How We Pass the Time

Tomorrow will be Snow Day #7, making for an 11-day weekend. We’ve been out on the icy roads once in the last eight days. There’s been a little bit of outdoor play/work every day, but mostly, we’ve been holed up in the part of our homestead that’s NOT -20 degrees--the house. Here’s what we’ve been up do within these four walls:

Tobi:

• sleeping in
• facebook stalking people catching up with family and friends
• Pinning every remotely creative idea known to man
• blogging a little
• blog reading a lot
• prepping vocab cards and unit intro slide shows for the rest of the school year so I survive track season without having a nervous breakdown and/or killing someone
• finding awesome ideas to use in my classroom
• playing board games with the boys (and, before he knew better, Ryan)
• cleaning parts of the house and growling when I realize it’s futile
• organized the pantry
• marveling at how many dishes and articles of clothing we dirty in a day
• writing menu plans and finding new recipes to try; then forgetting to feed my family until 1:00 (lunch) and 7:00 (supper)

Ryan:

• sleeping in
• researching ways to spend all our money on trucks
• writing track workout schedules (we start practice in less than a week!)
• playing Spades on his phone
• yelling at his imaginary Spades partners (or opponents--not really sure), Julie, who always “goes set” and Bob, who’s an idiot
• wrestling so hard with the boys that they have whelps and beard rash
• reading
• finishing the entire series of Friday Night Lights

Munchkins:

• waking up in the wee hours of the morning to watch TV, burn up their technology minutes, and eat 17 breakfasts before they ask mom to make them three more
• talking in weird voices and/or screaming bloody murder all day long
• building a Lego city
• begging Mom to play Heroica with them (the official game, not their made-up version, which I've learned actually wasn't that far from the real game)
• being poor sports when they lose to the ultimate Heroine
• taking “victory laps” around the house, each with a different theme (crab walk, tiger, skip, backwards) after they beat the timer to pick up toys
• simultaneously making similar sound effects (I’m not fluent enough in onomatopoeia to spell these sounds) even while they're all in their own little separate toy worlds
• turning our pillows into potato sacks for a hop race around the house
• begging for more chapters of their latest Wings of Fire books
• having a spank-your-butt-more-times-than-you-spank-mine contest with Mom
• asking to eat all the food, all the time
• pestering each other
• fighting like cats and dogs
• spending a fair amount of time in the time-out chair
• Limbo-ing under a battle axe wedged between hall walls
• inventing new games to destroy the house entertain themselves
• getting whooped up on by Daddy

We may be going a bit stir crazy, and we may be beating the tar out of each other with battle axes, but there’s still time for a few sweet moments. Tonight, Reed and Calvin had were playing some kind of roll-y ball soccer game they’d invented. Max was perched on a stool checking out the situation.

M: Reed, you look awesome! (goes over to awesome-looking brother and hugs him)

R: (to Mom, with a knowing look) Ee’s-hay ying-tray o-tay ind-fay any-hay eason-ray o-tay ive-gay e-may a-hay ug-hay. (translation for those nonfluent in Pig Latin: “He’s trying to find any reason to give me a hug.”)

M: (with a big, sweet smile) Mom, I gave Reed a hug-hay!

Wise Stranger

The woman who sat beside us at the restaurant today got quite the show. She saw a lot of wiggles. I'm fairly certain she felt some, too, given the range or our wiggliest child who sat not six inches from her chair. She saw our kids get up to the bathroom two times. EACH! (Well, she was only there for the contagious poop round, but trust me, lady, there was an identical pee round not five minutes prior). She saw Max drop two forks on the ground. Hopefully she didn't see me "wipe the germs" off of fork number two because I was too embarrassed to bug the waitress who had already witnessed the three-ring circus that performed before a new seating arrangement was issued.

This poor lady (and half of the restaurant, I'm sure) heard loud comments on other customers' clothing, tattles about what each boy was doing to another, demands for explanations on why we ordered water instead of soda, and inquiries into the whereabouts of the beloved restaurant owner (a.k.a. "the Oreo man" because of previous generous table visits). She heard me ask Calvin to please stop kicking me, no less than 14 times. If she was listening closely, she also heard hushed, but increasingly aggravated explanations and corrections from Ryan and I.

Then, when bellies were full and cake and cobbler were on the table and Ryan and I could finally get an adult-to-adult word in edgewise, she heard us try to mentally re-create our calendar for the week, unsure of which night was T-ball and which was parent pitch, if there was a conflict with the PTO meeting or if we could attend, how many nights this week we'd have to crock pot it or eat out, and how badly we didn't want to add a whole-crew grocery run to our list for that day, but how it seemed unavoidable.

