Halloween Frights

Halloween frights for a child are completely different than for an adult.  Well, okay, different than a parent, anyway.  I no longer have to face the horrors of haunted houses (thank heavens), but there are others that are longer lasting.

The day before Halloween, I learned that instead of having Grandma join us for some trick-or-treating, I was going to have to take all four boys out...by myself.  I put on a brave face, and said that it wouldn't be a problem.  But anyone with four young children knows very well that it was going to be a huge problem.  

Another fright I faced happened just before dinner on Halloween night, and one hour before we left for trick-or-treating.  My 3-year-old's most favorite costume, the one he's been wearing all week, was NOWHERE.  Absolutely, positively, nowhere.  We looked all over the house, beneath beds, behind couches, and inside toy boxes.  I suddenly realized with great horror what had happened to it.  Just the night before, I had been thinning out our totes of baby clothes, keeping only what I really wanted for a possible future baby.  The main light in our bedroom had stopped working (no, it didn't need a replacement bulb), so I was working by the dim light of a lamp.  My kids, of course, as hyperactive as they were, were jumping on the bed, messing up my piles of clothes, until I finally ordered them out.  Annoyed, I quickly stuffed all of the clothes into a garbage bag, then e-mailed a lady who was in need of baby clothes.  We arranged a pick-up time for the following morning, Halloween morning, at 11 a.m.  The only place Jarod's costume could possibly be was inside one of those two garbage bags, which were currently down in Brigham City.  Had the light in my room been brighter, or had there been less chaos, I can't help but think that I would have been more careful, double-checking what went inside each bag instead of quickly stuffing a pile of unknowns into bags.  So, yes, my young child had no Halloween costume.

Okay, I might be acting a little dramatic.  Technically, we had a whole tote of costumes downstairs, but that's beside the point.  I gave my child's beloved costume away.  Go me.  Luckily, we had a really cute caterpillar costume in the tote, and Jarod quickly forgot about his dog costume.  He looked a bit silly with a painted on nose and freckles in his big, fluffy bug costume, but with a runny nose that he kept wiping across his cheek, the makeup quickly wiped off.  Disaster averted...until we went out for the night.

I always am unsure of when to take the kids out.  What time is appropriate?  I didn't want to go knocking on doors when no one was even ready, but one place that was a sure bet was a townhouse complex we've been to for the past two years, where hundreds of kids trick-or-treat.  I took the kids, only to learn that my greatest fear had been realized.  Not even half of the houses there had their porch lights on, which meant we wouldn't be knocking on their doors.  Thirty minutes later, after we'd knocked on the last door, my kids only had probably 15 pieces of candy.  

I remembered that a ward was having trunk-or-treating at our church, so I headed over there.  We parked on the opposite side of the parking lot when I saw that only a few cars were there, and decided it hadn't started quite yet.  I took the boys down the street to hit a neighborhood or two before heading back into the parking lot.  As we approached the corner, I tried herding the boys onto the lawn of the nearest house, which was a bit of a problem since Caleb (my one-year-old) was more interested in picking up leaves then collecting candy.  When I finally convinced him to walk towards the house, I realized that my wonderfully independent Jarod had somehow appeared across the street on the corner, waiting for us!  Another Mom-of-the-Year award should have been given to me.  I called him back, and luckily, he obeyed. 

We trekked around the busy neighborhood, collecting juice bottles, miniature popcorn bags, and tons and tons of candy.  My children were eager to say thank-you and "Happy Halloween" to everyone who filled their bags, and little Caleb got a few extra sometimes just because he was so gosh-darn cute.  However, what lurked down the street, glowing with red and yellow lights, was a haunted house.  Gargoyles, ghouls, and the Grim Reaper greeted the hordes of children both young and old, who swarmed the house like a beehive.  At the driveway, we were greeted by a gypsy, who not only handed out candy, but a blue ticket as well.  "Take this to one of the booths to play a game," she said.  "Then you can go in and get your prize!"  We followed her finger to the carport, which had been transformed into what looked like a spook ally.  Reluctantly, I gathered the kids around a booth for games.  Honestly, I just wanted to continue on.  I was anxious that the kids were going to start getting tired and grumpy, but I wanted my kids to have a really cool experience.  They spun a wheel or chose a floating duck, then got a prize ticket.  I led the boys into the prize room, where I pushed aside a wall of beads.  We found ourselves in a dark room, beneath the gaze of hanging monsters, and walked over to the prize table.  That was when I realized that Jarod was not with us.  Oh, no, not again!!  I raced through the curtain of beads, and luckily found my son standing nearby, looking around for us.  I brought him in the room with us, and he and Jacob chose miniature bottles of bubbles, while Gabriel and Caleb received silly glasses.  I couldn't believe how these people had gone all out!  The boys all enjoyed themselves, and I was grateful we'd stopped there.

