Not it.

This week has been one of hide-and-seek.

Me being the seeker.

And it's always in the morning as I'm trying to finagle my kids out the door to school.

Example:
Tuesday is spent making cards and gift tags for the upcoming super saturday that our relief society is having. I've spent three hours planning out and cutting scraps and sticking them together, only to find that I have no idea where my hot glue gun is. Or the box containing it. I know exactly what it looks like and where I keep it in the garage, but I've scoured and still not found it. Side Note: It's friday, and still no sign. Argh!

Wed., Grace has soccer, and I can't find her brand new, fresh-out-of-the-box cleats. I vaguely remember Steve throwing away the box, and text him to see if he is withholding valuable information. Negative. So I finally give up and send her in tennis shoes. Hours later, we're searching the house and find them in the girl's dirty clothes hamper. Not quite the place I would have thought to look.

Wed. night Aliza comes home from school with no homework folder. Her teacher never got it the day before, and I'm baffled trying to think of where it can be. Called our carpool, no luck. Searched entire house, AGAIN, but for different reasons, and still no luck. Thursday morning I've given up and called it quits. She leaves for school with an unhappy mom and a mad frown on her face. As I pick her up later that afternoon, she nonchalantly tells me that it was in her school desk the entire time. Thank you Aliza.

You would think that my house is a disaster with all the searching that has had to take place. But the most frustrating this is, IT'S NOT. All last week I cleaned under beds, reorganized the playroom, and rearranged the kitchen.

Guess I'm just a mom of three crazy kids.

The Joy of Living in the Desert...

Thursday afternoon, I spied with my little eye a SCORPION. It was sitting high on the wall of my garage, just asking to be killed. Steve was home, so I told him to come do his husbandly duty. He pulled out the bug spray, drenched it, and called it good as dead.

And I believed him.

Friday hits, and no more scorpion. But I'm still leary, and make the kids avoid the garage and definitely wear shoes outside of the house.

Saturday rolls around, and no sign of him again. Later that night, I'm foolishly in the garage fishing for a box to pack some stuff in. For a split second, I consider dumping out the tissue paper that's sitting in this particular box into the garbage can next to it. But it's on overflow, so I opt not to.

Bad choice.

As soon as I stick my hand in to grab the tissue paper, bam. I have this incredible throbbing on the knuckle of my right pointer finger, and I just know that I've been stung by our very own scorpion.

I'm too freaked out to even check and make sure that it was, in fact, a scorpion, and instead run up to our bedroom and wake Steve up to help. Once back outside, however, we can't find anything. Steve does a little internet searching and discovers that all of my symptoms are indeed pointing to a scorpion bite (ie. horrible throbbing, numbness all the way up to my shoulder, thoughts of cutting my finger off). And the only way to treat it is to take Tylenol and ice the site of the sting.

So I take all the advice, and still feel horrendous. As Steve falls back asleep, I'm miserable watching him and wondering if the pain will ever subside. It gets to be unbearable and I decide to nix sleeping altogether. Instead, the dishes are getting washed, toys are being picked up, and I watch all 3 Matrix movies, which were terrible.

But all this distraction helped, and finally at 5 AM, I crashed to sleep.

48 hours later, all the pain and numbness has pretty much left the way it came, with a little still left at the site of the sting. Never in a million years would I wish this upon ANYBODY. Pain-wise, it was close to natural childbirth, minus the cute, loving baby! And I'm determined to rid our abode of every and all scorpions. The hunt is on, at least for Steve, that is. I'm too scared to hardly even step foot in the garage!

Goodbye Montero

Yes. The time has come to get rid of my Mitsubishi Montero. It's been a faithful, yet gas guzzling ride and we've all come to love it.

But something new is on the horizon.

A dark, almost-new, leather interior, DVD installed, low mileage MINIVAN.

Today, Steve is trading in our Montero for a Honda Odyssey. A month ago, I couldn't sleep at night and was on the verge of tears thinking whenever I thought of possibly driving a minivan. But slowly I discovered the handfuls of super cute moms that were going around town driving their own Siennas and Odysseys. And they were STILL CUTE. Imagine that!

So, a month after looking for the right one for us, we took the plunge. And I'm actually happy that we did! Who would've ever thought. Not me. Or Steve. So call me up, catch a ride, and look cute alongside me :)

Home Recital

Gavin loves dressing up almost as much as Grace.

