Foto Friday--Party Time

Hyrum's fifth birthday party--the pictures speak for themselves.

  I couldn't get him to sit still long enough to take his picture. . .

 . . . until I suggested he shake a few presents and guess what was inside.

 Of course Evie had to get in a few pictures--she was the only one who liked to wear the birthday hat.

 We played a few games, and I would recommend this game again and again.  I tied two donut gems to a string, suspended them from the tree and told the kids there was only one rule and one goal.  Rule:  no hands.  Goal:  eat the donuts.

 This kept them laughing and occupied for almost 15 minutes.

 And got them covered in powdered sugar as well.

 After ten minutes to trying and laughing, we used hands to finish them off.

  He asked for a cake with marshmallows and every color frosting.  Not my best work, but he liked it.

 And of course, what is an AZ birthday without a pinata?

 One round with blindfolds and one without, then Lily's friend smashed "Godzilla" to bits.

 The one thing Hyrum really wanted for his birthday he got--a magnifying glass. So now he searches for bugs and magnifies everything whenever he gets the chance.

When I tucked him into bed that night, he said, "My birthday was like Caillou said, the best day ever!"

I'm so glad.  You're only five once.

Happy weekend, friends.  I'm going to spend it nestled in with my family watching General Conference.  It's one of my favorite weekends of the year.

The Only Snow Day of the Year

I just realized yesterday that I never posted pictures from my kids' snow experience up in Idaho.

Our drive to Idaho was clear, then it started snowing Saturday night and all through early Sunday morning.  You'd have thought it was Christmas the way my kids acted. I don't think Evie had ever seen snow before, and Hyrum?  Well, he wanted to be in it every second he could, cold or not.

Ben helped the other kids build a snow fort with the perfect, heavy, almost-warm snow.

It was so pristine and clean and white that we filled the cooler up and let the little girls eat it with a spoon--it amused them for almost an hour.

Sometimes I miss snow--I miss snow like this one was--beautiful, silent, heavy and not inconvenient.  I don't miss mittens, boots, hats, scarves, and mud.

I never thought I'd say this, but . . .

I'll take 120 degree summer days over snow. 

Linking up to Jenny Matlock's S post on Alphabe-Thursday.

Hyrum

I decided that this was the year I would tell my kids' birth stories.

It was June, 2004 and only ten days after Micah was born, Brad turned to me and said, "I would do that again. It's worth it." Pretty amazing, considering I had just spent the majority of seven months flat in bed.  I'll tell Micah's story in June when it's his birthday, but Hyrum's story started at that exact moment.  That's when Brad and I both knew Micah would not be our last child.

I've had a difficult time getting pregnant every time except the first two, so with that history, we didn't do anything to prevent a new baby from joining our family.  When Micah was eighteen months old, I went on Clomid.  It had worked with Lily and with Micah, so our hopes were high.

After six months of treatment, I still wasn't pregnant.  At that point, I questioned whether I was being practical or selfish in wanting another baby.  I knew I still wanted more, but the emotional toll on me every month to discover that first spot of blood was wearing me down.  We decided to stop with the medicine.

I was at rough camp for the girls of our Church two months later, and my period was late.  I was surprised, but I kept the information to myself, having gotten my hopes up so many times in the past, just to have them dashed again.  We were bringing our girls from the rough camp into the main girls' camp on the last night, when I first saw the blood.  Disappointed again.  But it stopped, and a few days later, I knew I was pregnant.

I knew what was in my immediate future-- at thirteen weeks a cerclage procedure would be performed where the doctor would stitch my cervix closed for the next 23 weeks, and I would be put on bedrest until that time. Before the procedure was even scheduled, I started spotting, and the doctor was concerned that the pregnancy would even be viable.  He moved the surgery up to eleven weeks, and during the procedure he found the biggest cervical polyp he or the OR staff had ever seen.  Once it was removed I no longer had any problems.

I still had to be mostly in bed, but the restrictions for this pregnancy were much more lenient that with Micah's--I could be out of bed one hour every day.  I felt like a prisoner granted early parole.

What the rest of the kids looked like about this time:

Since I spent so much time in bed, two-and-a-half-year-old Micah would spend a lot of time with me on my bed, reading stories or just snuggling.  Often he would ask to see my belly, and then he'd pull up his shirt and rub his on mine.  A sweet memory.

And that is my gargantuan belly at 31 weeks.  Yes, I still had months to go.

Dr. H removed my stitches at 36 weeks, and nothing happened.  Unlike most women with cerclage, my body still won't go into labor.

