2011-12: Micah

Most little boys have one elementary school teacher that is young and cute and nice. Micah had that teacher, Miss H, this year. Not only was she blond, young, and darling, she was also great at challenging and directing a smart boy who often needs a little extra direction to keep him busy.

 Pictures from Science Day--an experiment mimicking rainstorms and clouds.  Thank you, Pinterest.

One day I walked into the classroom and found Micah sitting back by himself while everyone else was working on math. Miss H quickly told me he was completing a different assignment, since he had already mastered what the class was doing. That impressed me. There are so few teachers left who can teach outside the "teach-to-the-test" mentality, and for her to be teaching that way at 28 gives me hope for the future of our gifted kids in public education.

Micah still struggles with penmanship and taking time to write down all the amazing ideas conjured by his active imagination. Knowing his older siblings, I expect this to be a problem until he can type and his fingers can keep pace with his mind.

 Micah's piano skills exploded this year. Any time he walked past the piano, he had to play at least one song. He has the best piano teacher ever--one who understands him and challenges him. I'm so sad to see Mr. Marcum move to Missouri this summer, but hopefully we can continue lessons through the miracle of Skype.

I will always remember second grade as the year Micah read all seven Harry Potter books and through that adventure cemented his love of reading for the rest of his life. That kid knows every spell and every character on every page in that series.

Micah is the bee in the center with the plaid shorts.  Shots from "the play." You know, the one where he  . . . pinched someone.  A few people have asked me what happened with the principal, and the answer is  . . . nothing.  I saw her quite a few times after "the pinch,"  and she ignored me.  Whatever.

I love this kid, and I can't wait to see what third grade has in store.

2011-12: Ben

Ben took two huge leaps this year.

The first, and biggest, was his sole decision to leave the giant public high school three minutes from our house and attend a small charter high school seven miles away. I must admit that I wasn't 100% behind this idea in the beginning. Our high school is ranked nationally in a few areas and is one of the best in the state. None of these things mattered to Ben when making his decision. He thought about it for a few months last year, and after praying a out it, he decided the best place for him would be Heritage Academy.

We supported him in his decision, but I told him that he would be responsible for getting himself to school every day. He found a nice older road bike on Craigslist, and he rode to school every day. Some days he would ride to a friend's house and hitch a ride halfway, but I only took him to school less than five times all year--including football season, when he had to take full pads to practice (bungee corded to the back--it was kinda funny). Those twice-daily bike trips built a strength of character that he would have missed this year.

He made fantastic friends, won the state championships in football, and made the acappella choir for next year--all things he would have missed out on if he'd listened to me.  I'm so glad he didn't listen to me--this time.

The second leap was his complete immersion in rugby.  He loved it, every bit of it--from the road rash and pulled muscles to the chest-pounding trash talk and leg-snapping tackles (a teammate of his--yeah, it was gross).

The culmination of his rugby year was traveling with his team, as AZ state U19 champions, to nationals.  Although their team didn't do as well as they'd hoped and Ben played even less, he did actually carry the ball and play at the national level.  That was a huge achievement.  And he's already planning on next season.

What I will always remember about tenth grade and Ben will be his first date.  I was taking him to a friend's party when he got a text, read it, then started laughing.  He told me that a girl he knew had a really cute friend who hadn't been asked to her prom.  Would he take her?  Oh, and it was the NEXT NIGHT!  He hadn't been on a date yet, and was not going to his own prom because of rugby nationals, so he said, why not?

Ben's first date was a blind date to someone else's prom with less than 24 hours notice.  I scrambled, pulled out Tucker's choir tux which fit well enough, called the florist (who thought he was amazing to take a girl he didn't know to her prom and arranged the most beautiful corsage with four hours' notice), and watched my second son as he entered the world of women.

And what did she look like?  She's in the black and white.

 I know.  The pictures are poor-quality teenager cell phone shots.  But it was the best I could manage when I didn't even know the girl's last name until Ben got home that night.