My messy bed was the stage for their "dance routines" and my old dance costumes were their ensembles.

Not quite how I envisioned my little boy dressing up.






Can't get enough of Grace's cheeks!

Grace

She's creative. Energetic. A tease. Imaginative.

But mostly silly and fun.

These are just a handful of the gazillions of photos she took with Chuck E Cheese during Gavin's birthday party.

And yes, she was the biggest kid riding this "baby ride". But when does that stop this life of the party?

P.S. My favorite is the one where she's hugging Chuck E.

Small Acts of (unintentional) Cruelty

We've all experienced this as parents.

It's the bank teller that gives only ONE sucker to you, as a parent, when you have three loud kids yelling out their window that they all want a sucker.

Or when your child is throwing a tantrum in the store and the store employee offers to give them candy. Are you serious? Let's treat every kid that acts up, and see if this improves their behavior.

So today, as I'm checking out at Sam's Club, Gavin spots balloons. Hoards of them at every checker's stand. I point out the colors, tell him that they're just to look at, and we go to get lunch.

I take three steps to the food counter and notice Gavin isn't following. It's OK, I tell myself, because he's an arm's reach away, and he's enthralled by the balloons.

Next thing I know, a woman is handing him a balloon. A green one. I tell her thank you, and sit Gavin down to eat his hot dog. Grace, however, can't stop eyeing his balloon and wants one too.

Of course.

So after 5 minutes of whining, I relent and we both walk over and ask for another balloon, to which they tell us that it just would take up too much helium to fill one more balloon. Really? Wasn't it YOU who started this whole mess?

Grace walks away, dejected, and sits down by Gavin. As I walk away to fill up our drinks, I hear a scream (and so does the rest of Sam's Club). Grace has released Gavin's balloon up to the 50ft. ceiling.

I can hear comments from everyone: Awww, that poor little boy just lost his balloon. Even the stingy balloon woman decides to give Gavin ANOTHER balloon. But the new, yellow balloon doesn't stop the tears. He's freaking out, pointing to the one that got away.

Now, I have to stop and point out that, yes, this balloon woman was trying to be nice. But where did her "niceness" get me? Down a long road of whining, screaming kids. And it could have all gone differently had she chosen to give Grace a balloon or even given me NO BALLOONS AT ALL.

Back to the story. So I finally calm him down, but he is insisting that I hold his balloon. At the top of the ribbon. He's decided that this is the only way it will escape the same fate as the first balloon.

And I do. I'm feeding Gavin his hot dog, eating my own hot dog, drinking a drink, holding Gavin on my lap - all while holding this stupid balloon.

The clincher was that a friend of mine walks up to me and commiserates. It's never a bad enough experience unless someone you know witness it also, right?

So enough with the niceness. Either be willing to shell out for everyone, or keep it to yourself already.

Two Years

I often think about all the tears that came along with having 3 children. Mostly from ME. And especially when I'm debating about when to be preggie with #4 (yes, it IS a possibility).

But most of these past two years were of laughter. And fun. Because boys are just that. FUN.

Tomorrow, Gavin's turning 2. It's amazing how quickly it all happened. How he changed from a needy infant, to a rough and silly toddler.

There are several "every day" moments that I felt I needed to capture, before I turn around and he's an awkward boy. So:

*Loves to jump on the trampoline with his trucks. If it wasn't so darned hot, he'd be out there for hours.
*Wakes me up in the morning with his babbling about poop/pee, daddy, or mom.
*Makes deep, manly truck noises while he's driving them down my back.
*Obsessed with cars, trucks, and motorcycles. Steve has introduced him to YouTube, so he watches the beforementioned online while I'm getting ready in the mornings.
*A little fish in the water. Hardly does he want any help with swimming; his little legs kick like crazy to keep up with his sisters.
*"Cute" is his new favorite word. As we're browsing in TJMaxx, I see him pull a shirt of the rack and tell me how "cute" it is. Yes, you can tell he spends lots of time shopping with his mom and sisters.
*The pickiest eater. And in an annoying way. He will LOVE food one day, and then refuse to even sit at the table and look at food the next. Ketchup has been my rescuer. Gavin will eat ANYTHING with ketchup, much to the girls' disgust.

There are so many more, but this will do for now. Happy birthday mini Steve.