I was due April 8th, and at my doctor's visit I was already dilated to a 4 and 60% effaced.  I was 12 days early, and I begged the doctor to strip my membranes to see if we could finish up this show.  As he was stripping them, my water accidentally broke.  I was sent home with instructions to come to the hospital as soon as labor started.

It never did.

Brad and the rest of the kids were in the Mesa Easter Pageant that night, and I sent them all off with a promise that I'd call if anything happened.

It never did.

Brad got home around 9:30, and after a call to the doctor, he sent us to the hospital to get things started.

Around 11 pm they began the pitocin.  No problem.  I was ready to have this baby.  But the little bugger wouldn't engage in the right spot.  Every time a contraction would push his head lower, he would stubbornly pop right back out.  I was progressing--up to a seven--and the nurse told me that I would surely have him before her shift was over.

That was the wrong thing to tell me.

At 4 am, Baby was still floating and refusing to engage, even though I was fully dilated.  After having delivered my previous few babies naturally, I knew I couldn't make it this time.That's when I melted into a puddle of tears and the anesthesiologist was called in.  After the epidural, I was able to relax and rest for an hour.

When the doctor told me that he still wasn't fully engaged but that I could push, I had that baby out in three pushes.   8:59 am 7 lb. 3 oz. and 20 inches long.  Look at that head!  That's what a baby looks like when it spends less than five minutes in the birth canal.

I had nurses from the nursery come ask my how my C-section incision was feeling, just from glancing at his head.

There are few happier moments in my life than those first few moments when  I've held each of my children.  First kissed their wet head and held their tiny hands.  I looked him in the eye and at that moment was overwhelmed with love for this little guy.

The naming tradition in our family started when Ben was born--I'll share that in April, but I'll tell you that we ask all the kids for their input on names and we have never named a baby before it was born, mostly because we don't know if it's a boy or a girl.

Tucker liked the names Lorin and D'Artagnan (fresh from starring in Three Musketeers), Ben loved the name Jacob, Lily wanted Clark or Marcus, Heidi was mostly just against anything suggested, Micah wanted to name his baby brother Moose after a stuffed cow, Dad liked Jack or Jonah, and Mom wanted Kimball, since he was born on Spencer W. Kimball's birthday.  We narrowed it down to Kimball Jack or Jonah Kimball, but neither one seemed to fit.

I think Heidi suggested the name Hyrum, and all of us seemed to like it.  Micah was sitting on my lap and I asked him "Should we name our baby Kimball or Hyrum?"  to which he responded, "Shrek."

That's when we decided on Hyrum Kimball Denton, named after two very great leaders of our Church.  And Rum has been part of our family ever since.

I can't imagine life without my little buddy, all the funny things he says and all the crazy trouble he creates--he walked at 9 1/2 months and he hasn't slowed down since.

March 28, 2008--one year

March 28, 2009--two years

 

March 28, 2010--three years

 March 28, 2011--four years

I love the smile on his face that he reserves for just me.  I love the sparkle in his eye when he thinks of something funny.  I love the sound of his voice as he's learning to put together words and sentences.  Mostly, I love his sleepy stagger out of bed every morning as he searches for his first hug of the day. 

I love you, Rum.  Thanks for bringing life into our lives and joy to our home.

And a lot of commotion too.

Elbow Grease and Paint Pants: A Penny for Your . . .

What I have to share with you this week isn't my greatest transformation or biggest bargain.

What I have to share with you this week is something that I've just wanted to have, kept my eye out for it for quite a few months, then bought.

Late last summer, when I started back up with auctions, I bought a gumball machine--a newer 25-cent machine that had been designed to look old.  I was ecstatic.  I brought it home, filled it with Mike and Ikes, hoping this would become the motivator for my kids doing chores.

I was sorely disappointed, but my kids weren't.  You see, the mechanism inside the machine that initially required money to trigger the dispenser had broken, and Mike and Ikes fell out of the machine with a quick twist of the handle.  Not what I'd had in mind.

I retired the machine to the garage, then later sold it for about what I'd paid for it.

This week there was another gumball machine up for auction--true vintage penny gumball machine.

It is fully functional, came with the key to unlock the glass, AND was newly stocked by the auctioneer with FRESH gumballs.

I love how it betrays its age through the worn paint above the coin slot.  How many kids over how many years have begged their moms for a penny so they could turn the handle for a gumball?

My kids discovered it in the garage before I brought it in the house.  The little boys immediately got out every size coin and determined it was a penny slot.  And you get TWO gumballs for a penny--jackpot!