Worth $50 at Outback?  I think so.

Ben grew up a lot this year--especially when it came to responsibility for his grades.  Hopefully the lessons he learned the last four weeks of school will stick with him through the last two years of high school. 

Two more years I get to enjoy full-time mothering of this guy.  Love him.

Linking up to B with Jenny Matlock.

2011-12: Hyrum

Thanks to my technical adviser, Kara, who resurrected my pictures from certain death. I can't say THANKS enough!

 I've blogged about Hyrum's preschool teacher before. She is unbelievably good at what she does.

Mrs. M puts on two full programs in May--one for Mother's Day and one for graduation.

Hyrum was a purple pansy--and the state of his petals describes what kind of pansy he was--a little bit rambunctious, if you can picture that!

He tried hard to be good and listen and follow directions, but there were friends in his class that distracted him (if you believe that one, you don't know Mr. Distraction).

Many of the reasons I love Mrs. M revolve around her philosophy of teaching them responsibility/love for school.  The most important thing Hyrum learned this year is that school is fun--a place where he can love learning new things--even if he only gave Mrs. M one hug all year long, he knew she loved him.  He also learned that the fun of school brings responsibility along with it--he had homework that wasn't graded beyond writing his name and making a mark on the paper, but he knew it was his job to complete those sheets every day.

My favorite thing about Mrs. M's preschool is watching the light bulb of reading turn on in their minds.  By teaching them songs and sounds for each letter, she teaches them to read without them even realizing it.

I love sitting with Hyrum and listen to him sound out unfamiliar words and then watch when his mind registers what that word says.  Hyrum read 125 beginner books this year--he and the other Hyrum (who would have thought there'd be two Hyrums in his class!) each got a big blue pin on their chests and these special graduation bears for reading the most.

Preschool is one of my favorite stages of development, and I completely enjoyed watching Hyrum grow up a little bit this year.

CRASH! BAM!

My intentions for this week were to dedicate a post a day to each child's end-of-the-year pictures.

Unfortunately, I think I've done something unforgivable with Lightroom and I may have lost all the pictures from the last three weeks.

I have an SOS call out to my local Lightroom expert, but until then, I got nothing. 

Wish me luck.

Mommy School 2011-12: What I Learned from Thursdays

When school started in August, I made a decision.

After assessing the schedules of tumbling practice, piano lessons, homework patterns, Church activities and sports, I decided that Thursdays would be Denton-only days.  No friends.  No TV or computer. 

Occasionally something would creep into my carefully protected Thursdays that kids had to do--birthday parties, extra practices, school projects--but those Thursdays were the exception.  The kids learned that begging for friends or TV would fall flat, so they eventually walked through the door on Thursday afternoons with a slight sigh on their lips as they asked, "What are we doing today?"  Most of the time I have to say that they got excited about the activities I had planned.


The first Thursday, way back in August, we just swam together and ate otter pops.  Another Thursday I took them all to a dollar movie right when school got out. One time we got ice cream and played at the park.  One Thursday afternoon we all made nests out of pillows and blankets and we lounged around reading and eating popcorn all afternoon. Once we even invited friends and spent a few hours at the zoo.  Other times, we cleaned out the game cupboards or toy closets (these activities didn't go over quite so well, but Micah actually remarked that it was actually fun to do it together--who knew?).

I searched pinterest and marked crafts and science experiments to try--

Some were successful, like tracing all of our upper bodies with arms outstretched, one on top of the other, to send to Tucker for his birthday.

Others were not, like the time we tried to replicate these glowing jars. I would not suggest using glow-in-the-dark fabric paint as an alternative to the paint she suggests.  Doesn't work.

Since Brad and Ben were both out of town for the last Thursday of the school year, I surprised them with a trip to Barnes and Noble (one book each), Nielsen's hamburgers and frozen custard for dinner, then home to watch American Idol's final three on DVR.  Lily said it was the best Thursday ever.


