I never thought puke would stop grossing me out

This boy of mine has thrown up 3 times in the last 7 days.

Last Tuesday night, at my moms.  He got off of the couch, walked into the kitchen and *BLAMMO* all over the floor before I picked him up and got him to the kitchen sink.  Once it was over, he skipped over to my mom's lap for a hug and asked for a treat.

Monday morning.  He was eating cinnamon crumb cake.  I was sitting next to him.  He gave me the look, I told him to get to the garbage and he tossed his cookies.  I was nervous that he shouldn't go to school and called the dad.  The dad said, "if it were any other kid, I'd say he couldn't go to school but, it's Wyatt.  He throws up all the time and is fine.  Send him."

He's right, and I did.

Later I asked him why he puked.  He said because there wasn't enough crumble on the piece of cake he put in his mouth.

Last night was the giant mother freaking holy cow tantrum of all tantrums.  It started because it wasn't his turn for a bath.  Then he lost the game they were playing.  Then he hit is brother one too many times for my liking so I kindly lifted him into bed and walked away.  The screaming got louder and louder and more phlegmy and more gaggy and just as I stormed into his room yelling, "Stop it or your going to thr....."

He did.  

Into his hands.

I grabbed a towel that we keep in his room and rushed him to the bathroom.

Round one was giant balls of phlegm.

He said he was finished.

I knew he wasn't.

Another 3 minutes of waiting and the kid sold his buick, and a few others too.

After he was finished (he screamed at me I'M DONE PUKING NOW!), he brushed his teeth.  I threw the toothbrush away.  He apologized for being a monster turd, grabbed a pillow, laid down on the floor and fell asleep.

I knew he was tired.

Honestly, there isn't another kid in the whole world who throws up all the time like it's no big deal and then continues about his business.  Even asks for food immediately after puking.

Kid grosses me out.

He is so strange.

But, at 34.75 years old, it no longer makes me quease.  Well, not as bad.

Not sure what kind of message that is sending, but.....

Grandpa and I have told him there is no puking at Disneyland.

It's against the rules.

he's promised he wont or were feeding him to the Matterhorn Yettie.

Solicitors

When we first moved into "the Truman Show" almost nine years ago, we were bombarded with solicitors.  Foreign kids selling "their artwork".  People wanting to maintain our grass, our water, our lives.  Spiritual beings bringing us messages of salvation.  Individuals who thought we needed magazines, peepholes in our doors, and windshields replaced on the front drive.  Even though we had a huge no soliciting sign on our front door, there were days, always in the summer, where we'd have three or four of these types in a day.  It got to be exhausting making small talk, listening to the smooth talked message, and then declining the service.  Because of the soliciting, we just quit answering the door and kept the blinds closed a lot.  There is always so much confrontation with solicitors, when they know the "no" is coming and it makes me uncomfortable.  Gives me a stomach ache.  Stresses me out.

In the new house, I can't block us off from the world.  The front door is all windows and glass.  And whats worse?  My children are like little dogs...when they hear a knock or a doorbell ring, they race to the door because it's got to be something awesome waiting for them.  Now, most of the time it's a neighbor or the UPS man, but  a lot of the time it isn't.

Last fall, as I walked out to get the mail, I counted four different solicitors making their way around my street.  I raced into the house, headed upstairs and grabbed a piece of paper.  In all CAPITAL LETTERS I wrote a quick note, "NO SOLICITING.  Thank you!" and taped it to the window right by the door bell.

For the most part, it works.  People either read the sign and leave us alone, we aren't home, or I'm able to yell at the dogs stop the boys before they open the door and let the strangers in for a drink and some cookies.  Please know that this is an issue we work on daily - the whole door thing.  They are getting better and haven't actually opened the door for someone for a long time.  They do though, still rush the door to see who it is and then if they don't know, they run away, thus, requiring me to answer the door and see what someone wants to sell.

Anyway, flash forward to this afternoon.  We had just had a UPS delivery - new shoes for Disneyland - and were watching Star Wars Clone Wars.  The boys were a little pumped up.  Just as I walked into the bathroom to use the facilities the doorbell rang.  I heard the rush of their little, new shoe wearing, light saber wielding feet rush to the door.  I yelled at them from the bathroom "DON"T ANSWER THE DOOR" and finished what I was doing.

I suppose I could have just ignored the fact that the doorbell rang.  I'm not sure which is more rude.  Ignoring the door after my boys have made it obvious that we are home or saying "no thank you" several times, some forcefully to the solicitor.

Today our friendly neighborhood door knocker was Carl.  He was large and in charge and a smooth talker.  He talked a lot about "pay it forward" so much so that I thought that was the organization he was representing.  He started off nice enough, asking me about my life and stuff....the usual.  The he pulled out a giant bill-fold of little packets.  The first one he wanted me to write my name and that he was courteous.  Sure, I could do that but there was a catch.  If I signed, I had to buy magazines.  Now, the magazines were for me and would be sent to the homeless shelter and the Ronald McDonald house.  Um...okay.  I continued to listen and then told him that I wasn't interested in giving him $60 for magazines that I didn't want or need.

