Me Too!

Yesterday both boys were fresh out of the bath and still just wearing diaper and underwear. Peter had successfully used the bathroom and walked into his room carrying his bounty: a large marshmallow. Cooper saw it and started pointing and signing please rather insistently. I asked Cooper if he wanted the marshmallow. His reply: "Yeah." I told him that it was Peter's reward for using the bathroom and that Cooper would need to use the bathroom in order to get one. He immediately reached down and tried to undo his diaper.

I think I know what bribe to employ when it's time to potty-train Cooper...

Child of the 80's

This has been in my head for the last day and a half, and I don't mind one little bit. I found it here.



Happy Friday.

Losing My Mind One Diaper at a Time

I was thinking today about the good old days. I fondly remember how Peter wanted to potty-train last year, how he hated wearing diapers, how excited he was whenever he successfully used the bathroom.

I've been pondering on that time because he's not doing any of those things now. No, that's not true. He's mostly excited when he uses the toilet, but that's only after an extreme tantrum and wrestling match have taken place to sit him upon the porcelain throne. You see, I've decided that I'm ready. I'm ready to have Peter out of diapers. And I think he is too. I think he's physically ready. He sometimes wakes-up in the morning with a dry diaper. I think he's developmentally ready. He understands the process and knows how to make everything work.

The problem is that he doesn't want to. I'm not sure if it's that he doesn't want to be interrupted with whatever he's doing or if he just doesn't care. On Thursday of last week I dutifully put Pull-Ups on him and set the timer, telling him that when the microwave beeped then it would be time to use the bathroom. He was game for most of the day. Toward afternoon it took a little more prodding to get him to go, but he was still trying. Then at about 5 o'clock he announced that he was done, he wouldn't be using the bathroom again until Monday. I told him I didn't think he could hold it that long. He looked at me confidently and said, "Oh, I can."

I know I should have tried again the next day, but because Friday is our shopping day, I didn't insist that he go as regularly. On Saturday, Sunday, and Monday we would prompt Peter regularly to go use the bathroom, but each reminder was rebuffed. On Monday night while I was getting him ready for bed I told him that when he woke the next day he would wear underwear. He told me he would not.

On Tuesday I dutifully got the thick underwear out of the top drawer and let Peter pick which color he would wear. He chose red and blue stripes. Then, after having him use the bathroom, I set the timer. He was willing the first two times, but after that he flat out refused. But I had put real underwear on him, not a Pull-Up, I was committed. And darn it, he and I are both much too stubborn for our own good, so whenever the timer beeped I cheerfully told him that it was time to use the bathroom. He would defiantly tell me no and then, when I persisted, he would flail and scream and hit and kick and do other unwelcome things to express his displeasure over the situation.

He told me on Tuesday that he would NEVER potty-train.

I can't figure out why though. Why is he so against this? I know that you're supposed to follow the lead of the child, but I'm afraid that he'll never lead.

Any advice? Thoughts? Has anyone potty-trained a remarkably headstrong and independent child? Or known anyone that has? Or maintained their sanity in the process?

Like Father, Like Son, Part 2

Bryan's dad, Bryan's brother Spencer, and Bryan.

Peter asked me yesterday what little boys are made of. He was asking about the nursery rhyme. All I could come with was snails and puppy dog tails. I told him I was missing something and asked him to help me remember what it was.

Me: Peter, what are little boys made of?

Peter: Computers.

I think he may be right.

No Shoes, No Shirt, No Problem

"You know, I have to be almost naked to eat spaghetti."
-Peter, dressed in his Pull-Up and eating spaghetti

Peter, you're not the only one.

Expelled

Have you seen Expelled? It's Ben Stein's documentary about the exclusion of Intelligent Design from current scientific theory. Bryan and I watched it a few months ago and watched it again last night with Bryan's dad and brother. I realize that all documentaries are trying to make a specific point, they're propaganda. This is no exception. But I think his particular slant is fascinating.

He asks the basic question: What is so wrong with Intelligent Design? He gets answers like "it's stupid," "it's insane," and "it's utterly boring." All of these answers are provided by scientists, academics. Then Stein takes it a step further by asking what Intelligent Design actually is. The two opposing camps have radically different definitions.

And then he talks about Nazi Germany. That's the terrifying part of the documentary.

Go watch it, then come back and tell me what you thought.

