Morganisms

Three-year-olds are a terrific source of funny comments. Here are a couple I've heard from Morgan recently.

1) One of Aiden's stalling techniques at bedtime is to ask Jeremy and me for stories from when we were kids. I suppose it could derive from real interest, but I'm inclined to believe he just doesn't want to sleep. Lately Morgan has picked up on his habit and also asks for a story. The other night, however, I got a more unusual request:

"Mom, can you tell me a story from when you were a horse?"

2) Today I turned on some music while I was cleaning the kitchen. A few moments later, Morgan said:

"Turn off the music. I have songs in my mouth."

[This last one is probably better appreciated by knowing that Morgan sings CONSTANTLY.]

Book Edition -- Our Mutual Friend

I have been stuck in the winter doldrums lately and was complaining to Jeremy the other day about my general lack of energy and enthusiasm. He said, "I know what you need. You need a different book." My husband knows me so well. I think he was right. But I couldn't just abandon Dickens. That would feel wrong. And since I'd already plowed through about 650 pages, I figured I could handle another 100 or so. Now I can finally say I just finished reading my first book of the year: Our Mutual Friend by Charles Dickens. I have to admit it was a doozy. If I were to rate it, I would have to divide the rating between the quality of the book vs. how I felt about it. Quality: probably 4 out of 5 stars. Feelings: more like a 2.

I will contribute my feelings in great part to the timing of this read. First, I read it over Christmas. This means many distractions and lots of things to get done, which equals not a lot of time to delve into a book. Second, I started my new church calling of gospel doctrine teacher, which also means many distractions and lots of other things to read, again equaling not a lot of time to devote to the book.

Overall, I thought Dickens showed greatness in his descriptions, in his creation of caricatures, and in developing a complex and interwoven plot. On the other hand, I struggled keeping some of the characters straight for about the first half of the substantial book. I could see value in reading this as a serial, which it was originally over a period of 19 months, just to break things up. Knowing this, I felt pretty good about finishing it in 2 1/2.

Needless to say, I can already feel my spirits rising in anticipation of a new book. I'm sure Jeremy will be grateful.

Food Edition -- Honey Lemon Tea

Today my favorite thing is Honey Lemon Tea. For those who read my previous post about the joys of midnight croup, Morgan is recuperating. Her cough still sounds like a agitated seal and she's hoarse [I just have to interject that little kid hoarse voices crack me up], but she slept well last night. I had to check on her a few times in the morning to reassure myself she was still breathing since she slept until almost 9:30. Anyway, I was seeking something to soothe her throat and recalled this recipe. I tried it out on her and she loved it. She calls it "my honey drink" and helps me find all the ingredients when she wants some. That alone should recommend this simple beverage, but I've also read current medical wisdom suggests honey is as effective as cough syrups for alleviating symptoms. Why not give it a shot? Of course, the only down side is her three-year-old bladder. Several cups of beverage = several [extra] potty trips.

Honey Lemon Tea

1 c. hot water
2 tsp. honey
1 tsp. lemon juice
1 tsp. sugar (optional)

Combine all ingredients and stir until honey and sugar (if used) are dissolved.

Easy and oh, so soothing. I used hot tap water for Morgan as to avoid scalding her, but for adults you could warm it up in the microwave. I believe this recipe is courtesy of allrecipes.com, but it's been in my personal collection for a long time now.