When Ryan left to pay the cashier, trailing two stained mouths behind, I tried to make our table look not quite so tornadic before I grabbed a sticky little hand and followed. The lady caught my eye, gave me a warm smile and said something that brought me to embarrassing tears right there on the spot. "They'll be all grown up soon."

Thank you, random lady, for not glaring at us when we interrupted your quiet Sunday afternoon dinner for the umpteenth time. For not elbowing our wiggle worm back (actually...) And for giving me a message that was exactly what I needed. Part hope and part warning.

When the Cats Are Away...

I was just thinking the other day how great it is that I can now leave the boys in the house alone for a little while to help Ryan outside. We've had to make a few trips into the pasture this winter to load and unload hay or get firewood and every time the boys have quietly played (or napped) inside, hardly noticing we were gone.

Today? Not so much.

I was walking back to the house when I heard outside voices. Calvin and Max were banging away at their favorite root ball with their favorite stick weapons. When I asked who gave them permission to come outside, Calvin informed me that he just came out to get Max inside. Apparently. Then, he began to tattle on Max for his other transgression: breaking Daddy's hunting light. Then, it slowly came out that Calvin maaaaay have "been a part of it" because he was pulling on the cord to get it away from Max. While hashing out the details, big brother pushed open a window to holler out what he'd been up to.

A few months ago my mom passed us down a cool, divided hamper. Now, may it R.I.P. cuz it totally did when Reed decided it would make a great hide-and-seek spot. He'd been using his engineering skills to put the PVC-type construction back together. He'd done pretty decent job, though two of the wheels were on top. But the cloth lining was torn beyond repair and one of the rods was bent, so the offender now has to use his hard-earned allowance money to pay for a replacement. His little brother coughed up $1 "and two of those circle moneys that aren't a dollar, but four of them make a dollar" so Reed wouldn't have to use all of his money. How can I want to kill them and kiss them at the same time!

This chain of events follows a supremely frustrating church excursion wherein Max had a screaming time-out in the bathroom alcove and Calvin earned five post-church spankings.

I just got a text. We have another snow day tomorrow. I may be R.I.P.ing before the day's over.

Back Among the Living

We ventured back out into public today.  And, boy, could you tell the boys had been cooped up for a week! Here are the highlights from our excursion to the "big city" to hang out with my sister and her hubs (and, against our better judgement, to eat out at a restaurant):

- I was proud of myself for busting Calvin's brown shirt/brown pants not-quite-matching combo (he's taken to putting his coat on pre-breakfast, resulting in some interesting revelations at school lately).
- I realized too late that I hadn't busted him for leaving his jammie pants on under his pants.
- When I expressed dismay that he'd been wearing his jammies for, like, 24 hrs straight (recall that we Laytons only dress when absolutely necessary), he corrected me by informing me that he's been wearing them, "For, like, four days."
- We jumped out of the car straight into the snow for a quick romp to get good and wet before we entered the carpeted house.
- Three little jumping beans greeted their aunt, uncle, and hyperactive puppy and didn't stop bouncing for a good hour, despite constant barking from parents, aunt, and puppy.
- Three little voices TALKED LIKE THIS THE ENTIRE TIME WE ATE AT THE RESTAURANT.
- After practice and a pep talk Reed and Calvin placed their own semi-complicated orders like champs, causing Aunt Tavia to cry. She's totally turning into our mother. (I've been there for ten years...)
- Max lightened the mood when he placed his order. Instead of ordering a meal, he communicated his desire for chocolate milk instead of white. This lead the waiter to mention chocolate pancakes, which took his mind completely off of the previously decided-upon Lil' Farmer's Breakfast. When I whispered a reminder of his order to him, he began arguing with me. He calmed down when we settled on pancakes and sausage and made his order like a big boy, looking the waiter in the eyes and speaking clearly. Until the man asked for clarification on what kind of sausage. Then he just took a big lick of milk that had spilled on the menu.
- Calvin engaged his twisty straw in an exciting knife fight, complete with sound effects.
- While stopped at a traffic light, Calvin shot who-knows-how-many motorists with his 6-shooter before we realized what he was doing.
- We had a great time with my sister and brother-in-law back at their house -- after we busted out the iphones and Legos.

Thpeech Impedimentth

All three of our boys have had minor speech impediments. I have the cutest video of me trying to help Reed practice his Rs and Ls around age two.

R: My name is Weed James Wayton.
M: My name is Rrrreeed James Lllllayton.
R: (in a "Silly Mommy" voice) You're not.
M: Can you say, "My name is Rrrreeeed James Llllayton?"
R: You're not Weed James Wayton.

But the boy worked hard and had his name back probably by age three or four. Max, too, had to work on his Ls. He's already fixed those. His last sound to fix is "th" (as in "Do you want dis one or dat one?) He can do it, and will when we remind him. It's just not a habit yet.

