Insight...

It occurred to me just yesterday that I am guilty of doing something that I HATE. I have been treating Dylan like a much older child than he is.

I pulled him onto my lap last night, and gave him a gigantic cuddle. He practically melted into me, and I realized that we hardly ever cuddle any more. He is so big for his age, and so advanced in his speech and reading. I just forget sometimes that he is really only a very young four-year-old.

So I've got a theory that one of the reasons he's been acting up is that he's been craving the snuggles and cuddles he got as a toddler.

He got plenty of affection from both his parents today, and he was better. We'll see if my theory holds up under experimentation.

Even if it doesn't, this kid is pretty easy to love and hug!

Scent...

My sainted mother-in-law came over for dinner last night, and she brought dessert. It was a German sour dough friendship cake, and it was absolutely gorgeous!

Today I was cleaning up after breakfast, and I caught a whiff of the left-over cake. Instantly, I was transported back to the Hostess discount shop my mom used to take us to when we lived in St. George. I remember the racks of cheap bread and cakes, and that SMELL! I remember the gray concrete floors, and eyeballing all the Twinkies with my big sisters. And did I mention the smell?

I was four or five years old at the time. The same age Dylan is now.

Scent can trigger some strong memories. A lot of them, for me, come from my early childhood. Grape Lip Smackers, for instance, always reminds me of the St. George condo, age 4. Dumping out all of my small toys onto my basement bedroom floor. They were in a chunky peanut butter tub.

I love it when I remember things like that from when I was just a kid. I have so many happy memories. I hope my children have that, too.

And I wonder what smells will trigger their happy little trips down memory lane.

Anybody else have any of these?

I've got nothing...

Had a long soak in the bath tonight, and it was pure bliss. I was lying there, just thinking about my life and the direction it's taken recently. I am struggling to remember what life was like before we had kids. It's been less than 5 years. How is it possible that I don't remember it?

It's been a bit difficult this week, taking care of the little rugrats. I've been fighting off a cold and struggling with my asthma for about a fortnight now. Today was especially tough, because Edith woke up the whole house at 4:30am. I listened to Martin struggling to get her back into bed, and just felt myself getting more and more furious about the whole situation. So I got up and sorted her out myself. Sadly, getting up in the night means I'm awake for several hours. So when I had to get up with the kids later that morning, I had only been asleep for about 30 minutes. I was tired, Dylan was tired, Martin was tired. Edith was NOT tired, since she had a 2 hour afternoon nap during which I scrubbed the bathroom, including scouring the limescale out of the toilet with a pumice stone.

I know the house needs some attention when Martin actually notices that I haven't done the cleaning. He told me it was looking a bit disgusting this morning. Then he was surprised that I didn't take a nap with Edith. Men!

Dylan had "healthy eating week" at school, and his class did the morning assembly. Parents were invited, and it was good fun. He also had to keep a food diary, and they did a sponsored Teddy Bear walk today to raise funds for new outdoor play equipment. He also went to a friend's house for dinner on Thursday night. He's doing really well at school right now, except for some behaviour issues. He hasn't been sleeping as much lately, and it puts him in a foul mood. Evenings are pretty hellish, but I love him on a Saturday when I get to spend time with him at his best.

Edith got another haircut today. I think the last of the Dylan special haircut has finally been cut out. Lately, I've been styling her like a little 1920's flapper, and she looks so adorable. Still doing the terrible twos with her. Eek! But when she's cute, she is completely charming.

The kids are going to be going out with their Nanna tomorrow afternoon. Seriously looking forward to that. I think I'll finish scrubbing the house.

Then again, maybe I'll just get that nap!

Giving up...

I'm a Mormon, and we don't really do Lent. But I figured, well, why not give something up? It's only 40 days, and I can pick something that I know is bad for me anyway.

I decided to give up French fries and soda.