I Hate Croup

**Caution -- portions of this post are a bit gross**

You may notice I am posting this in the wee hours of the morning [my clock says 2:31 a.m.]. While it is true that I regularly go to bed way too late and am known for sending emails at horrible hours, I am normally sound asleep at this time of night. Tonight, however, I was happily typing the previous post when I heard the unmistakable barking and gagging of a croupy cough. It sounded more gaggy than normal, so I ran upstairs to Morgan's room. She was coughing and gasping and spitting up mucous. I grabbed her out of bed, took her to the bathroom, and did the best I could to simultaneously turn on the shower and hold her over the toilet. She proceeded to vomit. After a few minutes in the steamy bathroom, her breathing was still much more labored than usual, which gives me the worst panicky feeling, so I turned off the hot water and bundled her and myself into coats, hats, slippers, and blankets for a trip outside. I hollered at Jeremy, who was all ready for bed, to please give Morgan a clean pillowcase and bring us an extra blanket. We went out on the front porch and huddled up. [At least we could get a little chuckle out of the situation when Jeremy brought a blanket for us in his underwear. True love or no shame?] Morgan seemed to calm down for a little while, but her breathing was so raspy. After a bit, she still didn't seem to be getting a good breath and threw up again, this time all over her coat and soft blankie and the porch. We went back to the bathroom to clean up and try the hot shower again. It took a good chunk of time, but she finally started to breathe easier and rest. I carried her downstairs with me so I could Google croup remedies and when to go to the doctor. I'm not sure why I do that, because I already know that I probably should take her but won't. By now she was asleep in my arms, still sounding pretty horrible but asleep. I put her back to bed, put the humidifier in her room, took some ibuprofen, and went to clean up the vomit on the porch. In case you ever wondered, it takes less than an hour for throw up to freeze in the middle of a January night in Utah. I had to scrape the frozen chunks off the concrete with a plastic grocery sack protecting my hands. Mmmm. Lovely. Finally, I went inside to complete the cleanup. Now I should be in bed, but it always takes a little while to come down off of the adrenalin of these kinds of scenarios. And I needed some chocolate [evidence of my emotional eating habits]. I seriously hate croup. I know there are much, much worse things. But holding your baby, or three-year-old, and listening to her sucking at the air and just hoping you're not killing her by your failure to rush immediately to the emergency room is an awful feeling. Hopefully that was the worst of it. She seems to be resting now and her lips are a healthy pink, so I guess I'll lumber off to bed now. Sleep tight!

This Christmas Gift Made My Day

At this stage of our family, Christmas pretty much revolves around the kids. We try to encourage a spirit of giving by letting the kids pick out some cheap presents for. . .

. . . interruption -- please see following post, "I Hate Croup," for a more detailed explanation [and we wonder, or don't, why moms' blogs are so often sporadic]. . .

. . .their siblings and for mom and dad. These gifts aren't always well thought out or all that meaningful, but the kids enjoy shopping for each other, wrapping the presents, etc. The kids will also usually bring home something they made at school to give to us. This year I spied one present that didn't fall into either of the above categories. It stated, "To Mom, From Aiden." So I opened it and saw pretty much the most fantastic present ever.
Ah-ha-ha-ha! I laughed and laughed. I can't really say how Aiden decided upon this particular set of toys as he rummaged through his toy box, but could you imagine a more well-rounded and all-purpose gift? Okay, maybe you could. But still so great.

My favorite functional and aesthetic gift this year came from Jeremy. When he asked me what I wanted for Christmas, my request/plea was for knobs for my kitchen cabinets [including installation]. He came through with flying colors. I love them and use them every single day! I bet you can't say that about many of your Christmas gifts. [I'm coming across a little boastful, yes, but I think I'll let it go this time.]

The Best Advice Ever

We celebrated New Year's Eve with some friends and played a game [I can't recall the name] where the players were posed random questions. Each person wrote down their response, after which the "It" player had to guess what response belonged to which player. The question I drew:

"What is the best advice you have ever received?"

The responses were then gathered and read. One of them resulted in puzzled looks all around:

"Go and find your feather."

But I knew exactly who wrote that one down. The very best part was when Jeremy tried to explain his answer with a demonstration, complete with sign language. I giggled for days.

Background: BYU has a group of Native American/Latin American/Polynesian dancers and singers. When Jeremy was little, his family participated in a foster program and hosted a Native American girl for a while. As part of their participation, they were invited to watch this group perform. Apparently it left quite an impression on him. Here's a link if you really want more background.