And then there's Calvin... His lisp combined with his difficult personality has made him our most challenging speech student. We tried video taping him. Wouldn't cooperate. We tried putting frosting, peanut butter, and honey up where his tongue was supposed to be when he makes the S sound. He'd just lick it and say, "Thuper!" We tried correcting him. He'd throw a fit or avoid s words all together. So, when he started kindergarten, I asked our speech teacher if she would please pull him. She said his sound wasn't a major concern for his age, but she could still work with him based on parent request. We'd spent the whole year before telling him that he really needed to practice or he'd have to miss out on center time to go to speech class. We never wanted him to feel bad about his speech, but we also knew his biggest impediment was his stubborn personality! Then, when it became clear that he wasn't going to have it fixed, I had to spin it around and make speech class seem cool. It was. The speech teacher reported to me that he performed his S's perfectly in her presence and loved the games she played with the kids. She had also learned, through a few rousing games of Go Fish, that he is extremely competitive. So, she challenged him to be the first student to graduate from speech, laying out a collection of stuffed animal prize options and promising ice cream at his graduation "ceremony." That struck a chord. He diligently pronounced every word correctly as he told me about the challenge that day. He had his eye on a ssssnow tiger (actually a white cat, but whatever works) and there was only one and HE was going to get it. And he did better. He would let us stop him and have him repeat words without too much fuss (thometimes). But it still wasn't a habit.

So, we upped the ante at home. We started a competition between him and Max. Every time Max said "th" instead of "d" he'd get a point. We could remind and correct him, since he's two. Every time Calvin said a good "S" he'd get a point, but if he'd say a bad one, he'd lose a point. The winner would get a treat at the end of the day. We heard a lot of, "I'm ssssuper excccited to get ssssso many pointssss thisssss day, guysssss." Then, Reed would get Max to say, "This, this, this, this, this, this." It was quite annoying. But I think it might have been the tipping point. A few weeks after we started the game, we'd pretty much forgotten to keep track. The tally charts were still out, but mainly because our house was a wreck. But I noticed just this past weekend that he was saying every S correctly - or close. And it was starting to be more effortless. He's done it all week, so I think it's gonna stick. We've bragged on our stubborn little guy and told him we'll be talking to his speech teacher when we go back. He can already taste the ice cream.

This boy! The one we had to bribe with "Starbur" to potty train and with 13 other treats to talk correctly. I wonder how much he'll cost us in sugar and petty cash by the time he graduates from high school!

Keepin' it Real

Lest you think we're the most perfect family in the whole wide world, what with our balance of athleticism and academics of late, let's keep it real by discussing today.

Basically, I wanted to kill everyone all day.

Reasons (OK - I realize the only real reason is my crap-bag attitude today, but indulge me, m-kay?):

- I slept in (again) and only crawled out of bed to break of a screaming fight over some random toy. This was the first of many such fights.
- Calvin's mystery "dry patch" multiplied and looks suspiciously like ring worm. He squirmed through the fungicide and band-aid application.
- Reed acted like Calvin had leprosy half the day.
- Max reverted back to his early twos, jumping and crying about anything that didn't go his way.
- I paid bills.
- I still, after four days and a weekend, have papers to grade.
- When I fell asleep on the couch reading a book (I know, rough life!) Ryan awoke me with a lion's growl (it's a book with gladiators). Then, Calvin and Reed kept me awake by "snuggling" me with their ice cold fingers and toes.
- After supper, Ryan decided to research the benefits of brown rice vs. white rice (we had white rice for supper - it's clearly nutritionally inferior, blah, blah) and go on and on and on about the benefits of various whole grains and all their nutritional facts and how we should start incorporating more of them into our diet and making suggestions for how. Then, when I told him to make a menu (basically to shut him up), he did. Then, the menu ticked me off. I didn't like him telling me how to do my job. I likened it to me telling him what shape of wood I wanted him to burn in the fire that keeps us warm. He said that analogy would only work if the shape of wood I preferred was going to make our whole family healthy. Touche'. Also, bite me. I'm whole grain.
- I thought we were going to get groceries and movies, but someone decided our road is still too icy.
- We're off again tomorrow.
- Saturday and Sunday are after that.
- There's snow in the forecast for next week.

Life's a roller coaster.

Better than Legos

Sometimes I wonder if anything we say will ever get through the thick little skulls of our children. We try to "train up our children in the way they should go," and it feels like we're constantly teaching little lessons about kindness, sharing, generosity, and gratefulness. And then Christmas happens and it's like they've never even heard of those concepts!

The boys had a slumber party in one bed on Christmas eve and were up so late giggling that they let us sleep in to a decently reasonable hour, as far as Christmas mornings are concerned.