We hit several homes, and things were finally going smoothly...until we came to a house on a corner.  The front porch light was off, so we dismissed the house, only to see that around the corner, they had a back porch light on, with a back porch that was decorated.  I noticed that the gate to the backyard was open, and also saw that there was another open gate on the opposite end of the yard.  To me, it was an open invitation for trick-or-treaters.  Self-consciously, I took the kids through the yard, and my oldest knocked.  Nothing.  We headed out of the yard quickly (before anyone caught us), and then my 1-year old Caleb decided that he didn't want me carrying him anymore.  As I put him down, his trick-or-treat bucket spilled into my arms, and my kids all ran off, leaving me in the yard alone to clean up.  I cradled his bucket while trying to awkwardly tip the candy from my arms into it.  I suddenly heard a noise, and when I turned around to see what it was, I was terrified to see an adult-sized gorilla approaching me, arms outstretched.

Now, normally, I'm a pretty big scardy-cat.  Had I been all alone, I'm pretty certain I would have screamed and taken off running.  But, as a mother with an obligation to her young children (and feeling totally embarrassed for both being in a forbidden yard as well as picking up spilled candy), I simply said, "Oh, hi!"  It clearly made gorilla-man bored, and I was safe.  But then again, how would Jarod feel when he saw this massive gorilla on the dark streets?  We couldn't even get him to go into a costume store without him freaking out.  What was I supposed to do when he saw it?  Well, the beauty of trick-or-treating for young kids is that they're either too busy looking down into their candy bags or searching for the next door to go to to even notice what was lurking above their heads.  We all escaped the gorilla without any problems.  

Finally, we reached the final house on our route.  The way the door was situated was pretty strange.  In order to get to it, you had to follow a narrow sidewalk up against the house, with a railing between the sidewalk and the yard.  Because it was such a narrow path, I had to wait on the other side of the railing on the grass, holding Caleb, while my other three boys got their candy.  The plan was wait until they were done, and then lift Caleb up over the railing so he could get his candy.  Everything went according to plan, until, when the door was shut, Jacob suddenly yelled, pointing across the street, "Oh, no!  Jarod's way over there!"

I looked across the dark yard, the dark, wide street, and onto the dark grass of the churchyard, where a fuzzy green caterpillar was standing, clutching his Halloween bucket.  OHMYGOSH, how did he get across the street?!  My first instinct was to take off running and carry him back to safety.  But then that would leave my three other children.  What if my one-year-old took off after me?  I yelled across the street to tell Jarod to stay where he was, praying he'd listen and not try to cross again without me.  I gathered my other children, and we quickly crossed the yard and into the street.  How that little boy made it across the street under the dark, cloudy sky all by himself without getting killed by a car is beyond me.  But, there he was, safe and sound, and completely unaware of the fear he had just given me.

We finally headed over to the church parking lot to pick up a few more pieces of candy (the boys had been dying to go trunk-or-treating), but when we turned the corner, I saw that no one was outside.  Maybe they took it into the gym, like they'd done last year in the rain.  We went inside, only to learn that there was no trunk-or-treating, but a Halloween carnival, instead.  Well, it was getting late anyway.  I was honestly relieved that we would be heading home, because frankly, I was getting tired.  My boys weren't too happy, but they quickly forgot their disappointment when they looked down into their bags, which were bulging with candy.

Despite a frightful Halloween night, we all made it home, safe and sound.  Everyone was happy, and everyone got to enjoy some of the fruits of their labors.  But, just as all scary movies have one last terrifying scene, so did ours.  It was time to put the kids, all high on their sugar rush, down for bed (cue the scary music).

The Trouble with Boys

What are little boys made of?  Slugs and snails and puppy dog tails...and nothing but trouble, trouble, trouble!  A couple weeks back, I awoke to use the bathroom, only to find that someone had drawn all over the bathroom wall.  I'm not talking about a simple line or two.  I'm talking preparing-a-canvas-to-be-displayed-in-an-art-museum type of scribbling.  This took a serious amount of time and effort.  I could tell by the circular patterns just who the culprit was...until Spencer noticed the word, "hi" written as well.  I was shocked.  There is no way Jacob would have done that...and yet, the pencil autographs all over his bedroom wall from months earlier said that he did.

It was time for a little talk.  Jacob denied the graffiti.  I showed the word "hi" to him, and told him that no one else knew how to spell.  He was utterly shocked.  "But I don't know how to write 'hi'!  I only know how to write the words they teach us in school!"  Surprised, I took Gabe into the bathroom.  After much pushing, he finally admitted.  Then, it was Jacob's turn to be surprised...and ashamed.  "That's not fair!  He's smarter than me!  No...I'm just joking.  I've got more brains than him because I go to school."  It's hard to be mad at one kid when you're doing everything you can to stop from laughing.

