I Now Take Requests

As requested by a friend, I present to you The Story of Tuesday.

On Tuesday, the kids and I stopped by a friend's house to see if we could take them to lunch. We decided to head over to the always elegant Burger King (please see Fancy Nancy
for an explanation). This particular Burger King also had a playplace inside, so it was the perfect and most logical choice for our group of 6 kids and 2 adults.

Now, I can see why a person might assume and look at us in awe with our six children if, say, one of us was a man and the other a woman. Maybe then it would appear that we were a couple, and had a whole bunch of children. That would be insane, of course, but people may assume this if the children are with a man and a woman.

However, we were two women with six children. Yet a woman still came up to my friend and asked if all those kids were "ours." *ahem* True, I am majoring in Women's Studies at my college, and I am a feminist, but... "Our" kids?

So, after this woman left the restaurant, my friend and I had a good laugh at her question. Then a new person showed up with a kid, and sat in that woman's seat. This time it was a "Nana," and her grandson.

Avery immediately began to bond with the grandson. The two played on the playplace, danced on the mat in front of the slide, and took turns blowing into the boy's cherry Icee to make red bubbles. Now that last thing I mentioned - how do you stop your son from blowing into a stranger's straw when the stranger's own grandmother thinks it is funny and cute? How do you not appear rude in that situation, yet also not allow your son to soak up every germ that kid may have?

Back to Avery. Now, as I have mentioned before (here, here, and here), Avery has blonde hair and everyone else in our family has brown hair. This friend of mine that joined me at Burger King also has brown hair, as well as her three kids. In fact, we often joke that her three kids and Abby and Ethan are all her kids, while Avery is mine because the other five look somewhat alike.

And so Avery spent a large portion of the day with these seven people with brown hair. Guess what color hair that little boy he bonded with had? Blonde! Finally, it seems, Avery had found one of his own! This other blonde boy even had a Nana, just like him!

Now I feel the need to seek out friends with blonde hair, or at least blonde children. My poor little Avery - it seems he'll always be a minority in our house.

Examples

You know, I've blogged quite a few times about the things people say to me about my three small kids. Things like, "You sure have your hands full!" But really, no matter how I make it seem, there are a handful of people who say these things in a polite way. I think it's all in your tone, facial expression, and the other words you add (or fail to add) to your comment.

For instance, the example I gave above can be received as quite rude if the person walks up to me, says it in a "Gee-your-life-sucks" tone of voice, and then walks away. Multiply this by ten if my kids are misbehaving at the time.

On the other hand, the kids and I were at the grocery store the other day (the same one where this happened), and an older lady said the dreaded sentence - but it was not at all rude. She also said that she had three kids just as close together - a girl and two boys - and she just wanted me to know that she is 72 years old. In other words, she knows how hard it is, but she survived!

Maybe the difference is comradery. If they've been through what they see you going through, it seems less rude to comment. I'm not quite sure. However, if I'm out without the kids, I do try to let other mothers know that I have the same problems with my kids as I see them having with their kids. They might not care at all, but I feel like empathizing with them is the right thing to do. Like I totally understand that their kids are not brats all the time. My kids are exactly the same!

Yeah, I know it probably is perceived as rude after all. But I feel like I would appreciate the degree of sisterhood that parenting small kids can provide, if I was in their shoes.

So, the next time you see someone at the store with the same amount of kids you have, crying, fighting, yelling, or peeing on themselves - tell her that your kids are just like hers. It will either make her relieved or depressed.

Finally!

You see this cute little boy? This is not just any cute little boy - he's now a potty trained cute little boy! Actually, according to him he is a cute "little big boy."

Since Avery is now 40 months old (3 years, 4 months), and I started potty training him at 26 months (2 years, 2 months), we had to throw the kid a party. Really, we give each of the kids a potty train party once they can go two full weeks without having an accident. The thing is, we thought we would be having this party about a year ago. Abby was potty trained earlier than this, so we just assumed that all the kids would be the same. I guess that's one of the first lessons you learn in parenting - no two kids are exactly alike. So, here is over a year later and he is finally potty trained!