They enthusiastically opened their presents, then spent the rest of the morning feverishly assembling their favorite gifts, the Lego sets they'd received.

The boys were so thrilled with the Legopalooza at our house, that one little gentleman didn't even want to leave to go to the Layton Christmas that afternoon. He was whining that he wouldn't get any Legos there. Insert big speech about nobody owing you any gifts at all, being grateful, Christmas is about Jesus, not you, etc. etc. In one ear and out the other, with a quick trip around the eyes to make them roll. But he got over it, put on a good face, and ended up opening some great  presents, including a Lego set. And he seemed to be genuinely grateful for and happy about all of his new loot. But when I asked the brothers to pose in their new deer hunting get-up, this is what I got:

A mini political statement? Surely not!

Fast forward to the Raney Christmas. When Uncle Trey showed the boys around the playroom, occupied by his cousins, a 2 year-old girl and a 6 week-old baby boy, they found a vanity, dress up clothes, and a million baby dolls and accessories. Calvin took a quick tour of the joint, then announced, "Can we open presents now?" I coulda killed him!

But a few days later, Mr. Selfish redeemed himself and all three boys gave me hope that maybe a little of our instruction is sinking in. My dad had a significant birthday which I will not divulge (I'll just say that it rhymes with pixty). We threw him a little party and after he opened presents, he took the opportunity to share his heart with his family. He told us about how he went to a Bible study with someone years ago and learned about Jesus. When Max heard that name, he piped up with, "Jesus can save you!" Interrupting? Yes, but also true--and cute. My dad (a.k.a. Papa) described how when he accepted Christ he literally felt a warmth crawl up his body and settle in his heart, to which Reed interjected, "That must've been the Holy Spirit!" (I gotta admit--I was sorta bustin' my Sunday-school-teacher-mom buttons right then...) Then he went on to share that from that moment on he knew that God was real. Then, he said that God has communicated to him at various times in his life, including when he told him to marry Mimi. Calvin had to get his two cents in to this speech, so he said, "I'm glad He told you that, cuz' (big eyes and big finger point to Mommy)," which of course elicited an explanation by Reed and random chatter by Max. After the speaker got his audience back under control, he warned us that Satan is spreading two big lies: that God isn't real and that the Bible can't be trusted. Then he encouraged us to seek God and try to learn more about him because He's real and He loves us. "So, I guess that's my gift to you," he concluded. And how did my selfish, toy-obsessed child reply? He perked right up and said, "That's better than Legos!"

That'll preach.

I Mean Business

This post may land me a call to DFS, but if they do take my kids - one in particular - I'm sure it won't take long before they come back apologizing that my actions were completely justifiable.

We were driving home and I was talking to my sister on the phone. When I hit the point of the drive where I lose cell service, I pulled over and put it in park. We were on the rarely-traveled gravel less than a mile from our house. A few members of the peanut gallery began whining that they wanted to go home and how much longer would I be on the phone and why did we have to stop. I warned them to shut up or else please be quiet. Twice. Then, Mr. Wild rudely said, "I wish I could just walk home!" So, I told him to do it. He immediately protested. I insisted he get out of the car, then finished the convo with my sister, which at this point was just me describing what he was doing outside (not walking, btw) and her laughing hysterically. When I hung up, I got out of the van and told him that he would have to walk to the intersection of the next gravel road (about 200 meters ahead) and then he could get in and try again. I drove ahead of him, close enough that he could see me, but far enough that he couldn't trip and get run over by me. He ran frantically, crying the whole way. I was feeling pretty bad when we reached the intersection, because I knew the experience had scared him. When he got in the car, I drove on, giving a gentle explanation of how he had to start listening and obeying and how sometimes mom had to do things to show that she is serious. I apologized for scaring him and summarized by asking, "But you have to know who the boss is. I am the boss. Who is not the boss?" In true form, he replied in a snarky tone, "Max." We were just a hill away from home at this point, so I screeched the brakes and ordered him again, "Get out!" He cried and all-but refused to, but eventually he had no choice. And this is what I watched in my rear view mirror as we creeped over the final hill to our home. Should I have been driving and taking pictures of my terrified tyrant? In the name of future blackmail pictures, I say yes!

Theology Lesson

Overheard today:


Calvin: You can't interrupt me! You're going to go to hell because you interrupted me...

Daddy: Calvin! Why did you say that?

C: Reed interrupted my while I was saying a Bible thing.

Reed: It's not a Bible verse! He said, "Sticks and stones may break my bones..."

D:  (proceeds to give lecture about Jesus being our judge, not Calvin.)

Max (to Mommy, who was already eavesdropping): Calvin say, "Go to hell" to Reed and he get in trouble!

C: Max!