The next billfold came out to tell me that for a smaller donation, I could send magazines to charities and not get any for myself.  I declined.

Then the next billfold came out for me to give him a cash donation.  Here's the thing.  My husband and I donate 10 percent of our income to our church and that money is used all over the world to help people in need.  I give money to St. Jude's children's hospital and the disabled American veterans regularly because they send me address labels and cute little notebooks with teddy bears on them.  I donate to food drives whenever I know of one.  I tip generously every where I go.  I do my best to be charitable and generous.

Ross bought magazines from a lady last November because he thought she was nice.  We've never ever received one of those magazines.

I was not going to buy magazines from Carl.  When I told him this, he got a little angry and challenged me, asking if I believed in giving people an opportunity, in "Pay int forward", and why was I making him go back to his hotel room to tell his son he didn't make any money today.

Holy guilt trip batman.

It didn't work.

I didn't buy.

He yelled "God Bless" as he stomped off my porch.

My sign told him not to ring the bell.

These boys of mine....

Elliott has been so good this week.  He totally took charge and was extra helpful and kind while his dad was gone.  I was real proud of him.  He didn't fight with me, tried hard not to fight with the pest and took good care of his sweet little baby.

But, now that dad is home, the afternoon yesterday was a bit rough.

There was some hitting and clawing and yelling and some time spent in time out.

Finally, after dinner, when the wild was revving up for round two, Wyatt, who has been a particular shade of annoying lately, turned to his brother, who had him in a loose headlock and said:

"Hey, Elliott.  I've got a great idea.  Let's not hit each other!"

Good idea, Wyatt.  Good idea.

These big boys of mine are also way into having their hair combed as of the last couple of weeks.  I've never let them have hair long enough to comb because I'm lazy and I really like their short, fuzzy wuzzy hair.  But, at their request, I've let them start to grow it out so that they can have their hair like their dad and uncle willie.  Well, as we were getting ready to head to the airport to pick up our dad on Wednesday, it was time to comb their hair.  Water, gel, combs, fingers, they use it all.  But, there were a few style glitches and I had to offer an assist.  MELTDOWN!

Apparently, my boys are really teenage girls and we left the house with both of them nursing tears because their hear wasn't perfect.

Lesson learned.

And this little ball of squish?  He's good.  He's happy.  He missed his dad and is happy to have said dad carry him all around the house, supervising the chaos, just as things are supposed to be.

But, most important, this little fart has finally figured out how to 1) SIT UP and 2) STAND  Now, the standing isn't for very long and he gives up pretty quickly, but I was really starting to get nervous that those fat little legs of his just plain old didn't work.  And the sitting?  We've been working on that for a while but last week on Sunday it just started to click and now, by the end of the week, we can actually leave him unsupported and he doesn't topple over for almost a minute.

Good job baby brother!

Souvenirs

Whenever my husband travels for work, which lets face it isn't often (thank heavens!), he always brings the boys prizes that they'll love.  It makes me happy that he knows his boys so well that he always brings them something that hits the spot, the adore, and sort of makes up for the week or weeks he's been gone.

I don't ever expect a prize from a trip, but one is always appreciated and my edible prizes from this work trip are top notch.

First, at the airport in Paris on his way home yesterday, he bought me some Laudree macrons.  They cost him an arm and a leg (or at least what was left of his Euros) and they did not disappoint.  At least not the Hazelnut or Vanilla.  Divine and decadent.  I haven't eaten the other four yet: Chocolate, Lemon, Raspberry and Salted Caramel for dessert.  They came in the most beautiful packaging and are so delicate.  Yes, I can buy them locally, but they aren't as good as the Parisian original.

And then, from my favorite country in the whole world (minus my own, of course), Switzerland, he brought me just what I had hoped for, une Suisse chocolat.  There is just something decadent and amazing about real chocolate, from a country that is known for it's chocolate.  Not only that, the chocolates came in a cool tin with the flag of each of the Cantons of Switzerland (states if you will) and inside, each delicate little chocolate is individually wrapped: milk, dark, and milk with a crunch.

Tres bien un mari!

Tres bien!

FIrst World Problems

For years, my husband, when completely annoyed with someone complaining about something that isn't really something to complain about, in frustration says to me later, "First World Problems".  You know, those things we take for granted that we feel, as Americans, we are entitled to complain about.

Like, health care (at least we have it), the ac going out (as if!), McDonald's making you fat (no one made you go through the drive through), that sort of thing.  Well, guess what!?  I have some of my own first world things to complain about....and be grateful for at the same time.