We had the party last weekend. Even though Avery had said for a very long time that he wanted a potty "train" party (Thomas), we couldn't think of any games that went along with Thomas. Instead, Avery got a Cars potty train party. He had to drive up mountains and learn to handle the turns on a bumpy racetrack, all while racing to California for the Piston Cup.

When Abby had her party, we did a Dora the Potty-er party. She had to follow Map and climb the tallest mountain (a pile of pillows), answer a riddle and get over the Grumpy Old Troll's bridge (I was the Grumpy Old Troll), and walk through the spooky forest (green and brown steamers hung from the ceiling).

Now the pressure is on for Ethan. We haven't even started potty training him yet, but if he's anything like Avery, it will be a while before he needs a potty train party.

How Rude!

Please tell me it's not just me. Strangers seem to come up to me regularly, and say rude things about my kids. Is this an epidemic of rudeness, or is it just me and my kids that experience this?

Just today, a lady in Kroger came up to me as Abby was talking about... everything... and made the international hand symbol for "she talks too much." She then told me that my daughter does, in fact, talk too much. She tried to soften it up a bit, though, by telling me that her daughters are all grown and she only hears silence at her house these days. Poor lady.

I've also been told by other parents (whom I do not know) that my child (whoever is a baby at the time) has huge feet/hands/entire body. Now really, could you say such a thing about an adult? Then why say it about an adult's baby?

Abby has apparently always been loud, because strangers would stop me if they heard her crying as a small baby. They would say, "she cries louder than any baby I've ever heard!" Also, I've often been told that she is, "such a princess!" And that Abby "certainly is spoiled!" Hmm...

With the boys, I've been told that they don't look like Daniel "at all!" Nice. Why don't you just flat out tell my husband that you suspect his wife is sleeping around on him?

So, strangers, next time you see a baby at the grocery store, either smile and say nothing, or think really hard about something nice that you can say. Chances are, the mom dragging those kids through the store has had a really rough day and can't handle your boldness at that very moment.

Growing Up

This past Sunday I finally got a chance to visit a friend of mine that had just had her first baby. Just, as in 4 months ago.

Yeah, I know I'm a lousy friend, but at least I did finally see that sweet little baby! There are other people I know that have just had their third and fourth babies (three years ago and six months ago, respectively), and I have yet to visit them. Of course, the mother of these two babies is actually my cousin, and not just a friend. For some reason, I feel like that is explanation enough...

And so I was able to hold this little guy on Sunday, and watch him do all those sweet little baby things, like babbling and laughing and hitting himself in the face with a toy. I watched my friend nurse him (well, it's not like I just sat and watched her, but I was there), I watched her play with him on the floor, change him into cute little jammies with puppies on each foot... Every possible thing that a "maybe-I'm-done-having-babies" person could ask for.

But you know what's really strange? None of it made me wish for another little one, or even made me completely nostalgic about my own little ones that are now big ones (uhh... I mean my kids).

I'm usually pretty predictable about desperately wanting another baby after I've been around a new one. But, even though this little guy was definitely the cutest little Stephen I have ever seen, I was perfectly content knowing I am past that stage with my own kids.

Does this mean that I am finally ready to accept that I have three kids - and will always have just three kids? No. After all, I may change my mind tomorrow, or even later today. I think this just simply means that I am learning to enjoy my own kids as they grow. It seems that every new age and stage they reach is more fun than the last. I can actually picture Daniel and myself with three older kids - and there is no baby carrier next to us in that picture.

Of course, all this came at the same time that Abby became an adult (or rather a b-dult, according to Abby). Today, after I asked her to stop banging her feet against the floor while she was coloring, she simply responded, "Sorry! I'm just so used to doing my own thing." You know, like paying rent and cooking dinner and heading off to work every morning...?

She then followed me around the house for the next 50 minutes while I cleaned and she rambled - I mean talked to me. She talked to me about ice skates, and how her doll needs some, and how she likes to pretend her knee-high socks are ice skates. She explained to me what a stranger is, and how to react if I come across one. I promise to run, and tell my mom or my teacher right away. "Umm, Dr. Wilson? Some stranger just talked to me in the hallway. What should I do?"

