Handy Man

I've heard it said that boys never really grow up, they just get bigger/more expensive toys. I assumed this saying was referring to those guys who fill their garages with four-wheelers, snowmobiles, and boats. I'm learning otherwise; it's becoming apparent that Jared has simply swapped his Tinkertoys and Construx for two-by-fours and copper pipe, and that our house is his biggest, best, most expensive toy ever.

I wish I could tell you what all this stuff does.
(Short answer: it heats our house.)

I wish I could tell you what this stuff does, too.

(Short answer: Well, I know it's called a network box. . .)

My mother-in-law says that she always meant to get a sandbox for Jared, because he loved creating, building, and digging. I tell her she can stop feeling bad that the sandbox never happened, because now he has something even better: a tractor and a backyard.

Just imagine how wonderful to have your own house, where you can knock holes in the walls. . .

Inaugural Hole, circa 2007

. . .jackhammer up the floor. . .

The Great Floor Drain Migration of 2011

. . .and dig giant holes in the yard. . .

groundbreaking for The Great Wall of Ridgeview, circa 2009

all without getting in trouble with your parents. There is, however, still the issue of the wife. . .Jared deals with this by throwing me a bone every so often in order to maintain a generous WAF*

"You want recessed lighting in the living room? I can do that."

"Okay, we can use landscape rock instead of cinderblock for the retaining wall. . ."

"How about some shelving in our closet?"

So living with a handyman certainly does have its perks. Other times. . .well. . .you know how when you leave a dog home alone, sometimes they get bored and trash the house just to keep busy? Now imagine that your dog had opposable thumbs and access to a crowbar:

(When funds run low but you're hankering for some home improvement,
just remember Jared's motto: demolition is cheap. Fun, too.)

Why do I put up with it? I can think of three primary reasons:
1) I have faith that it'll be worth it. There are things I want done that I believe will be done someday, if only I can be patient for now. (Wow, that sounds almost spiritual, doesn't it?)
2) I'm cheap. Sure, my general contractor may be slow as molasses, but he works for free.
3) I love my husband, and I recognize that having projects to work on makes him unbelievably happy. Some husbands find happiness in watching "the game" every weekend, or collecting the latest techie gadgets, or spending a day on the golf course. Mine just happens to find his bliss operating heavy machinery.


*WAF = Wife Acceptance Factor, a term Jared's coworker came up with to describe the level of inconvenience/noise/mess your wife is willing to accept. The WAF is, of course, dynamic. Pregnancy tends to dramatically decrease the WAF, as does forgetting your wife's birthday--but you can easily increase your WAF through such simple acts as mopping the kitchen floor, cooking dinner, and getting up with the baby. It's always wise to double-check your WAF before embarking on a new project. Unless you enjoy sleeping on the couch.

A Study in Contrast

Elizabeth


Annalise


Benjamin

Baby Fat

I realized today that Ben weighs about as much as I have left to lose to be at my pre-pregnancy weight. Sure looks a lot cuter on him:

Mom Brain

I feel like being a mother has made me wise in ways that no other experience could. But it's also made me unbelievably stupid.

Once upon a time, I could write a cogent 5-paragraph essay discussing the impact of Steinbeck's novels on post-war America, solve college-level physics problems, and simultaneously sight-read four lines of music in three different clefs--and that was all before lunchtime.

Now I'm lucky if I can complete a sentence without some help from my 6-year-old:

Me: "Go put your dishes in the. . .um. . .the thing that cleans the, uh, things we put food on."
Elizabeth: (snickering) "The dishwasher?"
Me: "Um, yeah."

You're probably thinking the above example was an exaggeration for effect (shoot, there's a name for that*). Sadly, it's not. Nouns in particular are difficult for me, whether it's my kids' names** or the names of everyday items such as the. . .oh, you know, that thing that keeps food cold.

I'm not saying this to imply that being a mom is a waste of my skills or brain power. On the contrary, I believe that what I'm doing is truly valuable, and in many ways it's very mentally stimulating. My major was in early childhood education, and believe you me, there's no better way to learn how children learn than to follow them in their daily lives. I was absolutely giddy with delight at watching Elizabeth learn to read; it really is fascinating to watch the process, up close and personal. I guess one way to look at these last 6 years would be as a very long, very intense lab experience. Still, there's no denying that I've forgotten an awful lot of what I used to know.

