The Newest Book Group Member

I hosted Book Group this month—we read Cohelo's The Alchemist It was a great discussion; I appreciate the book now, while I really didn't like it after reading it. I wanted to make authentic Spanish cuisine. I thought of making tortilla española and paella, but decided on gazpacho, baguettes, Spanish cheeses, and torta de Santiago. (It wasn't my best version of baguette or torta, but the gazpacho was tolerable.)


My boys were sick of cooking by the end of the day, but after the little guy went down, the big guy helped put everything out on the table. It was so cute—he unstacked everything, and put the pieces of bread into the little cups (instead of the big bowl). Then he stayed up to help host. He commented on the book—"I think so, maybe."—and asked questions—"What is green?" All in all it was a joy, but I was grateful when his father came home and put him to bed.

Father's Day

This year for Father's Day, some friends and I decided to make matching ties for our husbands and sons. I bought the patterns and started down the road of problems. But the result for Stake Conference was great. Here are the ties, with all their problems.

Kicking at Independence

Our oldest boy has started declaring his independence from us:

(1) He went four days without an accident (waking up dry from naps and nighttime) and then followed with 3 days without urinary success (today he stood on the table while I explained why he wasn't getting his potty treats and rewards, then looked at me and said, "I'm going to have an accident," and peed right there on the table.)

(2) He has started being defiantly disobedient--if I say don't, he does. During baths if I tell him not to splash Friedrich, he starts splashing him worse. If I tell him not to jump on the bed, he does.

(3) He refuses to go to sleep at bedtime. He calls for "a drink of water," asks "wrap me Mama," and then, if I let him fuss, he screams and then, laying on the floor on his back, he starts kicking the door. Tonight, I decided I was just going to let him exhaust himself with, when the upstairs neighbors start stomping on the floor to tell us to be quiet. If my husband were home I would go upstairs and explain the situation--throw a little "your not letting me be a good mother" at them--but he isn't, which of course makes the situation a little more volatile. A little more fuel on the fire comes because he is so tired because he won't let himself fall asleep. I'm trying to find a happy medium between "get your butt in bed" and "I love you no matter what," especially hard since he is so sweet when he finally decides to go to sleep ("I love you, Mama, good night," and "Are you happy, Mama?" are the most common comments).

I don't know how to deal with this. I keep hoping it is a phase, but I'm sure it will last for a while. My mom says that he is smart because he knows exactly what to do to get me so mad. I wish I could figure out how to counter it to throw him off. But I'm stuck. Wish me (us) luck.

Moving and "Ma Ma"

The littlest guy is really growing up. He may still be the smallest of the group born in the last quarter of last year (or even the first quarter of this year), but he moves better and talks more than any of them. (Not that it is a competition.) He speeds along the floor, headed for his favorite things: shoes, electrical cords, paper, and the bathroom.

Today we returned the full-sized baby swing that we had been borrowing (the owners are moving at the end of the week) and pulled out our travel swing. It is mcuh closer to the floor, and the little guy thinks that it is his new toy. Shoes, electrical cords, paper: nothing will stop him from putting his hands on the swing and, keeping his feet on the ground, bouncing up and down.

He also says, "Mama." It actually sounds like "Ma ma ma ma ma ma" and refers to any person around. Yesterday he was saying it while sitting on my lap and looking at his older brother. After a while, his older brother insisted, "She's here. She's here." He didn't understand that his little brother was calling him "Ma ma." All I can say is that they grow up too quickly.

First Race

The local track club sponsors an all comers track meet every Tuesday throughout the summer, and one of the track events is a 50 yard dash for children under 10. Our friends had entered their daughter two weeks ago, and she loved it, so we thought we would enter our 2 1/2 year old. We had a picnic dinner and then the boy and his father wandered the track. It was cute, seeing them running about. Our little guy ran in the second to the last heat, and was so excited that his dad was running behind him that he kept looking back. He came in last in the heat, but had so much fun.

Not three heats later--the 100 yard dash for adults--a huge siren sounded. It was a tornado warning. We were under a tornadao alert and needed to seek "immediate shelter." Since the meet was held at Emory, we went into a nearby seminar room, where my husband set up the projector, and we watched Nick Jr. until the warning had ended.

Scooting Around

Our little boy has finally entered the world of movers and shakers--he has started scooting (and he scoots amazingly fast). He started trying to move when we were in AZ for the wedding, but when we got back home, he really started picking it up. Last night we picked him up after the temple, and he scooted across the floor to get me.

It simply means that I have to keep all dangerous things off the floor and have to be so much more aware of what he is doing. It doesn't help that he likes anything more than the safe baby toys: broken cars held together by scotch tape, plastic bags, power cords, dirty shoes, and such. Yesterday I pulled a wooden spoon (handle first) from his mouth. (And he wonders why he was choking!?)

For the film, I tried to get him moving, but he was content where he was--close to mom and the toys and he somehow knew I was trying to get him to do something, so he didn't. But it's not working so I'll have to try getting it up later.

The Dead Caterpillar

Today as we were climbing into the car to go to playgroup, I saw a fuzzy caterpillar. We saw an identical one on a walk a few days earlier and have been looking for it every time we go past the spot--"Where is the caterpillar?"--so I pointed it out to my oldest. He bent over to look at it and then--WHAM--stepped on it. Guts squirted out one end (interestingly they were the same color as the caterpillar). I said, "Well, the caterpillar is dead," and my little guy said, "It's not moving. Is it asleep?" He brought up the caterpillar again while driving to the part and when we parked the car after our errands (luckily we were not in the same spot, so I didn't have dead dried caterpillar to worry about).

I'm not worried that the little guy is going to become some violent person: his "Mama you're beautiful" and "Mama, are you happy?" are stronger than the one-time murder of a butterfly-to-be. But I was surprised by his behavior with the caterpillar facination from earlier.