And Abby has also grown socially. She has lots of friends - best friends, even. She is invited to birthday parties a lot. While I sit in the van waiting to pick her up from school, she stands outside with her friends, their arms around each other's shoulders and laughing. Abby thinks about what would be the perfect Christmas present for her friends, or what would make the perfect tea party to which she could invite her friends. She has, on several occasions, asked for a nice couch of her own to place in her bedroom, so she could have friends over and offer them a place to sit.

But with all the growing up that Abby seems to be doing, I don't feel that same apprehension about her leaving babyhood behind that I used to feel. I'm sort of excited about this growing. Every day I'm reminded of just how little she knows about life. I get to literally teach her something new about life every day. Just today, for instance, I taught her what a tongue-twister is. A tongue-twister. When is the last time you had to be taught such a thing?

So we've spent part of the day coming up with tongue-twisters for Abby to try to say. This was all started, of course, by Punxsutawney Phil. You know, the groundhog? We heard a DJ on the radio ponder the relationship between groundhogs and woodchucks, and then proceed to do the "How much wood can a woodchuck chuck..." thing. That brought on a whole slew of other tongue twisters between Abby and me, and the rest is history.

I will tell you that Abby is not so good at creating her own tongue twisters just yet. But I leave you with a good one that the radio DJ came up with:

"How much hog can a groundhog ground, if a groundhog could ground hog?"

Guest Post - Daniel's Innermost Personal Thoughts

After much *ahem* persuasion, I offer to you a guest post written by my own husband, Daniel.

************************************************************************************

At 6 o’ clock Sara nudged me to get up for work. Immediately, a table just like the one below popped in my head:

Things to do	Start Time	End Time
Stretch	6:00 a.m.	6:36 a.m.
Stretch	6:36 a.m.	6:37 a.m.
Take a shower	6:37 a.m.	6:53 a.m.

What struck me as odd was not the fact that I had instantly wanted to stretch for 36 minutes, but that there was a totally different type of stretching that I would do for one minute after the initial stretch. I am not even sure what would the two styles would entail, but I knew they were unique and needed to classified as such. Could the first set be preparation for a mighty “power-stretch” or a deep transidental meditation followed by “benediction” stretch? I do not know.

If You Think It's Cold Now...

Okay. I'll admit I love snow days for the very fact that I don't have to leave the house or take the kids anywhere. Sometimes (like yesterday), Daniel even gets to stay home from work when it snows too much to drive the half hour it normally takes to get there.

But, this fondness for snow days comes from someone who is safely tucked inside my home, with the heater happily spitting out 68 degree heat all day long. The thing is, I just read this article about people a mere two hours south of us who were hit much harder by this snow and ice storm. They lost their electricity - and it might not be back on until mid-February. Two weeks or more with no heat? In 20 degree weather? That's when I would be raiding my savings account and heading to Florida, personally.

We "survived" the great wind storm of 2008 here in Ohio, after which we had no electricity at our house for a week. But, that was in September, and the weather was unusually perfect during that week. But what are the odds that we will have nice weather in February?

I don't know if you're like me, but I'm now mentally compiling a list of ways my family could eat, wash clothes, keep warm, and simply live for two weeks in February without electricity. If you are like me, then here are some more snow pictures from our house yesterday to help you imagine...

The Loss of Innocence?

So, the kid's grandma had a great idea at Christmas time. She bought a Santa suit and had the kid's grandpa come to the door dressed in the suit. He passed out presents and had the kids sit on his lap.

Despite the occasional slips such as, "Come sit on Grandpa's lap! I mean Santa!" The kids still weren't quite sure if that was in fact Santa or Hairy Grandpa (that's what they call the grandpa with - you guessed it - hair). After all, right after Santa left out the front door, Hairy Grandpa came downstairs and was very surprised to learn that he had missed Santa while he was napping.

Before this Christmas, my kids didn't even know who Santa was, really. We opted for the "put the candy in the stockings Christmas Eve" thing, with no real explanation as to how the candy got there. They sort of assumed that all Santa did was give them candy. How boring.

Then Grandma explained to the kids who Santa was one day, and they were excited to see him. So, we were sort of obligated at that point to have some presents from Santa. However, I'm sort of selfish and like the joy that comes along with buying the kids a present that I know they really wanted. I do not want to give Santa the credit for my hard shopping work!