What counts, I suppose, is that I remember the important things. I have committed to memory the phone numbers of Elizabeth's best friends, the PBS morning lineup, and the words to more picture books than I'd care to admit. I can tell you the incubation period and symptoms of the ten most common childhood illnesses. I've learned ways to coax even the most recalcitrant three-year-old into getting dressed. I can (and do) change diapers without fully waking up. I can simultaneously wrangle three children while grocery-shopping with a budget and without a list. I know where the binky is. So maybe my brain's not so flabby after all.

And when's the last time I needed to solve a quadratic equation, anyway?


*Hyperbole! Ha! Score one for me.

**I always mix up the girls' names, but that's to be expected. Poor Ben, though, has to contend with me forgetting not his name, but his gender. By day I do just fine, but come 2 AM when I'm handing him to Jared, I inevitably find myself saying, "Could you change her diaper?"

Quarterly Report

Let's see if I can bring you guys up to speed here.

December
December brought its usual whirlwind of holiday activity. Elizabeth turned 6, which makes me feel rather old. (I told Elizabeth this the other day, and she reassured me, "You're not really THAT old, Momma. Thirty is still really far away from one hundred.")



We celebrated Christmas in our usual manner: Christmas Eve with the Olsons, complete with absolute mayhem a live nativity, followed by Christmas morning with the Eppersons, complete with heart-attack-in-a-pan Christmas breakfast casserole.
I wasn't fast enough to get a photo of the casserole, but here's a cast photo of the nativity. This is truly the highlight of the Christmas season for me. I get such a kick out of it, and every year it just gets better. . .or at least, more entertaining. . .as we add more grandkids to the mix.

What made this Christmas especially fun is that Elizabeth is really starting to catch the excitement of choosing gifts and then keeping the secret. After Elizabeth received a Zhu Zhu Pet for her birthday, Anna began pining away for one of her own--so Elizabeth decided to give her one for Christmas. Throughout the rest of the month, whenever Anna would sigh wistfully and proclaim, "I just reeeally want a Zhu Zhu Pet. . .", Elizabeth would smile oh-so-sweetly and say, "Well, maybe you'll get one for Christmas." The look on Anna's face Christmas morning when she unwrapped "Peachy" was priceless:
On New Year's Eve we stayed home with the girls and celebrated with fondue. . .or, as Anna called it, "fun-do":
Can't argue with her; eating chocolate-dipped Rice Krispie treats is pretty darn fun to do.


January
At the beginning of January I finally got around to making an appointment for Anna with the ENT. We weren't too surprised when he recommended a T&A (tonsillectomy + adenoidectomy). Just two weeks later, Anna and I were up bright and early and headed to the new Primary Children's outpatient center in Riverton. They really do go the extra mile to make the whole experience as kid-friendly as possible, and Anna had an absolutely wonderful time. . .until the actual surgery, anyway. She got to ride in a wagon, put on special hospital jammies, play with all sorts of new toys. . .how fun!When all was ready for the "procedure", she got to ride a little car down the hall to the surgery suite, where she got out, hugged me, and followed the nurse into the operating room without so much as a backward glance.

Less than an hour later, they called me back to the recovery room, where Anna was just waking up. This was the worst part; I can only imagine what was going through her head as she woke up. I imagine she had the vague suspicion that she'd been completely duped--she'd been having such a fun day, and then those nice nurses and doctors had gone and done something to ruin it all. Once she was lucid enough to talk, she kept telling me, "I'm all done with this. Let's go home now."She was a lot happier at home, but the first few days of recovery were pretty rough. Thankfully, she was back to her usual self within a few weeks, and now she sleeps/eats/breathes so much more comfortably!

February

By February, Jared and I were both in full nesting mode. I expressed the urge by cooking and freezing 15 meals, purging the closets, stockpiling groceries, and scrubbing the house top to bottom. Jared, on the other hand, preferred to nest with the aid of a jackhammer and pipe cutter:

Laying the groundwork for the new downstairs bathroom. . .

