Hand-Me-Downs

Clothing gets a lot of milege around here.

My Name's Amanda, and I'm A Mean Mom

I'm a "mean mom."

If you don't believe me, just ask Blake.

Or you can ask anyone that happened to be at the pediatrician's office yesterday afternoon.

Yesterday, I ventured out of the house for the first time since we've been quarantined to the house with the flu. I took Tait and Blake in for their yearly check-ups and to get all four boys a seasonal flu shot. Going into this experience I knew I would have to dig deep and find every ounce of patience I possessed. Taking all four anywhere by myself usually has me taking several deep breaths and saying innumerable prayers, and sometimes, if all four of the boys are really on their game, I even utter a cuss word under my breath.

I think I uttered more than one yesterday.

Not only did we end up at the doctor's office for two hours, but Blake had a full-on meltdown. He was terrified to get a shot and get his blood drawn. If there is a word that means terrified times 50, that's what he was. He watched Tait go first. Tait was a champ. Didn't cry a single tear. Blake, on the other hand, was crying. Not just little whimpers, no, full on emotional, terrified crying.

While I had Blake on my lap, trying to calm him down and reason with him, Miles was running around the room, in true Miles fashion, opening drawers and cabinets, trying to hide in one of the cabinets, then proceeded to take off his shirt, all while sporting a diaper that smells like it's in desperate need of a change. And Jack's in the stroller, making it known to the world that he needs to be fed. (If only I would have brought my nanny with me yesterday.)

Finally it was Blake's turn.

I had to physically put him up on the exam table as he kicked and screamed and struggled. Let me tell you, there really is something to be said about adrenaline kicking in when you're scared. It took a total of three adults to restrain all 36 pounds of little Blake while he received three shots and had a minute amount of blood drawn (from an area on his arm that had been numbed by some "numbing cream"-- he couldn't feel a thing!)

And that's not all.

While he was being restrained, receiving shots, and having blood drawn (A process totaling all of about two minutes.) With wild eyes, he screamed at the top of his lungs,

"YOU ARE A MEAN MOM! YOU ARE A MEAN MOM! I NEVER ASKED FOR THIS! YOU ARE A MEAAAAAN MOM! I NEVER ASKED FOR THIS!"

I didn't know if I wanted to cry or laugh.

He was screaming this so loud that other nurses were poking their heads in the door to find out what was going on.

When it was all over with, he didn't want me to hug or comfort him at all. He wouldn't even look at me.

He cried, and cried.

Then the nurse came in with a $10 gift certificate to Toys R Us for him. Suddenly the tears dried up, and all was well with the world. He even told me he loved me later on.

I'm working up the courage to tell him he's got to go back in four weeks to have his **blood drawn again. You can bet I'll be having Cameron come with me that time!


**Blood draws were part of a study we opted to be apart of for a new flu vaccine that is thimerosal-free. And for the record, I asked both the boys if they wanted to be a part of the study. I explained they would each receive $40 each time their blood was drawn, and their arm would be numbed where they draw the blood. They decided they wanted to buy a Wii game and/or go to Pirate Island Pizza with the money, so they BOTH decided to do it. But they were so thrilled with their $10 gift certificates, I may pocket their blood-draw money as payment for my emotional pain and suffering. We'll see.

I'm not a mean mom who chose to inflict unnecessary pain on my children... Just so ya know!

Happy Halloween (With THe Flu ? On The Side)

We had a happy-ish Halloween. Each of the boys was either sick, just getting over being sick, or just starting to get sick.

Blake started it all of with a fever last Tuesday. He was sick with a fever and just plain not feeling well for a few days. Tait came home from school on Thursday with a fever. They both had to miss their school Halloween parties on Friday because, even though they seemed to be feeling much better, I wasn't sure if they had the dreaded Swine Flu and kept them home just in case.

Miles started feeling poorly Wednesday, with a slight fever, but he was still running around and acting perfectly fine. Thursday night rolled around and it was a different story. Cameron and I were up all night with him. He had a horrible, barking cough and if breathing sounded terrible. I took him in to see the doctor first thing Friday morning, and we left with the diagnosis of "croup". He laid around, slept, cried, and whined all day. I was glad Cameron stayed home from work to help me comfort all of our little sickies.

As hard as we tried to keep Jack from getting sick, he is now suffering from a fever, cough, runny nose, diarrhea, and general irritability. We were up all night trying to sooth and comfort him last night and the night before.

In spite of all the inconvenient coughs and sickness, we tried our best to still enjoy Halloween.

Here are our little ghouls.