Nonetheless, Santa came and brought a ton of gifts that Grandma had *ahem* helped him pick out. The kids were happy and believed that it was, in fact, Santa Claus himself.

Until today, when I bursted Abby's bubble.

You see, we took pictures of Santa with the kids. My laptop died at the time, so we never got the chance to show the pictures to the kids. Today I uploaded the pictures, and the kids and I sat down to look at all we had done in the past two months.

We saw the pictures of Santa. Abby told me that she had originally thought it was just Hairy Grandpa. We looked at more pictures. Santa holding Ethan, Santa holding Avery. Santa with a tattoo.

"Wait a minute!" Abby cried. "That is Hairy Grandpa! He has the same tattoos!"

*pop*

There goes that bubble.

It never pays to lie - or even fabricate - to your children, I suppose. Here are the offensive photos. The tattoo in question is on his right arm, above the glove.

Snow Day

Apparently, a five-year old Abby loves the snow. A four-year old Abby did not.
Sadly, three-year old Avery now dislikes the snow.

Two Strikes Against Me

So, I guess I haven't had much to blog about since I gave away all my kids... (See the previous post)

Just kidding! I still have all the monkeys right here. Today has also been one of those "Free Kids" kind of days, but coupled with a snow day. Yup, there's about 6 inches of snow out there preventing us from leaving the yard, and the kids are having one of those days.

Motherhood is certainly... different from everything else. If you ever wanted to work on your patience, sacrificial nature, or counting to ten skills - have a kid.

I'll post snow day pictures in a bit.

Free Kids!

I've decided to give away kids again. To those of you who have Facebook, you know I randomly like to offer my kids to anyone, for free. Coincidentally, these offers always happen when the kids are all three misbehaving.

It must be the weather, right? Yesterday it was about 15 degrees, and today it's 46 degrees. Don't you just love Ohio weather...?

Race and Politics

Now that I've finally gotten my computer back, and AT&T has decided to give us Internet access this week, I'm happy to be back here blogging! I had a nice break, and now I can hopefully post something nearly every day.

First of all, something big happened while I was on that break - we have ourselves (if you're in the US) a black president! I'm personally very excited and happy about this for several reasons, but that's not what this post is about. What I'm wondering is, how do you make your kids appreciate the beauty in President Obama's term(s) as president? How do you teach small kids how much race controls our country, and how much this president can do for us as a racist nation? But really, should you even bring up the subject at all?

Yesterday was the presidential inauguration, and Monday was Martin Luther King's birthday. Now, I can explain to my 5 year old why we're celebrating the inauguration without mentioning race, but how do you explain what Martin Luther King did for our country without bringing up race?

When Abby asked me why she didn't have school on Monday, I told her it was because it was Dr. Martin Luther King's birthday. She then (of course) asked me who that was, and if we were going to his party. I told her that he was a man who helped lots of people like other people, even though they were different. I felt like this sort of answered the question, but really left a lot unsaid.

The reason I wonder about this is simply because of a policy I have with my kids about race. I don't bring it up unless they do. I'm really interested in learning whether racism is inherited, learned, or innate. I feel like if I'm very, very careful to never point out race to my kids, then their ideas are truly their own.

And guess what? So far it looks like racism is not innate, because my kids don't notice that people are different colors. That makes me breathe easier - but isn't it scary at the same time? All this hate has been taught to us, just like math and reading?

The only time my kids have ever even hinted that they notice race is when Avery asked me in the bath tub what color he is. You see, he's very light skinned compared to Abby and Ethan. Avery takes after me in the skin department, and the other two take after Daniel. So, when Avery is in the tub with Abby and Ethan, he notices that his skin is lighter. Oh yeah - that and the fact that he is always slathered with sunblock while the other two are simply lightly coated. We usually say something like, "you get sunburned easier than Abby and Ethan."

And so, there was my little light skinned boy, taking a bath and asking me what color he is. I responded, "What color do you think you are?" He thought he was either yellow or grey. Abby told him he was skin colored, in one of those teen-agery "duh!" voices. Avery was satisified with this answer, and never asked again.