They saw Thursday as a punishment--one whole day every week where they couldn't play with friends. A daylong sentence spent with siblings and Mom.  I saw Thursday as a gift--a gift of time with my four littlest kids that I will never get back.  Lily moves on to junior high in the fall, and because her release time from school will be so much later, she will no longer be part of our Thursday escapades.

When the beginning of August rolls around this year, you can bet I will reserve one day each week to enjoy my kids. 

And that's the most important thing I learned all school year--enjoying the journey.

Mommy School 2011-12: What I Learned About Checks and Spikees

I've been a mom a long time.

A very long time.  Sometimes it seems like forever.

Two things I've struggled with as a parent for forever:  teaching kids to work and teaching kids to speak kindly.


As a kid, the same work chart was posted under the kitchen fire extinguisher for as long as I can remember.  Job lists stayed the same every week, our names rotated across the top. Not rocket science, but it was effective.  I've had many systems over the years, but none of them was permanent, mostly because kids just didn't complete their chores to my satisfaction, so I was always trying something new.

In January we tried a new chore enforcement system, and it  works!

Each child chose a sticky note color (from top to bottom Ben, Lily, Micah, Hyrum).  Every morning after the kids left for school, I would check their rooms, bathrooms, and at night after bed I would check their chores.  If even a single thing was left out or undone, I would toss a sticky note atop the offending item, then place a check by their sticky note on the board with a short note describing the infraction.  Whoever had the least number of checks at the end of the week earned lunch with Mom on Saturday or got to choose their Saturday chore list.

This worked really well for a few months.  Then, Ben decided he didn't care if he got to pick his chores or eat lunch with his mama.  This is when I had a stroke of PURE genius.  Instead of placing check marks by their color, I began counting from the first infraction I encountered and recorded that number instead.  (In this example, Ben had the first and fifth missed job, Lily the second, Micah the third, and Hyrum the fourth.)  The numbers on the board would reflect the difficulty of chores assigned on Saturday morning--#1 is always sweep and mop all of the hard floors, #2 is always kitchen counters, and the rest rotate depending on the level of disarray at the Sanatorium.

What made this system work better than anything before, and what has made it stick, is the promise of reward at the end of the week--the number of checks they have during the week is the number of chores they are assigned on Saturday.  If no checks occur, then MOM does all the chores on Saturday.  Not that that has happened yet, but I have noticed the number of infractions drop from 4-5 for each child per week to 1-3 each per week.  And those who only have one have a gloriously liberating Saturday.  Plus, I figure that if they ever do have a no-infraction week and I am required to do all the Saturday chores, the house will be so clean that it won't take me long at all.

PURE genius, right?  It's worked really well.  The biggest benefit I've found is that I'm not nagging on them every second to do their chores--the chalkboard does all the talking for me.  Another side benefit?  I'm not the bad guy, the chalkboard is.  I thought it would increase my time policing chores, but it has actually decreased.  We'll have to see how this works over the summer when everyone's home all day long, but I have high hopes.


As for talking kindly, Lily came up with this solution.

Following on the heels of the colored sticky notes, each family was assigned a colored pom pom. Whenever we hear yelling or screaming or unkind words, Mom puts in one of that person's pom poms (aptly named by Ben as "spikees" because pom poms and fuzzies were too sweet-sounding).  We have a family goal of how many spikees can be in the jar every week, and if we're under that number, then we take everyone out for an ice cream cone or a treat at home.  We began with a goal of under twenty infractions for our family in a week, and we gradually whittled that number down a few every week.  Then, we began setting individual goals of cutting their number in half during the week for a reward.