Tait was a scary vampire. Look at how different he looks with black hair. Miles got a little mileage out of the Elmo costume that we bought for Blake three years ago, but Blake never wore because he was afraid of it, Jack was a little lion, and Blake was a very grumpy army man.

We were invited down the street to our friend, Lindsay's house. She does the weather for channel two here in Utah. She's able to do the weather anywhere she wants on Saturday nights, so invited all the kids in the neighborhood to come to her front lawn in their Halloween costumes so our awesome neighborhood could make their TV debut.



We all had our ten seconds of fame. She even asked Blake what his favorite kind of Halloween candy is. In a little, timid voice, he responded, "Chocolate." He watched that little portion of Saturday's weather over and and over again yesterday.

Thanks Lindsay! What a fun job you have. We all had a lot of fun!

After our little TV debut, Cameron took the boys around the block to trick-or treat. It was probably the least amount of candy the boys have ever received because they were ready to call it a night after that.

Tait and Blake are now doing perfectly well. And just when I think Miles and Jack are over it, they spike a big fever, have a bout of diarrhea, or throw up their guts on the carpet.



I was also lucky enough to join in on all the fun. At this point I'm wondering if it's really the croup. I looked up "H1N1 flu symptoms" on good old "Dr. Internet" and this is what it said on the CDC website:

You may have the flu if you have some or all of these symptoms:

fever *
cough
sore throat
runny or stuffy nose
body aches
headache
chills
fatigue
sometimes diarrhea and vomiting
*It’s important to note that not everyone with flu will have a fever.

Miles, Jack, and I have had every, single symptom except sore throat.

I've had ENOUGH!! I never minded too much being sick when I was a kid (I got to stay home from school), but it's one of the worst things when you're a mom. No one takes care of the Mama, the Mama has to take care of everyone else. I'm lucky enough to be married to the best guy in the world. Cam stayed home Friday and and a half a day today.

I'm just hoping a sleep better night than I did last night. Between fever, cold chills, body aches, and getting up with Jack and Miles several times, I didn't get more than four or five hours of less-than-restful sleep.

So don't come over anytime soon, and if you do, just know that's the reason my house is a wreck and my kids may, or may not be wearing dirty clothes.

Fall Today, Gone Tomorrow

The boys had a ball playing in the leaves at Grandma and Grandpa's house over the weekend.










Today, it looks like fall is behind us, and judging from the thin layer of snow on the ground and freezing temperatures, it seems that the howling winds that have kept me up for the past two nights have quickly ushered in the long, cold months of winter.


Welcome winter! It's fun to see you now, but like a house guest that overstays their welcome, I'm sure I'll be ready to say goodbye to you much sooner than you plan to leave.

Kitchen Legacies

Not long ago I read this. (I just found this blog and love it.) It got me thinking about the fond memories I have of my own mom and grandmas in the kitchen cooking, baking, and canning.

In fact, it was around the time that I read this I had just finished canning peaches and pears. While that's never the most enjoyable experience, the "fruits" of my labors are always worth it! As I sat for several hours at my kitchen table (a table I received shortly after I got married, that was my Grandma's table, who received it from her mother-in-law) repeatedly pealing and slicing, I wondered if my own Grandma or Great-grandma had sat at that very table and pealed, sliced, and canned the summer's harvest, too.

I suddenly felt a wonderful sense of connection to the past.

I wondered if my own children would one day look back with fondness at the memories they have of me in the kitchen, and if they would one day grow to love any of the dishes or desserts that I make for them.

I felt a little twinge of sadness as I felt that may be highly unlikely. I have four sons and no daughters, you know. How many boys are very excited by cooking or baking? Especially boys who walk into the kitchen after I've put a tremendous amount of effort into a special meal and exclaim something like, "Ewwww!! What is that disgusting smell?!"

Do boys have very many fond memories of their mom in the kitchen, cooking? Will any of them think of my old kitchen table as a treasure that they may want someday?

I asked Cameron if he had any good memories of his mom or grandma in the kitchen, cooking or baking. He said he could remember his mom baking during the holidays and that nothing could beat his Grandma Skinner's tamales.

As I was thinking about it, I realized that as of last Christmas, Cameron knows how to make his grandma's caramel popcorn. That gave me some hope that some of my domestic talents and efforts might be remembered and maybe even passed down someday.

Last week I decided to try my hand at making cinnamon rolls. I had tried making them right after Cameron and I had gotten married. They weren't a success. Well, the ones I made last week weren't too shabby.

I made them again for a family dinner a few days later. The boys knew what I was making and were beyond excited. They rushed into the bathroom and scrubbed their hands and then returned to the kitchen, eagerly waiting to help out.