Abby has Barbies that are African American and Caucasian. She doesn't seem to notice a difference between any of the dolls. She just knows that her lone Bratz doll is somehow bad. She tells me that this doll is "mean to everyone." But that's another story...

And so I now wonder about race and my innocent little kids. What will they hear from TV and school about our new president? How often will they hear him called "Our first African American president!" - instead of simply, President Obama? Can I really ignore race in this case, when it seems to mean so much? Am I doing my kids a favor by not mentioning the importance of an African Amertican president, or a disservice?

Any opinions or advice on this subject?

200! And An Argument.

This is my 200th post! Who knew I would have so much to ramble about?

While my computer is still being repaired (thank goodness for warranties!), Daniel and I got in an argument today that just could not wait to be solved. Now this was not a knock-down kind of fight, but it was a bend over backwards, turn your elbows the wrong way kind of argument. You see, I am double-jointed. Daniel does not believe me.

Since I was a little kid, I was able to sit comfortably (and preferred to) in ways that were impossible to other people. I can touch any part of my back with my hands, I can put one hand over my shoulder and one hand under my opposite shoulder and touch them together. I can sit on my knees and lay all the way back on the floor. Gee, what more proof do you need?

Daniel says I am just flexible. *ahem* That is actually sort of the definition of double-jointed. According to Wise Geek, being double-jointed "simple means that your joints... are unusually flexible, enabling you to bend or rotate them in ways that other people find impossible and painful." I can do this. I am double-jointed.

I think Daniel is just jealous. He can never wash his own back completely without some sort of device on a stick. He can never kick himself in the face. He cannot do a proper plie, like this guy:



How sad. At least Abby has the makings for a double-jointed person. Of course, Daniel says that's just because she's a kid, and all kids are flexible. I won't even tell you how flawed that argument would be in my philosophy class.

So, is anyone else double-jointed? What can you do?

Another Two Year Old

It's official - we have another 2 year old in our house! Ethan's birthday is today, which is good news. Too bad the "too bad list" is longer than the good news list...

• Too bad I had such a hard time getting Ethan a birthday cake today. Yes, I should have ordered it yesterday as the bakeries suggest - but I did not. After all, what store wouldn't have a chocolate cake decorated in a non-flowery, non-pink and purple way, sitting right there in the bakery section?? Well, all of the stores in town for one. And the bakeries. I never realized before today that the cake business is geared entirely towards women. Those giant globs of icing shaped like roses are never made with men (or little boys) in mind. I actually had to leave town to get a cake with a clown on it.

• Too bad my computer is still busted and I cannot access any pictures of little Ethan, or even add new pictures of him. You guys (or guy) will just have to imagine what he looks like today as he turns two.

• Too bad I forget to ask the bakery people to write "Happy Birthday Ethan!" on the clown cake. I realized this on the way home. So, I wrote it on myself!

• Too bad we no longer own a pastry bag. But! I can use a plastic baggy with the end snipped off!

• Too bad Daniel used the very last plastic baggy we had this very morning for his lunch. Oh well, at least my mom keeps those things around. I borrowed one from her and all was well.

• Too bad the cake now looks like a giant pigeon flew over it. You know that plastic baggy idea? It seems that sometimes the zipper-end pops open as you are piping letters from that snipped end, and frosting silently plops out onto your cake.

• Too bad that frosting was a yucky, bird-poopish green color. Thats all I could make with the food coloring I have in my pantry.

But, at least I have a sweet little monkey baby to celebrate his birthday with. That's way more than I could have hoped for a mere 6 years ago (not to mention the two older kids!). This may be the last 2 year old birthday I ever celebrate as a mom, so I'm just going to enjoy it. I think this may be the last year I can get by with only giving him 3 presents, anyway...

Gone, Baby Gone

Yup, I've been missing for quite a few days (at least in blogger world). My computer died, so I'm going to be gone until that's fixed. Hope you guys (or.. guy) can live without me for a couple days :o)

Visions

The other night I dreamed that I had another baby. It was a girl with straight blond hair.
Is this an omen, or was that Kit Kittredge in my dream?