-------

This little convo reminded me that earlier this week, while building blocks, Calvin exclaimed, "What the hell!" He genuinely didn't know that what he said was wrong. Welcome to public school, where you learn the 3 R's and all the 4-letter words...

--------

It's gonna be a long 3-day weekend...

Just Another Day...

Today:

- When I dropped my students off for art class, the teacher greeted me with "So... Calvin's fun!" It was meant as a compliment, not an opening line for a bad report like I assumed. Whew! Nine days into the year and no bad reports (on Calvin - I know every evil deed that occurs in his classroom, though, thanks to my proud little informant. The day he fails to give a run-down of who got in trouble is the day I'll ask his teacher how he's doing.)

- Calvin has learned how to roll his eyes. He used the skill on his brothers at least twice on the way home from school. I gave a lecture about respect, to which he responded, "But I LIKE to roll my eyes." (cue Mommy eye roll)

- Calvin and Reed struck a bargain that made my teacher-heart proud. Calvin agreed to let Reed color his coloring page if Reed would pay up by reading "half of the Pig Pancake story" out loud to him. He happily read a few pages, until Calvin cut him off with, "That's enough."

- Max had another accident-free day! That makes four in the last week! I'm seeing the light at the end of the diapered tunnel! (Though I have a feeling I'll still be stuck in the Good Nights tunnel for quite some time...)

- The boys decided to have a big wrestling/boxing/Mixed Martial Arts/free-for-all match. Calvin won, because he's "had the hiccups, and Mrs. Payne says her mom used to think that makes you grow." (?) Then, they decided to train for a rematch. Calvin asked me over and over for new "extra-cises" to do to "get stronger." They were pumping baby iron, doing sit-ups,  jogging laps, and doing squat jumps in preparation for the big fight. Then, they forgot about the rematch and ended up playing Legos.

- Someone other than me had to hose off the concrete. The mess was due, not to chicken transgressions, but to their own. Lesson learned? Don't try to pee on puppies, especially if they run onto the porch.


Just another day in mi vida loca.

One Expensive Car Wash

We have a cooler full of Capri Suns sitting on our porch. It's leftover from a church event a week ago.  We were at the right place at the right time, and the pastor sent them home with us. Max asked for one today when we were outside. I agreed, and helped him unwrap and insert the straw. Then, when Calvin came out and the two started spraying each other with water guns, I decided to make my escape and start supper. I peeked out the window a few times to make sure they were ok, and everything seemed fine. Max was still happily nursing a Capri Sun and the two were getting each other wet. 

When I decided to run to the shed for something real quick, I found several straw wrappers on the ground. That seemed weird. And the cooler seemed really low. My first suspicion was that Max had guzzled juice box after juice box, but that didn't add up. He can't do the straw by himself. The I saw Calvin, perched up in our grape arbor, chomping on grapes, surrounded by about a dozen pieces of silver litter on the ground beneath him. Here's the conversation that followed:

M: Calvin! How many Capri Suns did you drink? 

C: None  (said a little too sweetly)

M: Why are there juice pouches all over the ground. (no answer) Did you open them for Max? (no answer) 

At this point, I notice that they all have straws in them, and their mostly twisted up, empty. The water guns are on the porch, and Max is still dripping wet. I know my son too well. 

M: Did you spray Max with them?

C: ...(long pause) Not just Max...

M: What else did you spray?

C: Dad's truck, to wash it. 

I'm sure glad that boy starts school this week. Just please pray for his teacher!

Letters From Max

Dear Mom and Dad,
 
I think we need to talk. Yes, I've been a little cantankerous lately, I'll admit. But we wouldn't have this problem if you would just remember to NOT do the following:

- Tell me no
- Sit anywhere that I have ever sat before or have thought about sitting.
- Do anything that isn't my idea. If it's candy, I want it, but don't ask me if I want it. I'll be forced to shout "No!" and then change my mind 8 milliseconds later.
- Call me a big boy. I'm a baby.
- Call me a baby. I'm a big boy.
- Be anywhere within hitting or toy-throwing range when I'm not getting my way
- Sing along with the radio on a daddy part if you're a mommy (or vice versa)
- Tell me, ask me, or act like you would like me to anything at any time. Ever.

I'm glad we cleared that up.