After a while, I was able to lecture Gabe on why we don't draw on the walls.  I was just dumbfounded that at age 5, he decided to do it suddenly.  He may have used a bit of crayon on the doors at age 2, but that was just one or two times.  Why the sudden regression?  After a lot of soapy water, I was able to scrub the wall clean, and all was forgotten...until YESTERDAY happened.

I thought I had been going slightly crazy when I suddenly caught a whiff of paint in our house.  Odd, since it's  not a common smell, but it wasn't logical either, since we hadn't been painting.  I pushed the thought aside, and just assumed that something in our house smelled bad, like a dish rag or something.  Since it was a nice day outside, I talked to Spencer about bringing Gabriel upstairs to go play outside instead of taking his nap.  We decided that since he had been up the night before with a bad cough, we should just let him sleep, and hopefully get better.  About an hour later, I left the house to pick up Jacob from school.  When we returned, as soon as I walked in the door, I was blasted with paint fumes.  Before I  could say anything, Spencer asked, "Does our house smell like paint still?"

"Yes, and it's really bad now."  As Spencer headed towards the stairs, I suddenly knew what had happened.  "Oh, no...what's Gabe been doing?!" I shouted.  We rushed downstairs, and found that instead of sleeping, Gabriel had been busy at work...redecorating.  His feet were painted gold up to his ankles, as were his hands.  I glanced at the walls, and red paint streaked across one wall.  The kitty litter box was improved with a generous helping of my expensive laundry detergent, seasoned with a bit of red spray paint.  Okay.  Not too bad.  But then Spencer walked into Jacob's room.  I quickly followed when he mentioned some of the things that were painted.  How he stayed so calm, I'll never know, because when I entered, I began hyperventilating.  In the doorway was piles of detergent powder.  His mauve carpet was covered in gold paint from where Gabriel stood, painting his feet.  Papers from the floor and dresser had been painted, as well as Jacob's alarm clock, ceramic lion statue, and treasure chest he had gotten from his birthday.  His magic set box was all gold, as was a huge ugly spot on his favorite stuffed animal.  His enormous leopard had been painted red, as was his sword, pillow case, and sheet.  His bedspread was painted gold in spots, his red journal was now gold, and his walls were streaked with both red and gold.  Clothes that had been left on the floor were forced to participate in Gabe's madness, as were a few stray afghans from Jacob's bed.  It was terrible.  It was awful.  But...Gabe's work didn't end there.

As we ventured into the other rooms, we discovered their play kitchen that was going to be sold at our summer yard sale now had a big red spot on it (as well as piles of laundry detergent inside).  My microfiber recliner that was going to be sold was covered in sparkly silver paint.  Our huge swivel computer chair, also for the upcoming sale, now had a red spot on it, as did our computer speakers and printer.  Somehow, the computer moniter had been spared.

When we entered Gabe's room...nothing had been altered.  The little stinker destroyed all but his own room. At lease we know he's not all crazy. :)

I was so mad, I forgot to yell.  I sternly scolded him, but I was in such great shock that real anger never really came.  As part of his punishment, I ordered him upstairs and into the bath, where his job was to scrub all the paint off himself.  That was when he realized with great distress just how permanent paint actually is.  When it came time for bed, he was the new owner of a freshly painted Spiderman comforter, and Jacob got his clean one.  Again, he felt the impact of his actions.  I felt hopeless, wondering what on earth had happened to make him do all of this.

With all of the chaos that our little boys bring, Spencer and I decided that it's pointless for all of us to try to suffer through Sacrament meeting together.  Our new plan was to trade weeks with one staying home the first hour with the younger boys while the other goes and takes the sacrament with the older two.  Last week was my turn to go to church.  I was confident with the set-up, and had each boy sit on either side of me.  I had packed a bag full of activities to keep them quiet and entertained...but Gabriel had other things on his mind.  He's going through a defiant stage right now where he doesn't like being told what he can and can't do.  Especially by an adult.  Needless to say, sacrament meeting was a total disaster.  Between him crying, whining and shouting out that I was making him touch my private part as I hugged him near to whisper to him to quiet down, I finally had had enough.  We left in complete humiliation, with the entire church echoing out with Gabe's cries.

If Fate had any mercy, this would be the extent of our problems.  But with so many little boys, that's just not possible.  Last week, Jacob and Gabriel decided to aerate our grass with Spencer's shovel.  Jarod has decided against napping, and instead, takes off all of his clothes and screams at the top of his lungs while lunging clothes and toys across the room into Caleb's crib, who, by the way, is now at the age where he likes joining in on the chaos.  Caleb's mischief comes not only from spilling his sippie cup drink all over the house, but pulling out diapers from his garbage can, and flinging them around his room, which open while airborne.