One of Those Moms

Since Daniel's parents now live in the same area as us, and my parents still live in the same area, our kids were blessed with an overabundance of Christmas presents this year. Really I mean too many presents. I now realize that I could have just bought nothing, and they still would have had too many gifts between Grandma, Nana, and Santa.

So, we have decided to break up all the present-opening festivities by starting Christmas yesterday. The kids got about a quarter of their gifts yesterday, and they're actually very happy with that. But we still have lots to go.

One of the gifts that Abby opened up last night is Kit Kittredge, an American Girl doll. Now, some of my family already knows how badly I wanted one of these dolls when I was little. I would carry around the catalog, look through it all day, and dream about having my own American Girl doll with all the accessories. However, they are somewhat expensive, and I never got one.



Don't you see how cute she is? Anyway, now that Abby has one, I find myself wanting to hold the doll, fix her hair, help change her clothes... I really, really like this doll. Every time Abby plays with the doll, I watch to make sure she's careful. If Avery grabs the doll, I tell him no and take it away. I think I'm obsessed with this doll, guys.

The problem is, when my cousin was younger she had expensive dolls. Her mom kept them in her closet, up on a really high shelf, or in a box. My cousin was not even allowed to play with these dolls, because they were so "special." My mom always thought that was wrong, and commented on it to me a lot. I agreed at the time - that was weird.

But... Now I feel like I'm starting to become one of those moms. You know, like I'm compensating for my lack of an American Girl doll by over-protecting this one. I even suggested that we keep poor Kit Kittredge in her little doll casket (Daniel's words for the box she came in), and put her in the closet until Abby is older. After all, Abby didn't really like the doll that much until she saw how much I like the doll.

Now I'm fighting my urges and actually letting her have the doll in her room. She's still in the box, under the pretense that "the boys might ruin her." Abby has already changed Kit's clothes once, dressing her in a more Christmas-y outfit. I already had to re-fix her hair.

*sigh* Having a daughter is a great way to get all the toys you once wanted but never got, but it's so hard to remember that these are her toys, not yours.

A Brief History of Daniel and Sara

Okay, since many people do not know the whole story of Daniel and Sara, here is the quick version:

We met on the Internet, in the Yahoo! teen chat room called Grovespace. This was before eHarmony and Match.com, and we weren't even looking for romance. We were just two 17 year olds chatting in a chat room about deep things such as music, life, and probably how oppressive our parents were or something.

We chatted for a while, and then started talking on the phone, writing letters (the old fashioned way to communicate), and eventually Daniel bought a plane ticket and flew to New Mexico to meet me in person. I wasn't an old man, he wasn't a stalker, and we really were who we said we were. It was great, and we decided at that point that we did, in fact, love each other.

Next, he flew home and we kept up the long-distance thing. I visited him in Louisiana, and then he flew to Ohio to visit me at my college. During that trip, we figured, "why not just get married?" And so we did.

We found a minister that would marry us the next day, bought a marriage license, stopped for a drink at McDonald's, and got married. The ceremony was in the minister's basement, which was decorated nicely for Christmas. We forgot the rings in the car, and Daniel had to go get them in the middle of the ceremony. I was wearing a grey sweater and jeans. We didn't know we had to pay the minister, so he gave us a discounted rate. I know it sounds awful, but it was really the best day of my life.

Daniel and I moved a lot during our first five years of marriage. Every time a lease was up on the apartment we were living in at the time, we would move to a new city. Oh, the things you can get away with when you have no children! We lived in at least 7 different apartments/ houses that I can remember before we found out in February 2003 that we were expecting Abigail Horizon. Our favorite was when we lived in the "big city" - Columbus, Ohio.

Right before we had Abby, we moved to an apartment in the Dayton area and actually renewed our lease after a year. This is something we'd never done before - parenting was really changing us. We celebrated our 5th anniversary 3 months after Abby was born. We were a happy family of three for 15 months, and then found out we were having an Avery Ellis. We decided to buy a house at that point, and that's where we live to this day.

We were a happy family of 4, living in our own house, and driving a mid-sized sedan. We then found out we were expecting Ethan James. So, we brought him home to a our house-made-for-four and our car-made-for-three, and realized we needed more room. Too bad. We're still in the same house, but now have a minivan.