Like last year, we made a cake on February 19th in memory of our little William. It's hard to believe it's been 2 years already; it seems like just yesterday. I had hoped to have the new baby before William's birthday, especially since by then I'd be past the point when I delivered my girls--but this kiddo had other ideas. . .

As the 40th week of my pregnancy started, I was getting impatient. Jared tried to encourage me by saying the baby would be here "any day now", but after a few weeks of hearing that I quit listening to him. My due date came; I spent it cooking meals to freeze and cleaning like crazy. I had some contractions start up at bedtime, but they never got closer together and they eventually fizzled out around 4 AM. Feeling rather let down (and huge, and just plain grouchy) I went to church. The umpteen comments I received there ("You're still pregnant?!?", "Aw, I was really hoping you'd have your baby this week.", "My daughter doesn't believe me that you've only got one baby in there.") didn't do much for my mood, and by bedtime I was feeling mighty discouraged. So discouraged that I refused to pay attention the contractions that started again late that night. I finally started to believe something might be up around 3 AM, though, and Jared called my mom to come sit with the girls. We arrived at the hospital around 5 AM, and our little boy made his debut just after noon:

Benjamin Everett Olson

Monday, February 28, 2011

9 lb. 6 oz. ~ 20 inches

Due to a slight fever and some concerning blood test results, Ben had to stay in the hospital an extra day to finish a course of antibiotics. Thankfully, aside from that he was perfectly healthy and was able to stay with me between IV rounds, and I was allowed to stay the extra night in a boarding room down the hall from the nursery. By Thursday morning he had finished the antibiotics and his initial blood culture had come back clean, so we headed home.


March
March flew by in a blur of diaper changes, baby-snuggling, endless laundry, and pinkeye (both girls caught it, but we managed to avoid giving it to Ben--phew!)


Somewhere amid the chaos, Jared turned thirty-two. We celebrated with a special dinner at home, including a chocolate cake lavishly decorated by the girls (it's just not a birthday cake without two pounds of rainbow sprinkles). The years have been kind to Jared, but he hasn't evaded them completely. A few weeks ago, Elizabeth was hanging out on our bed with Jared and I heard her counting. Jared asked her what she was doing, and she informed him that she was counting his gray hairs. She found twenty-six. I think she overlooked a few. ;)

April
We're adjusting to life with three. It's definitely been a challenge; now that we're outnumbered we've had to switch from a game of one-on-one to playing zone defense. It seems like the hampers are always full and the floors are always dirty--but I'm learning to be a little more "Zen" about it all. The girls adore Ben, although Anna still is a little confused: she tells me when she grows up she'll be Ben's mommy. For now she's getting lots of practice; from dressing to bathing to burping, I'm not allowed to do anything without her help.

And Ben is such a peach. His sisters had him beat in the sleep department at this age, but by day he's such a placid little fellow. He loves to snuggle, which I just relish, and I'm completely smitten with the faces he makes:

His usual expression: curious but skeptical.

Motherhood is hard work, but I get paid in baby smiles. Life is sweet.

Germ Warfare

I'm starting this at 8:45 AM on a Tuesday; very different than my usual 10-PM-on-a-Sunday-night routine. Why, you ask? Well, mostly because I don't have the energy to stand (it's been one of those weeks) so I figured I'd do something productive while I sit.

One of those weeks, you say? Why, yes. It all started last week on Monday morning. Around 2 AM on Monday morning, when Anna woke up crying and coughing and running a fever. I spent the better parts of Monday through Wednesday snuggling a feverish toddler, wielding the bulb syringe, and keeping the humidifier filled. (On the plus side, she spent a good 2-3 hours every day napping. So did I.) By Thursday, she was feeling better. . .thank goodness, because we had Elizabeth's parent/teacher conference. (All is going well; Mrs. H. says Elizabeth has adjusted beautifully to kindergarten, is a good listener, doesn't run with scissors or eat glue, etc.)