This has worked better than I ever thought possible.  It stops unkind speaking or yelling instantly without Mom or Dad having to yell back.  All we have to say is, "That's a spiky in the jar, " and the offending kid stops.  That in itself is a miracle.  No back talk.  No justification.  They just stop with the unspoken threat that another spiky could follow.  It has also been interesting to see who the biggest offenders of unkind/loud talk are--Ben has gone many weeks without a single spiky in the jar, and Brad rarely has one (but he's not home as much as Mom is!).  Lily has conquered her biggest problem of back talking.  Micah got the most spikees for whining back, and he's doing much better.  Hyrum is still working on hitting, and Mom has caught herself many a time before another hot pink spiky had to be tossed in the jar.  Eve?  Evie doesn't have an assigned color, but with her passing through the terrible twos right now, our jar would be overflowing, so we're cutting her a break for now.

Summer will be a challenge since everyone will be home 24/7, but I think it will still have the same effect. At least I hope so.

Can't believe it's taken me 21 years to find solutions that work for our family.  What works with your family?

Mommy School 2011-12: What I've Learned This Year About Snacks

It's that time of year--parties, programs, graduations.  Teachers assess what kids have learned and kids reflect on how they've grown up since August 2011.

I've seen such changes in my kids this school year--big and small.  Then I thought about what I've learned about mothering this school year, and there were a few things I learned as well.  You'd think that after you've been parenting as long as I have that you'd have it down. 

You'd be wrong.

I thought I'd share a few of the best things I improved since August 2011.

Every day after school, my kids burst through the door, throw backpacks wherever they can, and say, "I'm hungry!"  Until this year, I would tell them to find something to eat and get on their homework.  We always have a huge bowl of fruit on the counter, but they would wander to the pantry and find a sleeve of crackers or a package of fruit snacks most of the time.

This year I changed my approach.  Fifteen minutes before school got out, I would take some time to cut one vegetable and one fruit--enough to fill all the empty bellies.  Then I would take the tray to the homework table and when the kids came home, we would snack while they told me about their day and started their homework.  I discovered that they didn't miss the crackers or fruit snacks at all and we had an extra serving or two of fruit and vegies that day. Some days I would forget or be too busy to prepare this snack for them, and on those days Micah would invariably look at the desk and ask, "Where's our snack today?"

I found that it became part of their routine and turned a crazy, complaining time of day around to a positive way to unwind from school. I'm definitely keeping this up next year (and over the summer, too!)

Foto Friday--Fathers and Their Sons

What is it about camping without mothers that is so appealing to boys?

 Quick pick-up softball games that even dads play

 Twenty-five minutes on the tire swing with no one around reminding you to share

 Sticks, sticks, sticks and no one around to warn you that someone could lose an eye

 Hanging precariously with no one thinking to spot you in case you fall

 Personally designed weaponry and no one reminding you that you put your pants on wrong

 Staying up super late and no one there telling you it's bedtime

I get it.  And I'm so glad my boys have a dad that takes them every year.

Tucker

Just the thought of writing this post has brought me to tears a few times today.

May 17, 2012--My baby boy is 2,400 miles away and it will be the first time on this date that I can't feel his hug.
May 17, 2012--My baby boy has been gone for 366 days today--one half of his mission is complete.
May 17, 2012--My baby boy turns twenty today.

The story of my large family hinged on Tucker's safe and timely birth.  Heidi's birth had been so traumatic and dangerous that if the same complications happened a second time, then our family size would be limited to just two.

 April 1992 with Heidi

 After successfully scoring high on the LSAT, Brad began applying to  top-five law schools all over the country, and we recognized that our time in idyllic Orem, Utah, was winding to a close.  Leaving Orem would mean leaving our full-coverage health insurance provided by Brad's employer, WordPerfect (remember them?)--$25 copay required for an entire pregnancy, no matter the complications.  Once Baby was born, then we had to shell out an additional $25.  They certainly don't make health plans like they used to, do they?  Heidi's birth had been so traumatic and dangerous and expensive that we knew our next child had to be born under full health coverage. Heidi was only eight months old when we came to this conclusion--eight months old and ten pounds.

