vacation time.
I love my mom and am grateful for her faith in Christ, her compassionate example, and her unconditional love. I am thankful for all the many thankless sacrifices she has and will make.

Adventures outside my bubble in "Suburbia"

I love suburbia. I love neighborhoods with sidewalks, neighborhood kids eliminating the need for organized "play dates", lush green lawns, neighborhood pools, semi-supervised outside play, tree lined streets, quaint light posts, parks, plenty of shopping options close by, close enough to the city for baseball games, museums, zoo and other forms of culture once the kids are older. I love good public schools, little league baseball, soccer, gymnastics, ballet, & the pediatrician, all within minutes. I am happy and content where I am. So is it really time to say good bye to suburbia for now?

I fear change. I routinely have my hair highlighted the same way by the same person. Not total color overhaul, just subtle highlights. Yet, every time I do, I seem to freak out for a couple of days, at that very minor change in my hair. So is it really time for the upheaval of all I know and have grown to love?

I love knowing. I like to know what to expect. When I order at a restaurant, I delude myself by looking at the menu when I already know I'm going to get the same thing I get every time I'm at that particular establishment. I know I will enjoy it. So is it time to conquer the unknown?

We were offered a one year rotation in Madrid, Spain (all details haven't been worked out yet). We have always talked about going international, but talking and doing are very different. However, I've had over a week to process and work through this, so the fear has been replaced with excitement. I am excited about the possibility of a new adventure, other than the language issues. Brett, speaks Spanish but will probably be doing business in English. I, on the other hand, don't speak Spanish but will need to navigate through my daily life butchering simple Spanish phrases. At least I'll have my dear children who will probably be speaking fluently in no time, translate for me.

So, will we have a future as expatriates? I prefer pat over expat or expatriate. I know it's not expatriot, but they sound the same. It sounds terrible, like we would be exnayed (sorry about the piglatin) from patriotism -whatever that means. Here are a few expatriate definitions...we're going with #2

1. to banish (a person) from his or her native country.
2. to withdraw (oneself) from residence in one's native country.
3. to withdraw (oneself) from allegiance to one's country. –verb (used without object)
4. expatriated; exiled. –noun

I'll post when our decision is finalized.