Hugs,

Max

They Should Put a Ball Pit in Every Grocery Store

One of the joys of our summer is our Wednesday trip to the library. There's always a cool presentation, prizes for reading, and stacks and stacks of books (though I wish they'd hide the Scooby Doo mysteries. I'm so sick of that dog!) One of the woes of our summer is the grocery trip that follows. My sister-in-law recently posted an adorable story about their little girl having a run-in with an angry mama and her boys at their grocery store. If it weren't for the 10 hours that separate us, I could swear that mama was me! Here are the highlights of our recent grocery runs:

- Immediately upon arrival wanting to check out the summer toy display for eight HOURS.
- Sneaking around trying to hide behind aisle displays, then popping out and expecting me to act surprised even though they tiptoed right in front of my cart
- Sitting on half empty shelves, pointing to price stickers, and declaring, "Look! I cost one nine nine!"
- Calvin getting lost on one of his hiding expeditions and being brought to me by a kind grandmotherly type (who, I'm sure, wanted to pin a marvelous mother medallion on my shirt)
- If they're not hiding (or lost in) the next aisle over, someone always, always, always touching the cart or being within1/8 of an inch of being run over.
- Saying, "I WILL run you over," right before an employee rounded the corner. Are grocery store clerks mandated child abuse reporters?
- Wondering out loud (loudly) who that lady was that just stopped to talk to me (when I totally couldn't remember her name or how I knew her!)
- Max pointing out every item that we have at our house. "Coffee! Daddy havs coffee at our house, Mommy!"
- "Can we get this?" 8 billion times, frequently followed by, "It's on sale..." They know their Mama so well. (When we ran out of salad dressing at supper recently, Max said, "We can get some on sale, Mommy?")
- My favorite weekly visitor. One boy gets behind the other and they become (and refer to themself/ves frequently as) "Four Arms," the grocery superhero, who helps load items (wanted or not) into the cart. He's faster, they insist, because he has four arms, duh! Too bad he also has four left feet.
- Purchasing the below-pictured gems within the first minute of one trip (stupid summer toy display). They were $6 a piece (that's four weeks' wages for Calvin!), but they just HAD to have them. Needless to say, they were banished to the cart within two minutes of our arrival. And I was just thinking we needed a few more weapons around here...

Oops.

The downside to teaching your kids to be independent? Sometimes, when you're not paying attention, your two-year-old fills a cup with water in the bathroom and throws it on you, the computer, and the couch in a gleeful attempt to start a water fight...

Paid in Full

Dear Mom and Dad,

Remember how I used to talk incessantly? About really pointless stuff, I'm sure. Remember how you used to ask me if I could please stop talking for two minutes? And I never could. Remember when I'd eavesdrop on your conversations and then ask you eleven thousand questions about them?

Remember when I argued with you every time you spoke a command? And sometimes when you didn't, just for fun? Remember when my debate tactics and loophole finding skills had you convinced I would be a lawyer? Remember when I would hold to a lie so hard that I convinced myself it was true?

Remember when you had to go in the broom closet "phone booth" because of my ability to impeccably time all my needs to correspond with your phone conversations (and bathroom breaks, I'm sure)? Remember when my favorite word was "no" and I practiced saying it often. Remember when I chose the exact opposite of whatever you wanted me to do?

Remember when you said you were praying I'd have a child like me to help me pay for my raising?

Consider yourself paid. With 300% interest.

P.S. I don't remember if I ever got in a habit of tooting in your general direction and then wishing you a Happy Birthday, but if I did, I've paid for that, too.

Dirty

Ninety-eight percent of my kids clothes are stained and/or torn. So is my couch. There's an ever-present ring around our bathtub. I could lie and say I try to keep it scrubbed, but let's be real here - unless overnight company is coming, I don't. Dirt and grass are constantly tracked in my house, so the floors aren't clean either. We're a dirty family.

Our kids play with sticks. The pointier, the better, in their opinion. Calvin actually has a stick sword collection on the porch. We have a trampoline with no net (or mat). I let the bigguns jump on it with only distant supervision.  Wrestling is a daily event in this house. We tromp willy-nilly through tall grass. We remove ticks on a daily basis. We have B.B. guns, slingshots, and bows and arrows. The guns and bows are locked up, but the slingshots are in amongst the pirate costumes and superhero get ups, like it ain't no thang.

I'm sure lots of parents think we're a little (or a lot) out there. Our kids are dirty and rough. They might poke an eye out, break a bone, get Lyme disease, or worse.

And they might.

But they also might get leukemia, get hit by a car, or be a victim of a school shooting. They also may grow up scared of everything. Or soft and lazy. So, I guess we weigh the risks and rewards and choose the best scenario. And for our family, that's dirty and rowdy.

Because this:

This is what childhood is all about.

Independence

To say I'm independent would be an understatement. My mom says I could have lived alone at the age of two if someone would've brought me groceries, or rigged up a car I could physically drive. So maybe that's why I tend to value independence in my own children a little more than your average bear. Several times, people have offered to clear my kids' dishes when the counter is a little high or the trash can hard to find and I'm not helping. I'm sure people at the school where I work think it's harsh that I won't take Reed his coat if he leaves it in my classroom after the bell rings. What would he do if he left it at home? Freeze? Well, then that's what he'll do! I've always firmly believed that you should never do for a child what they can do for themselves. And when the kids were young, that was a LOT of extra work. Eighteen month olds can't often clear their dishes without dropping and dribbling. And ohmygoodness! It takes F-O-R-E-E-E-E-E-V-E-R for toddlers to dress themselves.