July 1992--six weeks old

We had only tried one month to get pregnant the first time, but our window for delivery was limited--May through August when we anticipated leaving for law school, depending on where Brad was accepted--so we decided it was time.

1993

Less than two weeks later, I was pregnant--pregnant and nursing an eight-month-old daughter who refused to take a bottle.  This was an emotional time for me.  I was still very young (just turned 22), and I didn't know your body could support a fetus and a nursing baby at the same time.  I panicked.  I remember praying, "Please let Heidi learn to take a bottle so that I can devote all my energy to this new baby."  And the next day, Heidi remembered the joys of the artificial nipple.

Christmas 1993--eighteen months old

I want to save Heidi's story for her birthday, but let me just interject here that she was born by emergency C-section because I had pre-eclampsia.  That whole experience left me scared and paranoid for how my body would react to the new intruder over the next eight months.  I had switched from Heidi's doctor to a new one (just realized he delivered NieNie's Charlotte), and Dr. J was kind about my paranoia.  He let me come into the office as often as I wanted to check my blood pressure and urine, just to be sure everything was normal and safe.

1994

Even though this was my second pregnancy, I had never been past 31 weeks or experienced a single labor pain, so this was all new territory for me.  I got bigger and bigger and more and more miserable.  The farther along I got, the more I realized that I hadn't missed out on anything the first time around.

Christmas 1995--Mesa, AZ

My due date was May 18, but starting around the first of the month I began counting and timing contractions.  Despite never being in agonizing pain, the contractions were less than five minutes apart for over two hours, and I knew this was the night--the middle of the night.


My maternal grandparents lived a few miles straight up 8th East, and Grandma had volunteered to keep her "Heidi Baby-Doll" when I went into labor.  Despite the late/early hour of 1 am, I picked up the phone and half-spoke, half-yelled to my nearly deaf grandpa that it was time for the baby.  I could hear the excitement in his 81-year-old voice as he hung up the phone, and I could see the joy on my grandma's 76-year-old face as she ushered mini little Heidi into the bedroom and showed her the little bed made up just for her on Grandma's floor--a place Heidi had slept many times as I was finishing up my degree at BYU.


Brad asked my grandpa to assist him in giving me a blessing, then Grandpa gave me one of his own--probably the only time in my life that he had done so--and we were off to the hospital.

1996--Kindergarten, in his Tigger shirt

I don't remember all the details, but after four-five hours in the hospital and not progressing at all, I was sent home, humiliated with the words, "This is her second baby?"  ringing in my ears.  We pulled up to my grandparents' house to take Heidi home.  To say I was discouraged doesn't describe it.


A week later, my grandparents received a second middle-of-the night phone call, and they were almost as excited this second time--greeted at the door, bed made on the floor.  A few hours later, we were back again--a second false alarm.  This was becoming a joke.  And I repeated this whole humiliating circumstance once more before the week was over.

1997--first grade

 May 16, 1992--I had an appointment with Dr. J and he stripped my membranes, promising me that this would surely do the job.  Later that night--really late that night--I called my sainted grandma and told her that this was it--my water had broken.  We carried Heidi into the dark house, and before I could see any life inside, I heard Grandpa say, "Mumma, is she EVER gonna have that baby?"  She replied, "Yes, Dad.  Her water broke this time."  This was the first inclination of how I had imposed upon them.

1998--toothless at his baptism, age 8

I was admitted to the hospital and labor progressed pretty well.  I had the epidural and I could rest some, but I was nervous to have a baby vaginally--the pain, the fear, and the epidural wasn't working right.  I could feel everything.  Why was this happening?

1999-third grade

The anesthesiologist entered the room per my request for the third or fourth time that night, and he told me that the medicine was working and he couldn't give me any more.  To prove his point, he asked me to move one of my "numb" legs.  He was standing even with the end of the bed, and he was lucky he had such good reflexes, because I aimed a strong kick right at his abdomen.  After that response, he left the room and came back with more medicine.  

