Poopy. Say It.

Elliott had a fab day yesterday and Saturday, but the attitude was back in full-force today. He was repeating "poopy" over and over on the way home. And over.  And over.  I counted him, he quickly earned a time-out and we had to get off the phone with Glammy (the tragedy!). He still didn't stop--kept egging on Brooklyn to say it. Say it.  

I got stern and showed him how irked I was--major mistake; he laughed (the little shit--pun intended). This makes my head spin around, so it was a good thing that I had the rest of the drive to calm down. Had we not been in the car I'm afraid I would've spanked him, which is not what we want to do as parents although I was second-guessing that decision. I  acknowledged I couldn't make him stop saying it and told him not to worry about his consequence in my best Love and Logic attempt at parenting. It gave me time to plot with Chris via text at red lights. Because he couldn't make good choices around his brother and sister, he had to eat by himself in his room and then go straight to bed. He was quite devastated for the moment, crying, screaming & bargaining.  In turns I felt sad for him and glee at finding a consequence that meant something (momentarily).  I'm often consulted at work for how to treat children with  more challenging behaviors, so I'm convinced that this child has been sent to me for lessons in becoming humble.  

American Excess (Or Why Laundry Ruins My Life)

is alive and well, as evidenced by the mass quantities of laundry in my hallway, laundry, room, kids' laundry hampers. . . my bathroom floor.  I'm basically saying that we each have about 4 million pieces of clothing.  Laundry haunts me.  Clutters my view as I type this.  Today I decided we should each be allowed 10 outfits.  So then that would be 50 outfits for our family.  That sounds like a lot, but we are lucky to have much, much more.  And by lucky I mean it's also a curse.  A curse that haunts me.  I think I need to downsize, which would make life much more simple or much more likely that you'd see us wearing dirty clothes. 

Oh, and did I mention my husband has pneumonia? Yes.  That's real.  No exaggeration for dramatic effect. 

Let Me Help You, Kewwen

Compassion is one of those things that I most hope my children display.  I have found Elliott standing over Kellen several times, pulled up a step stool, and cooing to him.  I explained yesterday that we needed to have Kellen spend time on his tummy to help his head get strong.  My rule-following son took this to heart and was ready and willing to entertain. This has melted my heart.  Far more important to me than knowing "E starts with my name."

On Perfection.

Today was one of those rare, close your eyes and make a wish, hold your breath, perfect kind of days.  Rare.  Rarer still with an almost three-year-old consumed with a case of the whinies.  I can expound upon that another time.  Back to perfection.  I should add to my raving that it was a balmy 78 degrees.  In January.  Really.

We decided to embark upon the virgin journey for our chitlins to the Fort Worth Stock Show (no rodeo this year. . . I mean there is a rodeo, we just didn't attend).  I was excited.  Even after departing our home at least an hour and a half past our goal departure time.  So we off we went.  Brooklyn missed her morning nap.  She didn't cry.  Elliott didn't whine.  No really.  He didn't.  We saw horses. We saw pigs.  We saw chickens.  We saw lambs.  No whining.  We (Elliott) sat on tractors.  No whining.  We visited a petting zoo, where Ell declined to actually pet. . .anything.  We wrapped up our trip with a jaunt down the giant bumpy slide, complete with burlap seat, for Daddy and Ell.  Oh, and a trip on the motorcycle carousel.  NO whining.

This day then moved into another study in perfection by dining outside at Joe T. Garcia's.  No margaritas, but still perfection.  Oh, and did I mention that it was 2:00 and neither of my children was crying AND that they still hadn't napped?  Yep.  Stupendous.

We go home.  We napped.  We painted.  We played.  We laughed.  This is one for the record books.

Snack break. Yes, I did remember the hand sanitizer.  

I was impressed with the hard work and cheerful, friendly attitudes of the teens there to show their animals.  They didn't seem to mind stroller-pushing, camera-wielding families with toddlers wanting to pet their animals.  I never did the ag-thing, but it made me think I would be proud to see my kids work that hard at something. . . I mean, without considering the slaughtering-thing at the end.  I couldn't handle that. 

One of the rare acutual petting moments.

We loved the baby chicks and the ducks.  I am fairly certain Ell would have been happy to spend all day in the Children's Barn.  

Tractor-sitting is always a big hit.  

Creepy-eyed goat and Brooklyn.  She was far more willing to actually pet the animals.  

Takes me back.

Loving the "motorcycles."

Will Rogers Colosseum on a perfect day.

I love the Art Deco inspired art architecture.

Brooklyn checking out her feet at lunch.

He's like my own Jackson Pollock.

At the end of the day, Ell told me that his favorite animals were the piggies.  Can't you see why?

Perhaps my favorite picture of the day.  I mean, of the ones sans children.

And did I mention that when we returned home, our cleaning service had been to visit?  I know.  I'm a little spoiled.  We would live in squalor if not for the cleaning service with both of us working full-time.

And THAT is how you spell a perfect day.

Luck. For-a-lifetime

Luck. I have not felt all that lucky over the past few weeks, but I know on a whole, that my life is overwhelmingly rich and blessed with good luck. One of the ways I'm lucky is amazing, for-a-lifetime friends. Twelve years ago I tried to pay it forward with a new student at Texas Tech University, as I had been a fish out of water just a year before and knew just how hard it would be. I probably went a bit overboard in the don't-worry phone call to that new student. Really. I talked her ear off and I think she listened out of politeness. Somehow, what I said left an impression. When I met that girl in person just a few days later, I thought she was far too chic and beautiful to be my friend. I still sometimes think that, but I no longer doubt that friendship. I could list a thousand memories between Stephanie and me--all of them life-shaping and significant. Designated driving, broken hearts, cross-country trips, adopting animals, getting married, first jobs, poverty, delivery room moments, vacations, sick kiddos, baptisms. . . the list could go on and on--you name it and we've shared it. We called each other Laverne and Shirley for a long time because of the snafus we frequently found ourselves in. It took a long time for me to trust that this friendship was solid. I remember so clearly during a phone conversation in the summer of 2000 (on the weekend, of course, because that's when we had free cell phone minutes) that Steph called me out for the first time on my stuff. As I was exiting the conversation she said, "How is it when we talk, I've told you everything about me and I leave not knowing anything new about you?" That stopped me in my tracks. No one else had noticed. Or if they had noticed, it hadn't been brought to my attention. What had started as bonding over beers was turning into a real forever friendship. I would go so far as to say it was a lifeline. The truly amazing thing is that this is not the only friendship of this nature for which I have been lucky to enjoy. Tonight, this long-time friend, my life-line, came to my rescue again. The stress of the recent days finally caught up with me and I cracked under the pressure on the phone with Steph. Instead of an "I'm so sorry approach" she said I'm going to call you later so that I can come and see you later. I pushed the offer away. No need. I'll be fine. A couple hours later, the text came through, "putting the kids to bed then I'm coming to kidnap you." Again, I said that I would be fine. Her response? "I know that. Ice cream or drinks?" That's how I know that sometimes my friend knows what I need more than I do. That I know it's not always about asking, but taking the help that is offered at just the right time. That friendship is equal parts giving and also being open to accept the return of that friendship. Why is that so hard? I would do anything for her. . . How is it so difficult to believe she wouldn't do the same? I suppose somewhere deep down she's still that same chic, beautiful grad student and I wonder how we ended up in this for-a-lifetime friendship. I'm not sure of how it happened, but I feel incredibly lucky that it did.