Pennies are now more valuable around here than dollars.
Lesson Learned

• It's worth it to compile a list of things you're watching for.  When an item on your list comes up, determine what it's worth to you and go for it.  My kids are so excited, and I'm hoping I can exchange labor for pennies, literally!

I'm waiting for the gum to run out so I can fill it back up with Mike and Ikes and resume potty training.  Hopefully I've got a few weeks left. 

Until next week,
Going once, going twice . . .
SOLD!

On Games, Midnight, and Broken Promises

Alternate title:  Obligatory Hunger Games Post

Y'all know I'm a fan of midnight movies with my older kids.  I love taking that time with them. Even if they leave me in the dust to sit with their friends, I still have them all to myself for the thirty-minute drive home at 3 am.  I wouldn't trade those 3 am discussions for any amount of sleep.  And that's really saying something.

Thursday night at the last minute, Ben decided he wanted to see if there were any tickets still available for Hunger Games.  No problem, so he called his buddy McKay and the three of us headed over to the theater around 9:45 pm.  Lines wrapped around the building, but we only waited about 40 minutes before we were allowed into the theater, where we found very good seats and made ourselves comfy for the next hour until the movie started.

I know most of the civilized world has already seen the movie or at least read the book, but I won't spoil it for any of you.  What I will tell you is this:  It is violent.  Very violent.  It is not well-acted.  It is not beautifully or creatively shot.  It's just okay.  It will not be one of my favorite movies.  I'm sure I won't ever see it again.

That all being said, I wanted to tell you what those two sophomore boys said about the movie on our drive home.  Both of them have read the books multiple times.  Both are huge fans (and both were disappointed with the ending of the series), and both were excited to see the movie.

Neither of them really liked the movie.  Both commented on the violence and missing story line.  Both enjoyed the movie on some level, but it was not their fave either.

What really opened my eyes was their concern about the violence--how graphic it was.  How explicit it was. So it wasn't just me as a prudish 40-something adult.

I had a hard time going to sleep that night.  You see, I had promised Lily that even though she was not allowed to attend the midnight showing (Hello! She's 11.), I would take her to see it first thing after school on Friday.

Now I was seriously reconsidering that promise.

There is a difference in the intensity of the written word and a visual image of those written words.  I had just read Hunger Games.  The story and images were very fresh in my mind, and yet I found myself worked up and tense through much of the show--so tense that I would have to consciously uncoil my fists and relax my arms.  Once I screamed out loud--very loud, in all honesty (you know the part, at the end, with the wolves?).  And that was gruesome.  I don't want the intensity of those images flashing through my daughter's head.  What really disturbed me about the visual images was that these were no longer just characters in a book, but that these people were children--young children.  If this concept had been penned with grown-ups in the arena, fighting each other to the death, all in the name of civilization, the movie would carry an R rating, but since it is a young-adult book, PG-13 was necessary.

When I dragged myself out of bed after a too-brief three-hour nap night's sleep, I found Lily sitting at the computer looking up show times.  How could I tell her? What would I decide to do? Tell her I'd changed my mind, and I wouldn't allow her to see the movie?

Am I a hypocrite?  I let her read the book, after all.  Is a movie really all that different from the book?
In this case, yes it is.  There is a reason the movie is rated PG-13.  She's not thirteen.  And I'm the parent.  I get final say.

As she left for school that morning, I told her I was thinking about it, but I didn't know if I'd let her see the movie or not.  By 2:15, I was sure--she would not be seeing Hunger Games any time in the near future. 

To say she was angry is like describing the Statue of Liberty as tall.  She was furious--anger, stamping, tears, shouting.  Her friends saw it at midnight.  Her friends loved it.  She wouldn't be scared. And the backbone of her argument, "YOU PROMISED!"

Yes, I had promised.  That promise had been a mistake, and I wasn't going to compound my initial mistake by making another, one that I couldn't take back.  She ranted and railed, but I never relented.  I stuck to my decision, and that's that.

Don't misunderstand me.  I like the books themselves--they provide a lot for kids to think about--to deeply consider and evaluate on moral levels.  I love that it had the big boys thinking about modern reality TV, politics, violence, and our society in general.  And I will let Lily finish reading the last two books.

But she will not be seeing the movie any time in the near future.

That's the beauty of being the parent.  I get to decide.  I get to set the limits.  I get to take the heat for my decisions.

And I won't budge.  I don't care who else has seen it.

Foto Friday--Silver in the Mouth

Hyrum had two dental adventures this week.

On Monday he got two root canals and two silver crowns.  A little nitrous oxide took the edge off.

 We were in such a rush to get there that he grabbed these shoes.