Now That I Can Dance

I'm not endorsing the product, I just love when large groups of people simultaneously dance in unison.

The Elusive Zzzzs

Cooper woke up before four o'clock this morning. Oh how I envy parents that can simply put their children in their beds and have them sleep soundly through the night.

Last night was rough at our house. Really rough. Part of the roughness stems from Peter still being a nap-needing-child but at the same time not being able to take naps. We discovered a few months ago that if Peter took a nap during the day then he wouldn't go to sleep at night. Yesterday he needed a nap. He was grumpy, kept throwing tantrums, and had great big dark circles under his eyes. So, we had him take a nap. He woke up a much happier little boy.

Fast forward to bedtime. He wasn't as cranky as usual, but I could tell from his exponentially growing level of zaniness that he was tired. The more tired Peter is, the greater the likelihood of him running endless circles around his room. I kept reminding myself that he had had a nap and probably wouldn't go to sleep as easily as I would like. He didn't. I won't go into all the details, but I will say that towards the end of our much-derailed bedtime routine I pushed Cooper's bed into my room and told Peter to go to sleep on his own. This was for everyone's sanity.

I held Cooper in my room and listened to Peter's hysteria escalate. Once Cooper had dozed off I went into Peter and comforted him. He calmed down, but still wouldn't sleep. Bryan got home from work and took over Peter-duty while I went into the now awake Cooper. Both boys were finally asleep by ten at night, three hours past their normal bedtime.

When Peter goes to sleep late he will often wake up late. Not so with Cooper. That boy's internal clock is tightly wound and rarely lets him sleep past seven in the morning. Except lately he's been waking in the middle of the night. He screams and cries until one of us rescues him from his crib-confinement and then holds him while he actively sleeps in our bed for the rest of the night, resulting in a refreshed Cooper and two dead-on-our-feet parents. This morning he wouldn't go back to sleep.

Let us do a little math, shall we? He usually goes to sleep at seven at night and awakens at seven in the morning. That's twelve hours of much needed rejuvenating slumber for our small man. Last night he was asleep by ten (well, I think Cooper zonked out by nine-thirty, but we'll say ten for math purposes) and woke up at four. That's six hours of sleep, okay for an adult, but six hours short for a growing seventeen-month-old.

And that brings me to now. Here I sit at 6:42 in the morning, listening to Cooper cry because I've put him back in his own bed and very sweetly told him to go to sleep.

It's going to be a long day.

Big Red Cape

Bryan and I were reupholstering a chair last night and decided to watch something that didn't require a great deal of concentration. After looking through the choices we had on hand Bryan decided on something. About a minute into the movie I realized I had never seen it before, which was kind of surprising to me. I know I've seen at least one of the sequels and a recent "reboot", but not the original. No, I'm not talking about Star Trek. (I've seen all of those... and own many of them.) Nope this is a different franchise.

I had never seen Superman.

Wow. My first thought while watching it was, "Movies have really come a long way." I asked Bryan all kinds of questions during our viewing about pesky things like gaping plot holes and hokey special effects. My suspension of disbelief is pretty willing, but this was difficult to watch with a straight face.

I love a good Superhero movie. X-Men and X2: fabulous. Spider-Man: great. Spider-Man 2: even better. (Yes, I did leave X-Men: The Last Stand and Spider-Man 3 out of that list on purpose. They hurt my soul.) Ironman: Can't wait for the sequel! Heck, I even liked both The Hulk and The Incredible Hulk. Superman The Movie: Seriously?

One good thing about it, other than the casting of an actress with a fabulous name, was the wide-eyed innocence of Clark Kent. That was kind of fun.

You know, it was just fine as long as I reminded myself that it was a comedy.

It is a comedy, right?

Crazy Eight

According to About.com, Bryan should be giving me one of the following today:

• Something Bronze

• An Appliance

• A Casino Visit

I do love appliances, but seeing as I haven't gotten anything for him I don't think it would be fair. I think a nice "Happy Anniversary, thanks for saying yes" would be swell.

Happy Eighth Anniversary Bryan!

How Does Your Garden Grow?

Behold, the garden:

Two of the empty spots are from the peas that died in July and the potatoes that I pulled up last week. I think the grasshoppers had been feasting on them. The leaves were all dead. In all we harvested thirty-five potatoes. Not bad. Our next largest crop so far has been cucumbers. I planted twice as many as I should have. I also planted about a third as many beans as I should have. Oh well, it's my first garden, and thus a major learning experience. Also, do you like the abandoned beds of weeds on either side of our garden?