Since Anna was feeling better and Jared was home for the day, after our parent conference I figured I'd take a trip to the mall to shop for some much-needed maternity clothes. When it comes to shopping, Elizabeth could take it or leave, but Anna is always, always up for a trip to the store. Any store. The kid loves to shop. (She's so stereotypically female that it's not even funny; her favorite activities around the house are cooking, cleaning, and doing laundry, and she literally BEGS me to take her to the store. Hoo, boy.) So, I left Elizabeth at home with Jared, and Anna and I headed to the mall. As I walked across the parking lot, I slipped and fell flat on my tush, managing to scrape about an inch of skin off the top of my foot in the process. Not to be deterred (hey, I had a hot coupon!), I dusted myself off and marched into Old Navy, washed off my foot in the bathroom and begged a Band-Aid off of one of the employees, and did my shopping.

Friday and Saturday I limped along (literally) as I took care of Elizabeth and myself. . .we were now both sick with Anna's cold. By Sunday, we were in pretty bad shape; my foot was getting worse and Elizabeth was complaining of an earache. I decided I'd spare Elizabeth from having to wait a miserable hour at the urgent care clinic and would take her to her doctor the next morning instead, and I hobbled alone to the InstaCare to see if maybe I'd fractured something. The X-ray came back clear, but the doctor was sufficiently impressed by my "flesh wound" to send me home with a surgical scrub brush and some Hibiclens to help stave off gangrene.

Monday morning I took Elizabeth to her doctor, where my suspicions of an ear infection were confirmed. . .along with a bonus: strep throat! Sigh. This isn't the first time that she's suffered with strep throat for 3-4 days before I get around to taking her to the doc, because I don't realize what it is, and of course I feel just terrible when we find out. (And, ironically, the one time I took her in because I thought she had strep throat, it was mono.) It might make my job easier if she got the "classic" strep throat symptoms like, say, a SORE THROAT. But I'm learning. The most reliable indicator of her having strep is that she cries. A lot. Poor girl. I completely understand; I remember the last time I had strep throat, and I just felt like crying all the time too!

And that brings us to today. Elizabeth is still home from school, but she's off the couch and looks tremendously better. Anna is more or less back to her usual self and I'm keeping my fingers crossed she doesn't come down with strep, too. Jared, of course, is feeling fine; a measly cold virus does nothing to him. (Don't tell him, but I totally let Elizabeth nap on his side of the bed yesterday, half-hoping that he'd catch strep throat from the germs she drooled all over his pillow. . .the man could use a little empathy, is all I'm sayin'.) I'm walking just about normally again, and my cold is mostly gone. After 9 straight nights of getting up every few hours to answer cries, suction noses, fetch drinks of water, administer medicine, and refill humidifiers, I'm looking forward to some decent sleep tonight with only my pregnancy-induced heartburn and twice-nightly potty trips to disturb me.

Now, if you'll excuse me, it's time for my wound debridement.

Stuff My Kids Say

Elizabeth: (after taking a sip of Sprite) "It just tastes like there's electricity in my mouth!"

Anna: (driving home late one night) "Look. . .when it's bedtime, everyfing SHINES."



One day I took the girls to a store, and as we walked in, somebody walking out triggered the security alarm. Elizabeth asked what that sound was, and I explained: "They put special tags on the clothes, so that if you walk out of the store without paying for the clothes, the alarm goes off." Elizabeth's face lit up and said, "Oh! And if you walk out without the tags, then the alarm goes ON!"



Elizabeth: "Sometimes it feels like there's a bug crawling up my spine."

Anna: (soberly) "Mommy, I don't want snakes on me." (Still not sure what this was all about. There were no snakes, real or otherwise, anywhere NEAR her when she said this. . .)

When Elizabeth first started kindergarten, she was obsessed with "the rules" for the first few weeks. Each day she'd come home and tell me the rules she'd learned--school rules, classroom rules, PE rules, etc. One afternoon she was playing with Anna, who, being three, couldn't care less about rules and such, and refused to do anything Elizabeth told her. Exasperated, Elizabeth looked straight at her and said in her most grown-up voice, "Anna. There. Are. RULES."

Elizabeth: (yawn) "I'm as tired as a bat in the morning. . ."

Anna: "Mommy, you gotfor your purse!" (In Anna-ese, gotfor = forgot)



One afternoon we let the girls play with the hose, and they flooded the lower half of our backyard, transforming it from a dirt pit to a mud pit. They wallowed in the mud for awhile, and when I told Anna it was time to go inside and get into the tub, she would have none of it. "No," she told me, "Let's pretend DIS be da baff-tub!"