First?  I have had a cold for three weeks.  I thought I kicked it, but it's come back with a vengeance and is attacking my eye.  Red, swollen, icky and sealed shut with boogers for the last three mornings.  But, it's just a cold.  I could have malaria or something so I won't complain too much.  I just wish I had darker sunglasses.

Second?  We've lived in our new house getting close to two years with inherited appliances.  The appliances are not the quality we had in our last home and are kind of a pain in the butt, especially the dishwasher.  It's been serviced.  It's been finicky.  It quit washing dishes.  Everything had to be washed twice, washed by hand after a cycle, or left with a grimy coating of soap and cooties.  I mean seriously.  A dishwasher not working!  Oh the humanity.

Last Wednesday, after it hadn't cleaned the dishes when we ran it over night, and it hadn't cleaned the dishes when run again in the morning I texted Ross and said I was done and that the dishwasher had to go.  And, I'm not even the one who deals with the dishes regularly.  Loading and unloading is a husbandly job if I ever saw one.  

Thank heavens for hard working, agreeable, bonus check earning husbands!  In less than two hours Ross bought a new dishwasher (over the phone), paid for it (over the phone), and arranged for a delivery and installation (over the phone).  Dave, the handyman brought the machine to my house promptly at noon last Friday and had it installed in 45 minutes.  

Heaven.  That's how awesome it is.  Ross was so excited that he did four loads of dishes on Friday night alone.

Third?  My husband is on a quick work trip spanning the hours of four days, but the timeline of 5 days. He is in Geneva, Switzerland with a 4 hour tourist layover in Paris yesterday, on Sunday.  I know that he really likes the amazing travel opportunities he's had in the last year and a half.  Australia, Chile, Argentina, Paris, and Geneva; not bad for a year and a half.  I also know that he misses us.  I also know that four days is a drop in the bucket.  My cousin's husband has been gone for two weeks of an 8 month Navy reserve deployment to Afghanistan.  One of my neighbors home schools her kids and is alone every single week while her husband travels for work.

Four days is nothing.  But holy cow.  Four days is hard.  I'm lucky that I've got my parentals to hang out with.  I'm lucky that my brother rode to and from a family party last night to help me with the boys. I'm lucky that my boys are so good and that it's really not that big of a deal.  I'm lucky that we have enough going on during the day to keep us busy.

But, absence does make the heart fonder and I miss my husband.  I miss what a good baby holder he is.  I miss how helpful he is on Sunday with the boys.  I miss talking to him at night before I fall asleep to the glow of my sister wife in his hand.

Like I said though.  First world problems.  I can deal and roll and all that jazz.

Where's Perry?

My brother is taking a "Humanities" class this semester.  It seems to be pretty dumb with absolutely no rhyme or reason to the curriculum.  The class came with a huge binder and two weeks ago an in class discussion about the appropriateness of breast feeding in public.

Just what a bunch of high school kids want to talk about, right?

Well, as part of the disjointed curriculum, Willie was assigned to make a paper mache mask.  Why you ask?  Maybe because as a humanities theme they would be discussing Greek tragedies, John Paul Sartre and satire or something along those lines?

Nope.  They were just supposed to make a mask.  And the instructions wanted the kids to first build their mask by applying wet duck tape to their faces and then using a paper mache technique to finish them up.

Double dumb.

Being the arts and crafts member of the family, Willie asked me if I would help make his mask, a Perry the Platypus mask.  I was totally up for the challenge, the creative outlet, and the mess so last week on Thursday night, after consuming mass quantities of pizza, we set to work building a platypus out of a milk jug, a cardboard egg, and lots and lots of paper and glue.  We, well I, put the finishing touches on the mask on Sunday night after dinner while Willie splayed his upper body on the kitchen table lamenting calculus and the essay he was supposed to write (for Humanities no less) on marginalized members of society.

Say what?

Anyway, the platypus turned out pretty stinking cool.














And, as a side note, I really like it when my brother comes to chill at my abode.  When I was a little girl, my mom's brothers would come to my house so she could do their homework for them while they tormented my sister and me.  They would mess up our stuffed animals, tease us, pin us to the ground and dangle loogies from their mouths over our faces.  All sorts of good uncle things while my mom wrote all their essays.  Good times they were.  It's really pretty fun, and cool, that while I was up to my elbows in diluted glue, my brother and a very good uncle, was reading books to my boys, playing with googly eyes, and in general, just being pretty awesome with two little boys who adore him.

Quinner: 6 months

Hello sweet baby boy.  You are one month older, isn't it exciting?  The last month has been so great for you, lots of big stuff going on, but first, the stats.