So, we are still writing the story of Daniel and Sara, but that is the background behind the ten years that we've been married.

The Importance of December 21.

Ten years ago yesterday (December 21) was a big day. A huge day, actually. That's when Daniel and Sara became Daniel and Sara.

Well, unfortunately, I don't feel like we actually celebrated our 10th anniversary. Yes, we ate out twice. But still, is that really an adequate way to celebrate the fact that we have been married for 10 years, and are still happy?

What I would have liked to do is a lot different from anything we could have really done. We do have three small children, after all. I would have loved to make the day a huge production. Renew our vows, take a trip away with just the two of us, fly to Europe - whatever. But we can't afford any of those things, and we would have arrange for childcare for the kids, etc. So, we ate out for lunch and dinner, and then went home.

I know, some people who have been married for more than 10 years probably think, "what's the big deal? It's just 10 years." But really, according to everyone else in the world, Daniel and I had everything going against us when we married in 1998. We were teenagers, we met on the Internet (more about that in another post), we hadn't finished college, we had no money, we had only known each other for a year, we had no plans other than being together... The list goes on and on. But, we made it 10 years. If I put 10 years into something, I plan on sticking with it to the end. Hence the reason I'm overloading myself with college classes lately - I've been doing that for 10 years, too.

So, December 21, 2008 was the day that Daniel and Sara have been together for 10 years. No family members told us "Happy Anniversary" (that I recall), no gifts were exchanged, no vows were renewed. but you know what? At least I was with Daniel yesterday and I know I'll be with him today and tomorrow and the rest of the days that we have. I no longer have that dread that comes when you realize that, eventually, one of you will have to go home. Now home is Daniel and Sara.

Thank you, Daniel, for 10 nice years. Okay, they were actually 10 awesome years. I love you.

Out of Hand

So, I did decide to send Abby to a private school for Kindergarten, after all. I paid the (what I consider) big bucks, and paid the fee for books and the fee for school supplies and bought the uniforms, etc.

Guess what? I'm not done shelling out cash to this school. Abby has at least two types of fundraisers a month - and what parent wants their kid to be the only one in the class that doesn't have any funds raised?? She has had school pictures that cost a small fortune, she has had class parties that I have to "donate supplies" to. A letter was sent home last week requesting paper towels, on top of the treasure chest prizes I donated and the wrapped candy I also donated.

This certainly isn't the first time I've complained about this, and I doubt it will be the last. But really, why do we pay tuition and then have to pay, pay, and pay again? I'm sure this would be the same for public schools, right? Except you don't have to pay for the actual schooling part. Oh well. This was my choice, to send her to a private school. I'd better quit complaining.

But guess what? It turns out that just having kids cost money! I know, right? Well, it's Christmas time here (and probably elsewhere), and of course I'm buying presents for the kids. It seems that when kids get to age 5 or so, they start to realize that their friends have things that they do not have. And what do you think they do? They ask for those same things, of course! Or if that doesn't work, then they beg or cry or throw a tantrum. It really depends on the kid.

Since I really am not into buying everything my kids ask for (unless I find a good enough bargain!), I'm now thinking about how to get them to understand this. I guess there are many different ways to go about this. Some parents just drive all over town and spend excessive amounts of money to get everything on their kid's Christmas list. Other parents try to compensate for the amount of presents with fewer but better quality or more meaningful gifts. Some parents do the three wisemen type gifts - one material/expensive, one spiritual, and one for the body.



I've also heard stories where the parents go ahead and buy what the kids want, but first they have the kids go through their rooms and fill a big box with old toys to donate to needy children. This is a good idea, but what happens when they start to fill up the box with toys that you stood in line for an hour to get, got up at 5 am on Black Friday to find, or paid a fortune for? What if the toy just has some sort of sentimental value to you, but not to your kid? Then how do you teach them give to others before they receive from you?

Sometimes it can be really hard to part with material possessions, money, or time. But we all make these sacrifices for our kids anyway, don't we? The question is, do we teach them that this is the most important part of Christmas, or do we send out other Christmas vibes to our kids?

After all, can you imagine a 5 year old Jesus begging his mom for more frankincense for Christmas? **

**Yes, I know Christmas was not celebrated then...**