And now, a few close-ups.

The pumpkin:


Technically, it's pumpkins. I found two more small gourds growing, but they're still green and therefore don't show up in this picture due to the massive leaves.

The fluffy and abundant carrots:


I thinned them a few weeks ago and for days could see nothing but carrot tops when I closed my eyes. Seriously.

The tomatoes:

We have three tomato plants and, barring birds or bugs, will pick at least sixty-six tomatoes from them. I really love tomatoes.

Are you growing anything this year?

Uplifting

I went to book club last night. It's the first time I've been able to go since April. The book for this month was Yearning for the Living God by F. Enzio Busche.

Maybe I shouldn't admit this, but, with the exception of the scriptures, I don't read many church books. I also don't read that many biographies or autobiographies. Nope, I like to stick to Young Adult Fantasy. Think Harry Potter, Percy Jackson, and Septimus Heap. Oh, and so far anything by Shannon Hale. So I was a little apprehensive about reading an Emeritus General Authority's autobiography.

Guess what? I liked it. Granted, I haven't finished it yet, but I like what I've read. Elder Busche was born in Germany in 1930. He said that at that time when a baby was born their name was automatically added to the list of Hitler's youth. It was fascinating reading what Germany looked like from the inside during World War II. They had no idea what Hitler was doing with the concentration camps. They were told that they were going to save the morally corrupt world by living good, honest, chaste, honorable lives. Elder Busche said the discovery of what had really happened was devastating to the country as a whole.

He then went on to discuss meeting the missionaries and his two-year investigation of the church. He didn't want to follow someone blindly again and repeat the pain of the aftermath of Hitler. Throughout the book he shares wonderful spiritual experiences, including dreams and visions of angels.

The question was raised during the meeting: why don't we have these kinds of experiences? Are we lacking the needed faith? There were a few answers that I thought were interesting. One was that we do, but these are very sacred and personal experiences that aren't usually shared. One girl had worked in the Folklore archives at BYU and she said that they had many many miraculous stories documented and filed away, all true and very personal.

The second answer was that we do see angels, but they're not always beings robed in white. They are often real, ordinary people. They come to us in our times of need and trial and sorrow. They lift us up and give us service. One woman in the group has just come through a long battle with breast cancer. Her eyes filled with tears as she said that she knew there were angels in our ward because she had been blessed by many of them.

The discussion was uplifting and intellectually enlightening. There wasn't the usual back-and-forth about why the book was bad or good. Instead testimonies were borne and insights were shared.

It was just what I needed.

Hope

Need a pick-me-up?

(Thanks Kayla)

For the Grandmas, Part 3

Cooper hasn't started running yet, but he is slowly progressing in the world of walking. Also, my face at the end is a little scary.

Chomp

Does anyone out there have a biter?

Cooper has started sinking his teeth into us in fits of anger. It is not awesome. Sadly he learned this happy little trick from his doting big brother. Cooper has run with it. Well, crawled quickly with it. And our sweet little Cooper has quite the temper.

My question: how do you teach an almost seventeen-month-old not to bite?

Going My Way?

As my brothers and sister and I each learned to drive we discovered something interesting: none of us have a good sense of direction. Strike that. I'm not sure we have a sense of direction at all. The running joke was that no matter where my brothers set out for, they would end up in San Marcos, twenty minutes from my parents house.

I am continually amazed by people that can look around and say, "That's East, that's West." Bryan can do this. Not just that, but he can do it even when he can't see outside. I remember being in a basement with him and having him correctly find North. It's like he has a compass built into his brain. I have no brain-compass. I do know that in Utah the close mountains are to the East, but I can't always see the mountains, which means I don't always know where I'm going.

Armed with a clear set of directions and a map and I'll only get a little bit lost. I should always leave the house at least ten minutes earlier than I need to just to account for the wandering around that is going to take place.

I've hoped that the boys would inherit Bryan's strong sense of direction, but the other day I overheard something that makes me think Peter may have taken it a step further in the poor direction world. While talking to Franklin on his hand-me-down cell phone he said, " Okay, go East, hit a car, then go West." He said he was giving Franklin directions to our house. It's a good thing that Franklin is an invisible and fictional turtle, otherwise we would have a number of wrecked cars on the way to our house.