22.2 lbs
28 inches tall
head is good (what is the point of head circumference anyway?)
95th percentile over all

At the doctor yesterday, your pediatrician was impressed with you, as usual.  You are a bit advanced in all ways except sitting up, but we're working on that as much as possible.  You are a baby who prefers to lay down all the time and that's okay I guess.  Dad and I are pretty certain that you are just too fat to sit up and that as you start to thin out a bit it will be easier for you.

The biggest changes in the last couple weeks are:
One, you have perfected rolling over either direction from your back to your tummy and if you are super motivated, can roll back onto your back.

Two, in the last two weeks, you've got two goofy toofers in the front of your mouth that you love to use to bite my finger every chance you get.

Otherwise, you still sleep through the night.  You are still always starving and are either eating food or drinking a bottle every two hours.  You still never nap, except yesterday after the doctor.  Those shots really wiped you out.  You love to hang out in the walker and the baby Einstein and think standing is great when it's part of playing but you refuse to stand on your own.  This weekend, we're packing up all the 12 month clothes and making the move to 18 months.

You my boy are super alert, lovey, and squishy.  Your giggle is infectious and you adore your brothers to the ends of the earth.  They have not gotten bored with you.  In fact, the older and bigger you get, the more enamored they are with you and the more they want to play with you.  And, with Wyatt, the more he wants to get in your face and in your business all day long.

You are great at head butting and scratching.  At yelling and talking.  You are no longer terrified of the car at night and as long as you have a toy in your hand, could probably hang in the car for a good two hour car ride.

Oh, and today?  You sat in the high chair for the first time and....

loved it!

And as always, I love you.  I really hope you love me back.

Always attractive to the elderly....

Last week, at Willie's basketball game up at Weber State, I was standing in line waiting to purchase an expensive (and flat) diet coke (that I wouldn't get to drink because Wyatt kicked it over) when the following occurred.

Nice old grandpa-ish guy walks up behind me.  He was a bit palsy-ed on the right side and had a bit of a hard time walking.  He came up behind me, leaned over and whispered in my ear.....

Old Man: "I'll just stand behind you for protection."
Me: "Um...okay."
OM:  "So, how tall are you?  Six foot two?"
Me: "Very close.  I'm six foot three."
OM:  "Even better. I've always thought that was the perfect height for a woman!"

Getting hit on by a married for 50 years grandpa at a high school basketball game.

It's what I'm good at.

It is finished

We had a big day today.

Around 11:30, I said to the boys, "Come on, we need to get ready.  We're going to a basketball game to watch Uncle Willie get an award."

"Where is the game at?" Elliott asked in a tone pretty close to exasperation.

"In Ogden, where we went to the game on Monday," I replied.

"You mean the Dee Events Center, Mom", Wyatt declared.

How that kid knew it was the Dee Event Center I have no idea but, as is often the case, he was right and that's where we were headed.

You see, on Monday, the Hunter High Wolverines played Syracuse high school in the first round of the 5A state championships.  They lost.  It was a rough game and I'd had a stomach ache all day long just waiting for it to happen and be over, one way or another.  It's so sad that no matter how the season turned out, how hard the boys worked, how hard they fought and wanted it, they were bound to end their season this year on a loss and it was a tough loss at that.  But, that loss was a little bit tougher for those of us in the stands, the three mom's of Willie Petersen because it meant for us, no more basketball.  The withdrawl symptoms have already started to set in.

This kid of ours is done.  We've been watching him play basketball for what seems like forever.  He has played and played and played and his "professional" career came to an end on Monday afternoon.  I'm not sure how that brother of mine felt about it.  I know that I was so happy for the end of my senior season that I could have shouted it from the rooftop the night we had our final loss so I'd imagine part of him felt the same way.  And I know that tennis practice started the next day with the shoveling of snow off the tennis courts.

But, I'm sure he was a little bit sad.  Just for a minute.  But, like his sisters before him, he's got so many bigger and better things in front of him that I can hardly wait to watch.

It was a big day for Willie though - orientation at the University of Utah in the morning, finding a major he might be interested in, Media Engineering, and then back up to Ogden in the afternoon with all of us to receive his award for Academic All-State.

I got to go down on the court with Willie to be the official photographer.  It was pretty cool to be down there with him.  I fit right in height wise and, most of those dumb moms probably figured I was Willie's dumb mom so I definitely won the award for youngest (and tallest) mom.

I was so proud of my brother.  He was one of 10 boys in the state to receive such an honor in the 5A grouping of schools.  And, like his goofy sisters before him, Willie is the third Petersen child to be Academic All-State in basketball, and in two sports.  Haley and I received the honor for volleyball and basketball and Willie for football, basketball, and most likely tennis this spring.

A pretty neat honor for a bunch of nerdy, opinionated, too big for their own britches kids.  I guess our parents really did a good job with the three of us.

Thanks mom and dad.

We stayed to watch the whole game and then left to do what we do best.....

Eat Pizza!

Thanks for a great day.  I'm real proud of my brother.