Three extra sets of busy hands weren't exactly what I would define as "helpful", in fact, let's be honest, they weren't helpful at all! But they had fun and another fun memory was created.





Later that night, after we'd enjoyed a nice family dinner with Cameron's Grandma Skinner and his Uncle Scott, Aunt Paula, and other family members, we were sitting around visiting and playing games. Uncle Scott shared something with me that he overheard Tait say.

He said, "Amanda, Tait paid you a compliment."

"He did!?" I asked.

He told me that the kids were running around playing and Tait told his cousins something like, "Let's go get some cinnamon rolls! My mom makes the best cinnamon rolls in the whole world!"

Maybe there is some hope that my homemaking skills and efforts might, one day, be looked back on with nostalgia and fondness, instead of exclamations of disgust. In the meantime, I'll keep trying to perfect my cinnamon rolls with the help of a few extra sets of not-so-helpful, little hands!

Remembering What Memories Are Made Of

Being a mom is all I ever wanted to be.

Sure, there were fleeting moments where I remember declaring I wanted to be a teacher, or a nurse. Mostly because that seemed like a sensible profession. It was something to aim for after high school, but if truth be told, I just wanted to find a husband that I loved and loved me back and start a family.

So that's what I did.

I got married two months after I turned twenty, then I had my first baby two days after I turned twenty-two. Here I am today, at the age of twenty-nine, with four little boys that I love and adore more than I can express.

I love watching them grow up each day. Yes, some days are hard. Really hard. Many times I feel like I don't know what I'm doing. Some days I have regrets and wish I could have a "do-over". Every day is busy. Every day is a test of my patience. Each day is full of at least a few "I'm sorry's" and I don't just mean the boys apologizing for hitting or teasing each other. I have also learned how important and healing the words "I'm sorry" are when I have needed to apologize to one of my boys for losing my temper or saying something I shouldn't have.

Being home with them has been a blessing and a sacrifice. A blessing for me, and a sacrifice for Cameron. Thank you, Cameron, for being willing to work various second jobs over the years to make ends meet, and always driving a (paid off) beater truck so I can have my dream job.

My favorite part of being a mom is striving to create wonderful moments with my boys that I hope they will always remember. I've come to the realization that these "magic moments" are just that-- moments.

Take for instance, today. We woke up, got dressed, had breakfast, Tait left for school, and the rest of us found ourselves wondering what we should do for the rest of the day. Blake and Miles ended up playing out in the back yard. I turned on some beautiful music and made a quick batch of cookies. As the warm sun streamed in through the window, warming up the chilly family room, I sat down and held Jack as I waited for the cookies to bake and cool. He rested his head against my chest and fell asleep as I rocked. The boys came in and we sat at the kitchen table and we ate freshly-baked cookies and hot chocolate. It was a perfect fall morning.

My little Hallmark moment came to an abrupt end when a mug of hot chocolate spilled all over the table and dripped and puddled onto my newly-cleaned kitchen floor. While I rushed to clean it up, I stupidly got angry with Blake for spilling, sending him out of the room, crying. When I finished cleaning up and apologizing to Blake, I discovered something had happened to the plate of cookies-- Miles. He took each warm cookie on the plate and pulverized it, leaving a plate of warm crumbs behind.

I sometimes have to realize and remind myself that wonderful memories aren't always picture perfect. Wonderful memories are usually made up of some perfect moments and some not-so-perfect moments. It's a good thing it's the perfect moments that are easier to remember. We'll probably forget about the spilled hot chocolate, but I will always remember eating warm sugar cookie crumbs at the table with Miles and Blake and rocking Jack until he fell asleep on a perfect, fall morning.

This motherhood gig is hard. It's the hardest job I've ever had, but it's the most rewarding. Each day is full of wonderful moments and perfect memories. The trick is just realizing they're there amidst the spilled hot chocolate. I'm just glad I get to be the one to witness these moments as they happen.

Gardner Village 2009

My sister and I took my four little monkeys to Gardner Village last Friday. The place was packed since it was Fall Break! We had a good time looking at all the witches and all the neat stuff in the little shops. Tait, Blake, and Miles especially loved the part where they got to pick out some saltwater taffy at Sweet Afton's.

Here are some pictures of our lovely afternoon.












**Side note: They hate having their picture taken... I mean they really hate it-- especially Tait. Luckily for me, I figured out how to make them smile a true and genuine smile. When I wanted them to smile, instead of saying, "Say cheeeese!" I said, "Say, 'Aunt Rosie eats diarrhea!'"

Gross, impolite, rude, and disgusting. I know!

But it worked.

Don't judge me.