Big Sister

I was looking at some of the pictures of my brother's wedding and came across this one of me and two of my "little" brothers. (I'm sure they're both loving that I referred to them as little.) When I told someone that I was the groom's sister they asked how much older he was than me. Not older, just taller.

It's funny to think that those little brothers have served missions, gotten married, and one is now a father. I know that we're all growing older, but I still think of myself as the big sister. I think I always will.

The Bard

I love Shakespeare. At least, I love his writing. I can't vouch for the man, we've never met. But his words, oh his words. I think they are swell.

As a freshman in high school I was the only person in my English class that didn't groan when Romeo and Juliet was introduced as our next reading assignment. No, I was giddy. The teacher handed out roles and I raised my hand for the nurse. Juliet is lovely, but the nurse has spunk. Perhaps the other students had never spent time delving into the language of Shakespeare because they read their lines as if they were half asleep or severely sedated. I knew my lines were funny and I read them as such. As I read my part they turned to look at the odd girl who was channeling an ornery middle-aged nurse.

I have seen beautiful Shakespearean productions and some that caused me pain. Anthony Hopkins as Othello, not so good. Patrick Stewart as Othello (based on the clips that I've seen), glorious. I've seen King Lear played by a woman. I loved it.

Last night I watched an episode of ShakespeRe-Told. The BBC took four of Shakespeare's plays and updated them. I was apprehensive at first. What would they do with my dear Beatrice and Benedick?

After thinking it over carefully I have come to a conclusion: I liked it. The actor that played Benedick was appropriately smarmy up until the time that we needed to like him, at which point he became endearing. Beatrice was shrill and harsh until she reached her dramatic turning point and became relateable. I wasn't totally happy with Hero and Claudio's resolution, but the rest of it was quite good.

I'm kind of excited to see the other three episodes now, especially the updated Taming of the Shrew. How will they reconcile Kate's closing speech to Petruchio with modern views of women's rights?

What are your thoughts on the writings of Shakespeare? Fabulous? Inaccessible to a modern audience? Too boring to care?

Family Fun on a Tuesday Night

All By Myself

Peter likes to do everything on his own. EVERYTHING. I pick a cup off the counter and try to hand it to him and he puts it back on the counter so that he can get it himself. I admire his desire to be independent, but sometimes it's exhausting watching him undo and then redo the work that I've just done.

Despite that, I do what I can to accommodate this I'll-do-it-myself streak by giving him options: Peter would you go choose your breakfast cereal? Would you please go pick out your clothes for the day? Do you want to put yourself in timeout or should I do it? (This last one is usually met with a resounding "I will NOT put myself in timeout and YOU will not put me in timeout EITHER!")

One aspect of his independence that I applaud is that Peter loves to say prayers all by himself. He is a pro at blessing the food and often reminds Cooper to fold his arms so that he can pray. Cooper in turn dutifully bows his head and folds his arms while he watches Peter bless the food. Yes, this does melt my heart, thank you for asking.

Last night Peter insisted on saying his evening prayers by himself, his first solo attempt. After a good opening he went on to giving thanks, but I think we need to explain the difference between "thankful" and "please bless" because this is what he said:

"I thank Thee for my family. And I thank Thee that we can put my bed right there by the nightlight and the crib over by the clock and Mommy and Daddy's bed where the crib used to be."

And then he closed the prayer, looked at us, and asked what was so funny. I should state that this room rearrangement was news to us. I had been stifling my laughter and peeking at Peter as he gestured around the room to make sure he was clear about where everyone would sleep.

I wonder if he'll take his quest for independence one step further and rearrange the room himself.

I Love to See the Temple

We went to the Oquirrh Mountain Temple open house on Saturday. It was beautiful and the boys did well up until the end when Cooper decided to show off his lung power. He is loud. He is even louder in a lovely room full of very reverent people.


In the car on the way home I asked Peter a question:

Me: Peter, what was your favorite part about the Temple?

Peter: The golf club.

(Silence as Bryan and I try to figure out what inside the Temple looked like a golf club.)

Me: Do you mean the golf cart?

Peter: Yup

Me: Oh, you liked the ride from the parking lot?

Peter: Yeah, in the baseball cart.

Oh dear. I hope that he remembers something from the open house other than the golf carts. And perhaps we should discuss the subtle differences between baseball and golf.