But now that my kids are older, I'm learning that this independence thing is actually pretty genius, because I do very little for my kids anymore! Give a child breakfast and he'll eat for a day, but teach a child to use the toaster and you can be a lazy butt and sleep in!

Our big kids get up, get dressed, brush teeth, and fix as much of their breakfast as they can before they ask for help. The biggun can pour milk if it's getting low. They clear their dishes and do "electricity patrol" before we leave the house. They carry our their own "supplies" for wherever we're going and buckle their own seat belts. They pick up all their own toys before going to bed. They have chores (emptying majority of the dishwasher, putting all clean shirts on hangers, emptying bathroom trash) and get an allowance for them, but they also know that they will be expected to do other things when we ask. We rarely spend our money on them when we're shopping. If they want something, it comes out of their allowance.

Without my asking that often, they've also sort of taken responsibility for Max. They'll juice up his toothbrush for him, help him find his shoes, zip up his coat, and open the fridge so he can put up his cup. He, also, has started doing things own his own simply because big brothers are doing them. He loves to jump in and help empty the dishwasher. We're still working on the toy thing, though...

See what I mean? Being "mean" and making your kids struggle to do things that are difficult at first actually saves a lot of effort in the long run. And I don't think our kids really suffer for it. They seem to take all their duties in stride. Sure, we get our fair share of whining, but a lot of times, they just do it, because they know they're not going to get out of it.

There is a downside, though. When you let your five-year-old dress himself, these are the types of outfits you wind up with:

- black dress socks with brown sandals on a hike
- Mom's black knee highs bunched around ankles with tennies
- John Deere boots with shorts to church
- navy blue shirt, black shorts, and mismatched socks

- and many more

Berry Good Recipe

If, during a random kid-check, Calvin doesn't answer roll call, I can usually locate him pretty quick. Lately, he'll be crouched in the grass at the edge of our yard, hands and feet stained purple with the mulberries he's foraging. The obsession started as what we figure was probably an act of defiance. Calvin asked for a snack close to supper time. I told him no. A few seconds later, he said just a little too loudly, "I know! I'll get mulberries!!" and ran off to recruit Max to help him, promising him a "snack" in return. Daddy and I chose to ignore it because we were busy organizing the shed and we wanted him out of our hair strategically picking our battles.

An hour later, the two were still at it.

Calvin had a small cup about half full, but I could tell where he'd stashed the majority of his finds.

He asked if we had enough to make a cobbler. We did not, unless it was a cobbler for a small family of mice. I helped him find a few more, when he said, "What is that falling?" I asked if it was a rain drop. It'd been overcast all day. "No! It's big!" When I told him what it was, the mulberry picking ended for the day...

This was after he'd wiped it - and was trying to wipe it on me because I was laughing and taking pictures. 

The bird didn't deter him for long. The next day, he recruited big brother for some more serious foraging. This time, they picked with a mission in mind - fill up a large cup for cobbler. This cobbler has become Calvin's iconic summer recipe. "Make a cobbler" was on our summer to-do list last year and this. Any time we see a berry in nature, edible or not, Calvin wants to whip up a cobbler to try it out.

When I called my three little gatherers in for another supper, they had accomplished their mission. They drug in their shoes, shirts (those never stay on long around here) and slingshot. I questioned the last item. Usually I know about weapons pretty soon after they're produced - not because of my attentiveness, mind you, but because something happens that makes my presence necessary. Anyway, Calvin explained that they were going to sling balls up into the tree to knock down the "juicy ones" but they couldn't find our sling shot balls (what family has a collection of sling shot balls?!), so they threw shoes instead. Score one for independence and problem solving skills.

The mulberries stayed in the fridge until my sister came for a visit. An epic mud fight caused supper to be a little late, so we didn't get to serve the precious cobbler to our guest. Instead, we made it for a bedtime snack. Here's the recipe, and a little chef drama:

Somersault Cobbler from Xplor Magazine

     1 c sugar
     1/4 c shortening
     1/2 c milk
     3/4 c flour
     1 t baking powder
     1/4 t salt
     berries (recipes calls for 3 c of blackberries, but we've made it with all kinds and amounts)
     2 T butter
     3/4 c water

- Painstakingly de-stem mulberries. Threaten to cancel the whole cooking session if attitudes don't improve.

- Lecture littlest chef for throwing handfuls of "before" berries into the "after" bowl.