It's funny how life has a way of changing happily ever afters into what-have-I-dones.  And while I'm being buried alive in all of this insane chaos, somehow, a mother's love overcomes all obstacles.  I guess with the little things in life, such as Jarod asking me for lettuce for the first time in his life and not only eating it but asking for MORE, it gives me the strength to face another day.  Life, no matter how challenging or painful, will always provide some small, tender mercies.  It's just a matter of being willing to look for them.

How to Get Gray Hair in 30 Days

Being a mom is tough. Really tough. It's almost like I'm a 90-year old driving: I know I can do it, I've done it before, but it's not MY fault everyone else around me acts like a bunch of crazies. I've got 4 little boys. My oldest just started Kindergarten. Yes, I know. Maybe it's ME who's the crazy one. Anyway, things get pretty loud at my house. I'm talking about firecrackers-on-the- 4th-of-July- that-cause-you-to-stuff-anything-you-can-find-into-your-ears kind of loud. And that's just me.

Moms, I've decided, should grow an extra pair of arms with their pregnant belly. That way, there's arms to hold the baby, and the extra set to get things done. Moms of children who are 2-years old should be able to split themselves apart into 4 separate people. That way, one can run into the bathroom to turn off the sink for the tenth time, the other can chase down the child and change his toxic diaper while the third one picks up the perma

nent markers that just got opened and thrown all over the floor, all while the fourth one can actually get dinner made on time.

As if life weren't crazy enough with whining, arguing, crying, kids taking toys from each other, picking up messes every five minutes, nursing the baby, feeding baby solids, putting the baby down for his naps every three hours, I'm expected to actually stay sane while doing the laundry, washing the dishes, getting my child to and from school on time, and somehow manage to squeeze in a shower or two (if I'm lucky) that week. With my husband gone all day at school, and all night at work, I can't help but wonder if I actually am married or not. I typically get to see him maybe an hour or two every day. On a good day. The problem with his schedule is that his work schedules him two days off a week...and it changes every week. He never gets two days off in a row, and they are never on the weekends. So even when he IS home from work, he's either doing homework, or he's collapsing into bed at 8:30 at night from severe lack of sleep. Our private time together usually involves, "Go shut the kids up so I can take a nap," while I practically drag him out of bed and collapse on top of the covers for an hour.

There should be a rule that if you're a mom, you automatically get ten uninterrupted hours of sleep. Every night. How else are we to survive? Okay, I'll compromise. Moms should be fully functional on 5 hours of sleep, and not get tired. Ever. Instead of sending moms home from the hospital with a brand new diaper bag with their newborn, we should be sent home with a year's worth of freezer dinners. When you buy a minivan, car dealerships should offer an entire year's worth of groceries delivered to your home for free. If you've got a van, it's obvious that you've got too many kids to actually get any shopping done. Minivan buyers also should be given complementary hair dye, as well, because with that many kids, it's obvious that we've gone prematurely gray.

Mommy Lessons

Several things have been going through my brain lately that are Mommy-related (hmmm...I wonder why?). This post will just be random thoughts and observations about being a mom.

Why do I always bathe the baby, and THEN feed him?

Why do I bother giving my baby toys, when in reality, his favorite items to play with are my stray hairs that he finds on the carpet?

I don't need to vacuum since my 6 month old picks everything up anyway.

No one wants to play with my 4-year-old at the park, because he chases them and screams with

his angry pirate voice, trying to kill them with an imaginary sword. But when he chases them singing "Pretend, pretend! Pretend, pretend!" he suddenly has lots of friends.

As soon as the bathroom door shuts, all heck breaks loose with my children.

If I'm trying to sneak a cookie, my children ALWAYS come inside right as I'm about to take a bite.

If I'm dying for a nap, it's guaranteed that I won't get one.

If my child claims that there is a bat in the house...there probably is.

Time outs work really well if I play soft piano music on the CD player.

Family prayer and scriptures do WONDERS for the overall feeling in our home. There is less fighting, and I am less likely to lose my temper.

Every night, the boys watch a movie at 6:30pm. It's downtime that I need, and the 30 minutes is perfect length for my 2 year old to sit through.

Knots in kite strings are not impossible to undo. They are simply a series of misunderstandings.

My baby is not a messy eater. I am just a messy feeder.

After feeding the baby, ALWAYS wipe under his neck.

I love Luvs diapers, but they do an incredible job of masking poopy diapers (which technically isn't a bad thing, unless I let my poor baby sit in it too long).

When I hear "I'm going to tell Mommy!" I usually tune out the tattling.

I was given advice that I should act as if my baby is the last one I'm going to have. By enjoying each moment with him, I have enjoyed everything, even his adorable cry. It makes being a mom so wonderful.

As I was sitting outside holding the baby and the other boys were playing in the dirt, I began pondering how great life was, and how wonderful I had it. And then my 2-year-old surprised me by throwing a fistful of dirt right into the baby's face.