2000-01--fourth grade

 It never did work right.  Delivering Baby #2 was akin to most women's first deliveries since no one had paved the path yet.  At 6 am I started pushing.  And pushing.  And pushing.  Nothing happened.  Nothing changed.  Not a thing.  After two hours of excruciating pain and no progress, the doctor on call (Dr. J was not on call that night) checked me and discovered Baby was posterior and couldn't descend far enough to deliver.  He inserted forceps one at a time and proceeded to turn.  After a quarter turn I felt Baby stubbornly fight back against the intrusion and then I watched the forceps return to their original position as the doctor muttered, "oh, oh, oh."  Offended by this stubborn baby, the doctor said, "You can't come out like that, Baby."  And he grabbed those tongs and yanked baby around to an anterior position.  I watched and felt Baby complete a flip--it was one of the weirdest things I've ever experienced. 

2002--karate in fifth grade

 Moments later, at 9:03 am on May 17, 1992, I delivered a healthy 8 lb. 1 oz. 20 1/2" baby boy with a head in the 95th percentile.  He was absolutely beautiful and perfect and breathing and . . . mine.  His successful birth with no complications brought with it the promise of more Denton babies to follow.

2003--sixth grade

 These were the days way before routine ultrasounds--even though I was a high-risk pregnancy, I hadn't had even one, so no one knew what we were getting.  I was thrilled to have a boy--now what to name him?  Brad liked Zane and Rex, neither of which I could say with a straight face.  Really?  The name I loved was Christian.  I had loved it for years and that's where my mind settled.  Brad came to his senses and migrated to Tucker, my maiden name.  Baby was born six days after my dad's birthday--what could be better?

2004--twelve  years old with Micah just minutes old

I had grown up with a name one letter from the most offensive word in the English language, and I had no desire to assign that weight to my beautiful new baby.  Kids are cruel.  Why would I purposely do this?  In the end, we compromised and named him Tucker Christian, but he would go by Christian.

2005--eighth grade

That sounds so weird now, but as I watch home movies from the first four months of his life and hear him called by his middle name, I wonder what I was thinking.  Law school sent us to Chicago in September, and at that time, not knowing a soul in our new city, we decided to make the break and call him Tucker.  It was a difficult transition, from Christian to Tucker C and then just Tucker by the time he was three.  Now he could never be anything else but our Tucker.  His name has always been a perfect fit for him.

2006--ninth grade

 T was born with a strong will that has taken many hours of strong parenting. He has always had a black and white outlook on life--he knows what is right and nothing, NOTHING will sway him from it.  He was doing frameless puzzles before he was two, and he has always let you know how smart he is. Around the time he turned five we began calling him Tigger for his boundless energy and lack of focus. I fought and fought with him to audition for his first play, then I basked in the joy of finding his love of performing.

2007--looking cool

2008--humanitarian trip to Mozambique with Brad

 2009--in Thoroughly Modern Millie

I love Tucker's firm commitment to the things he knows are right.  I love hearing his singing ring through the house, the door slam and his keys hit the drawer when he gets home.  I love his laugh and especially his hugs. Sending him out on a mission has been the best thing ever for him--it has tempered him in some ways and made him even stronger in others. I miss him more that I ever thought I could, but I wouldn't want him anywhere else. Even though he can't read my blog while he's serving a mission, I hope he can feel my birthday wishes from so far away.

 2010--eighteen years old

2011

 2012--with his favorite mission companion, Elder Clement

His favorite elementary teacher once told me during a conference that "Tucker will change the world one day.  He just has to pick the day."

I have a feeling that that day is getting closer.

366 days down.  I'll pass one more May 17th with him gone.  And then I'll get another one of his rib-busting hugs.


You can bet I'm counting.