 As long as he had his silky, he was shockingly still and obedient--for fifty minutes they ground on him and pushed and pulled.

 I couldn't believe it was Hyrum in the chair.  That's how good he was.

We finished up the adventure yesterday--one more root canal, one more silver crown, one tooth pulled and one spacer installed.  It took almost ninety minutes this time, and by the end, he was a little whiny and sick of it.  Neither the dentist nor I could blame him for his discomfort.

 Plus, he got to bring the tooth home in this cool necklace box, which he promptly misplaced when he got home.

He pleaded his case with the tooth fairy:

"The dentist pulled my tooth.  But I lost it.  Please don't be mad at me.
Hyrum"

I told him that the tooth fairy might pay better for dentist-pulled teeth than mom-pulled teeth.

I was right!

Now, I hope to NEVER have that adventure EVER again!

Enjoy your first spring weekend!

Rugby

One of the most rewarding parts of being a mother is watching your child discover something they love.

This guy loves rugby.

Everything about it.

I know not a single rule of the game.  I know that scoring is called "a try" and that there are different point values assigned to different things, but that's about all I know.  Oh, and that they hit each other a lot--and HARD--and there's something called a scrum, but I don't know much more than that it's a huddle of some kind.

All I know?

I love him, and if he loves rugby, then so do I.

Linking this post to Jenny Matlock's R Alphabe-Thursday.

Just a Hypothetical Question

What would you do if you discovered this little angel . . .

. . . was capable of this level of deviltry?

Paint. Sofa cushion cover, TV, TV console.

And not ONE DROP on her hands, face or clothes.  I don't know how she managed that one.

Elbow Grease and Paint Pants: Craigslist Assistance

This project is one I've put off for at least five months now.

About seven years ago, I bought four parsons chairs at a neighborhood garage sale for $20 each.  I knew that the gold fabric, although acceptable, would never survive in my then five-child family. My mom came down to AZ for a visit, and between the two of us, we spent 30+ hours figuring out how to slipcover parsons chairs.  They turned out beautifully, and they quickly found homes around our homework desk.

Fast forward seven years and two more children, and these four chairs have really been through the war.  Spotted with black from an errant Sharpie marker fight (don't ask), stained from sneakers and snacks, even missing a few buttons, I knew the covers had served to the end of their lives.  Unfortunately, the chairs underneath had also taken a pretty severe beating as well.  They were rickety from leaning back and thinking, rickety from being used as fort buttresses, rickety from tipping over in a fit of spelling rage.  They needed to be replaced.

One week at the auction, I spied a dining table and four parsons chairs.  Table was rustic, never been used as far as I could tell, not my style, and really not needed around here, but the table and chairs all came as a set.  I got all five pieces for $100--that was a score.

I listed the table on Craigslist, and it quickly sold--for $90.  Now the chairs only cost me ten bucks, but they too were not my taste.

Great lines, fantastic condition, not a single mark or scratch on any of the chairs.  I swear this dining set had just been ornamental in someone's house, that's how new they looked.  I stowed the chairs away in a closet for months, never thinking much about them until I found a great fabric for $2.99 that I knew would work.  Even after purchasing the fabric, I neglected the project because the 30+ hours of labor I knew it would take to slipcover them would come booming back into my mind, and who has 30+ hours just waiting to be filled?  Not me.

Then, a friend told me about her slipcover guy.  When I called him, he said he'd made probably 500 parsons chair slipcovers, and he'd only charge me $55 apiece.  He stopped by on Friday morning, grabbed one chair and the bolt of fabric and disappeared.

SIX HOURS LATER, he called me and said he was done, could he bring the covers by at 6 pm?

I was in complete shock.  Seriously?  Four chairs in less than six hours, and that includes time to drive to his shop!  I love them, really love them. And they look great--even better since I didn't have to make them!

I listed the four old chairs on Craigslist for ten bucks apiece, and they were gone in one day--the lady seemed to think she could clean the upholstery and fix the rickety-ness.  Go for it, I say.

All in all, I spent less than $50 a chair--and I saved 30 hours of my time to boot!

Lessons Learned:

• Postponing a project sometimes provides a great solution.  Take time to think about what you really want to do and ask around for ideas.
• When deciding on whether to do a project yourself or hire it out, don't forget to calculate how much your time is worth to you.  Thirty hours of my time compared to six hours of his?  That's a no-brainer.
• If you see a set for sale and you only need part of it, keep in mind how much you could sell the unwanted items for and factor that into your bid.
• Craig could be my boyfriend.  I love him, and he's never let me down.  He could be your boyfriend too.

Until next week,
Going once, going, twice,
SOLD!