- Lecture oldest chefs for being mean to little guy about his little mistake.
- Fight over who gets to sit on the counter/stool and who gets to dump ingredients first.
- Combine 1/2 c of the sugar and shortening. Take turns blending until extra creamy - then blend some more so everyone gets a turn.

- Mix in milk, flour, baking powder and salt. Try to distract the Little Bit when it's his turn to pour the flour, otherwise you'll have to estimate how much fell on the counter and floor to supplement while he's licking up his mess.

- Grease an 8-inch square pan and pour in batter. Fight over who gets to lick what.

- Top batter with berries. Remove tiny caterpillar.
- Flake butter over berries. Thank the good Lord in Heaven above that the two youngest are already bored and don't want to help with this step.
- Sprinkle 1/2 cup sugar over top. Try to act like you're not helping tiny chef so he doesn't get mad and fling sugar even farther.
- Bring water to a boil and gently pour over berries and batter.
- Complete "the process" with less successful results while cobbler bakes at 400 degrees for 30 mn.
- Let anyone who didn't get in big, fat trouble during the bedtime routine eat cobbler.

This particular night, there were only two pieces of cobbler served. I ate one of them. Coincidentally, there were also two sets of wet cheeks that night. Cheeks that had been very purple just a few days prior. The next night, toy picking up went much better...

Screen Time

When I was a waitress back in the day, I used to get on a rant about families who let their kids play on their DS or iPhone at the table. When I became a teacher, I totally saw the effects of kids who were used to being constantly entertained by media. I was convinced that TV and video games were the devil as far as kids were concerned. And then I became a mom. Fast forward seven years, and we have three boys, a Netflix subscription, two iPhones, high speed Internet (recent upgrade - woot woot!), 2 laptops, a DS, Wii, Xbox, Rock Band, Kinect, and portable DVD player for the car. Speak of the devil...

We really did try to shield little baby Reed from television. I remember when he was barely old enough to sit up, we were watching a movie one afternoon with him in the room. Feeling guilty, I strategically placed a large toy to block his view of the television. He grabbed the link-a-doo rings that were attached to the toy and leaned back so he could catch a glimpse of the action. Ever since then, if the TV is on, Reed is a total zoner. When we go to people's houses where the TV is on for background noise, he will only make halfhearted attempts to play with friends, even if it's an infomercial. And when my high tech older brother passed down his Nintendo DS, there became another object of my boys' affection.

So I'll admit, there are times when the boys look like this:

or this:

But we do try to limit their screen time as much as possible. Here's what has worked for us so far:

- Each boy gets one 20 minute turn on the gaming system of their choice. They know not to ask for more. They are responsible for setting their own timer (actually, they usually have their sibling set it for them so they don't lose any seconds of play time). When the timer dings, they can "finish their level"if it doesn't take too long. Max has started taking an iPhone turn while his brothers watch each other play on the DS. He basically opens up all the apps, shoots angry birds backwards, and tries to delete or buy things, but he thinks he's big stuff and he leaves me alone for 10-20 minutes so it's all good. He's also the master timer watcher for his brothers. "Timer ding!"
- They get to watch one movie (or a few short episodes of a show) on Sat. and Sun. mornings. This is totally so Mommy and Daddy can sleep in. Max hasn't gotten that memo yet, though...
- The boys know not to ask for more TV or game time. They are pretty diligent about getting their 20 minute turn in each day and we wake up EVERY Saturday and Sunday to a whispered, "Can we watch our movie?" but they don't usually push for more. I guess they got tired of hearing "No."
- The Wii, Rock Band, and Kinect are basically for family fun. With all three, we played almost every night for the first week, and now we might play one of them once a month when the mood strikes. This summer, I figure they'll be our rainy day saviors. That and Pinterest. The bigguns love that site almost as much as their mama! Too bad they want search Ninjago instead of cute mudrooms.
- In the middle of winter, we probably have movie or video game nights about once a week to battle cabin fever.
- On long car rides (we live 9 hours from mi familia) it's pretty much nonstop techno land on wheels. Sometimes you just gotta survive!

Our biggest issue is when we're around other people. In the winter, we favor uninterrupted adult conversation over towing a hard line about technology. But we're currently fighting a battle because of it. There are certain people they see only for their iPad or the Cartoon Network on their TV (we have no channels at home). We've taken to giving a lecture in the car before we arrive at our destination, forbidding them ask about TV or phones or Kindles. I swear my mantras every weekend for a month have been, "We don't go to Grandma's house to watch Transformers or play Bejeweled. We go to see Grandma and Grandpa" and "It's too pretty outside to watch TV. Don't even ask!"

I'm sure this will be an evolving battle, but for right now I feel like we're winning the war on technology overload. Now if I could just get myself under control. Right now, it's nearing 3 a.m. and I'm still on my laptop!