For Me or the Masses

Starting a blog has been a long-term dilemma for me, particularly in deciding for whom I would write. I know people create blogs for lots of different reasons, but I couldn't pinpoint my purpose for blogging. And without a purpose, I struggled to find a voice. Will I write to myself? Will I tell stories for other people's entertainment [supposing anyone else ever reads them]? Do I want to catalogue family events and keep regular updates on family life? Will I wax philosophical? What if I change my mind after I've started? What if people do read it and think it's totally lame? Blech! In spite of my hangups [and there are more than just these], I've felt a need for a while now to find a creative outlet. I like to write, so the time has finally come for me to just do it. My purposes will be many, and my voice may change and adapt. I will write for me ... and maybe the masses, too. Here are some of the reasons I have chosen to blog.

Purpose #1: I rigorously kept journals during my teenage years, but I certainly wouldn't share them with any other soul. Too embarrassing, ridiculous, and filled with emotional upheaval. [And yet I can't make myself throw them away.] My journal writing since high school has extreme holes, neglecting even the most important moments in my life. I fester with severe guilt from this fact. I already can't remember details that I thought for sure at the time I would never forget. I must change this, I know. So much of life for me is redundant and not particularly exciting, but it is still my life. Obviously the paper version of a journal has failed me for quite some time, so I'll try this approach.

Purpose #2: I spend a lot of time composing in my brain. I won't say I compose particularly interesting or creative or enlightening things, but my brain often thinks as though I will eventually write those thoughts down. Maybe I'm weird. Very likely I am. But on the off chance that it's not just weirdness, then maybe I ought to put some of those thoughts down on paper/into digital no-man's-land.

Purpose #3: I often feel inspired by events or by things that people say or do or by something I read. I usually just tuck those things away in my mind. Unfortunately [as noted above], when I try to retrieve these moments of inspiration I simply cannot. I really have a terrible memory. But these are the things that feed my spirit. They are the things that uplift me. I hope that I can use a blog as a reservoir to hold onto more of these moments.

Purpose #4: My kids and husband are pretty darn funny. They keep me laughing, at least. They bring me great joy. And again, referring back to the above mentioned horrible memory, I want to remember the things they say and do that just fill my heart. I think they deserve to see how these things matter to me. Already Caleb saw that I had included his Twelve Days with a Dog in my last post, and I watched his face light up. Marissa said, "Now I need to write something." I want them all to feel how their presence in my life is the very best thing.

So there you have it. I should probably add that I am extremely long-winded, if anyone has actually read this far. That's probably not a great trait to attract mass readership, but maybe that doesn't really matter. Maybe this post is just for me.

Oh, What Fun It Is

A few weeks prior to Christmas I was trying to think of a way to sum up our year for my annual scrapbook pages and Christmas letter [if I would ever get around to sending one], and I kept returning to The Dog. Dealing with dog ownership definitely dominated my attention and energy over the last year. It didn't take long to compose this rendition to the tune of Jingle Bells to illustrate our family's experience.

Zeke the Dog
Our ode to 2010

Dashing through the year
In the frenzy of life with kids
Who begged to get a dog
Each day until we did.

[Go ahead, laugh]

Now our days consumed
With Goldendoodle plight.
If life with kids was crazy then,
Now it’s way out of sight!

OHHHHH!

Chewed up walls; dug up lawn;
Torn up books from school.
“Keep your things off the floor!”
Is now the “Golden” rule.

“Take the dog for a walk!”
“Go pick up the poo!”
How is it that this great big pest
Is loved the way we do?

[We would have sent you a better letter, but the dog ate it.]

The best part of writing this was how it quickly became a theme song for the kids. Even Morgan had chunks of it memorized and sang along. Then today when the kids walked in the door from school, the first thing Caleb said to me was, "I made up a song on the way home." He proceeded to sing it for me, so I encouraged him to write it down. Here is Caleb's The Twelve Days with a Dog. [I won't subject you to the whole run-down, but you'll get the gist.]

On the first day with a dog my puppy gave to me a very, very chewed up chair.
... two wet floors ...
... three dug up holes ...
... four walks a day ...
... five stinky poos ...
... six holes in my shirt ...
... seven stolen snacks ...
... eight escapes from the kitchen ...
... nine cups of dog food ...
... ten big, loud barks ...
... eleven chewed up papers ...
... twelve lovable scratches ...

Evidently having a dog has a poetic effect on our family. I wonder what's next?