Doesn't sound that difficult, right? The soda hasn't been bad at all, and I am actually feeling the benefit of drinking more water instead of Diet Coke. But I want McDonald's fries more than just about anything.

I should say at this point that it is only deep-fat-fried chips. I am still eating oven chips. But they are just NOT the same!

But hey, the first and best victory is to conquer self. Isn't that right, Plato?

My mother-in-law gave up sugar in her coffee one year. I'll bet that was harder.

Lent. Not for the faint of heart.

Easter dinner is definitely going to involve plenty of Dr. Pepper and FRIES!!!

I'm a bad daughter and, even worse, a bad American!

I had a great Skype call with the family on Sunday. Mom got to see the kids being all adorable (a fairly rare occurrence these days) and we had a nice chat. That's obviously not why I am a bad daughter. I'm a bad daughter because I got in a political "discussion" with my dad (the Cook one, not the Bowcutt one) that may or may not have ended in his blood pressure being raised sky-high. This just MIGHT have been because I said the U.S. was not hurting financially so much because of socialist agendas as it was because of a ridiculously high defence budget and that there was no danger of him speaking Russian or German, but he might have to learn Chinese soon. And maybe, just MAYBE, I insinuated that Americans were no longer the "good" ones, and being "evil" or "righteous" really depended on where you were sitting.

Ok, I admit it. I said all those things.

That doesn't make me a bad daughter. That just makes me opinionated. What makes me a bad daughter is that I said a lot of those things just to wind him up. Because it's so easy to do, and I have such a good time doing it. I'm not nearly as liberal as I pretend to be for the sake of giving my dad heart palpitations and raising his danger of having a stroke. Honestly, I just like to watch his face go all red!

Love you, dad :)

The really scary thing is, the whole time we were, erm, discussing politics, I kept referring to Americans as "you" instead of "us."

Apparently, all it takes is six years and 6,000 miles for me to disassociate myself with the country of my birth. That makes me sad, because I love my country with all my heart. I've pledged allegiance to that flag more times than I can count, and I meant every word of it. I'm losing touch with my homeland. I think I need to work on that.

My latest projects:

My little social retard...

Dylan's parent teacher conference a few weeks ago went great. His teacher said that he is doing very well all-round. He is average in some areas of his education and development, and VERY advanced in others. But, as always, their one area of concern was his social development.

Basically, my son prefers the company of his teachers to the company of the other children at school. He doesn't really have any close friends and, as I understand it, doesn't really play with anybody in his class.

Dylan loves going to school. He's not unhappy there, and I'm wondering if I should just leave well enough alone. Does he need an intervention?

Of course, worrying about our son has raised the question of my own childhood. Mostly, did my mom have these same worries about me? Because seriously, as soon as I could read I spent about 90% of my waking hours with my nose buried in a book. Laura Ingalls Wilder was my best friend in first, second and third grade. The Sweet Valley twins were my best mates until I was about 13. Then it was Stephen King and pretty much any trashy romance novel I could get my hands on. My tastes grew more sophisticated in college, when I developed a love of Margaret Atwood. Then, at the tender age of 20, Ernest Hemingway and I developed a wonderful relationship that was destined to last a lifetime.

Dylan having these issues at school has made me realize that he probably gets it from me. My poor mother must have had these same worries. All of a sudden, I am re-thinking all the play dates and friends that I had as a child and pre-teen. Were they all a desperate attempt to get me to socialize with kids my own age? Did my mother force my two older sisters to play with me in a (vain) attempt to get my nose out of a book and my backside into the yard to play?

Of course, once I found my fellow outcasts at about 15 I became more social. Sadly, not with people my parents approved of. But that's a WHOLE different blog post, and it was actually part of the appeal of my new "friends."

I am worried about Dylan, but I guess we'll just keep encouraging him to play with other kids and see where this heads. In the mean time, I will just enjoy knowing that my son is every bit as intelligent as I always suspected. Seriously bright boy!

And Sheldon seems to do ok.