Summer fun...

So it's just over a week into Dylan's summer holiday, and we are having a good time!

Today I didn't really feel up to a lot of "fun," so I left it all to Martin and our local Dads' Group.  But I did take Dylith down to Water's Edge to pick wild plums for dessert.  That was really nice.

We had a good weekend, as well.  On Saturday I let Dylan decide what we did.  He chose the 20/21 Gallery in Scunthorpe, and we had a lovely time playing on the "touch and feel" exhibit.

They were especially cute playing dress-up and knights and fairy princesses together.

We popped in to Primark afterwards, and the kids tried on hats.  I had to put this picture up because, well, WOW!  Dylan is just so beautiful...

On routines...

The kids and I have been in a routine for over three years.  Dylan since he was around 6 months old, Edith pretty much since birth.  And it's been nice, too.  It's good to know that the kids will eat at regular times and go to bed without too much of a fuss.  It's been almost crucial to my sanity at times, knowing when they would be asleep and for how long, too.

But the kids are a little bit older now, and I'm learning to relax that routine just a little bit.  Part of me is really afraid to do it, because I'm worried that they will stop being such good sleepers and eaters.  But so far, so good.  Last night, we went and picked wild plums for dessert after we finished our dinner.  We got home too late to bathe, but the kids watched bedtime cartoons and went up to bed like little angels.  And on Thursday they are going to have a really late night, but I know that they will sleep in the car on the way home and they will be more than happy to crawl into bed when we get home.

Of course, life is changing now.  Dylan will be going to school full-time in September and it will just be me and Edith all day long.  And the summer holiday is shaking things up as well.  My rigid parenting has had to relax.  It's not a bad thing.  But my system has worked for nearly 4 years, and changing it now is a little bit terrifying.

Speaking of change and terrifying, I had a night out for the first time in nearly 3 years.  On Saturday I went out with my friend Sammi, her boyfriend Sam, and her friend Dan to a nightclub in Hull called Spiders.  I was really nervous about it.  Mostly worried that I would be the oldest one there (I wasn't) and that I would look like a frumpy old housewife (I didn't, if the two lesbians who hit on me are any indication).  It's a metal club, so it wasn't my kind of music and it was a bit of (sub)culture shock.  But I had a really good time.  I've never seen that many silly men and boys playing air guitar in one place before.  And I've decided that it might be a good thing for me to go out a bit more often.  I shouldn't be such a shut-in. 

Emma, let's go have a girls' night once every six weeks or so.  Whadda ya say?

It was very weird to get all dolled up for a night out without my husband.  VERY weird.

Anyway, we're taking the kids to get haircuts and then we're off for a picnic at Normanby Hall.  Time to get this show on the road.

Here's to doing new and exciting things!

Guess what?

I've always thought I was more of a school-time mom.  I like having Dylan at school and Edith napping, because it gives me some time to myself.  But today is day 4 of the summer holidays, and I'm really enjoying it so far.  Having Dylan home is actually pretty fun.

Maybe it's more the freedom of not being tied to the school run.  We don't have to stick to such a rigid schedule right now.  If lunch is ready 20 minutes later than normal, it's no big deal.  If Edith sleeps a little bit later than usual, I don't have to wake her up to go gt Dylan from school.  We can skip naps altogether and go do something fun, like we did yesterday. 

Here's what we've done so far:

Monday--not a really fun one for the kids.  Martin went golfing.  I went visiting teaching.  We prepared for the Stables staff barbeque.

Tuesday--took the kids swimming at the new leisure centre in Scunthorpe.

Wednesday--went to the park in Goxhill.

And today--Noelle is coming over and we are going to bake cookies.

We've not got any plans for Frieday yet, but I'm thinking it might involve a train journey to the seaside.  The kids both love trains, and Dylan loves the beach, but it depends on when the tide is in.  So it could be fish and chips and a paddle in the North Sea, could be something else.

Saturday will most likely be a trip to McDonalds and the 20/21 art gallery in Scunthorpe.

Poor Martin.  He's seeing even less of the kids because we're out doing fun stuff when he's home on his break.  But I'm tired of not doing anything just because of his job.  So we are gallivanting around and leaving him alone with the Wii.

It looks like it's going to be a fun, busy, and exhausting summer!

Take me out to the ball game...

Martin didn't play baseball all last summer, and I promised him he could play a few games this summer.  We didn't have too many church commitments and it was a home game, so we went yesterday.

We had so much gear that it looked like we were staying for a week.  We took snacks, drinks, a tent, blankets, umbrellas, etc.

My-oh-my, the kids LOVED the tent!

Martin and I got a rare photo of the two of us together.  We pretended to like each other.

It really seems like we had a good time, doesn't it?

It was fun, for a time.  Then Edith got tired, it rained, she got her Welly boots muddy, took them off, and got her socks wet.  She freaked out about her wet socks, refused to put her boots on, wouldn't take a nap, and just generally made everyone miserable.

Dylan was good, though.

Now Martin is hobbling around the house like an old man because he used some muscles that haven't been vigorously exercised for quite some time.  But if he has a sports-related injury he's not allowed to complain about it.  I figure it's self-inflicted, so he gets no sympathy.  He's in pain, but he's happy.

An unexpected windfall...

We helped clean the church last Saturday.  Kind of a big ask when Martin works a 14 hour day on Saturday and I am on my own with the kids all day long, but we sucked it up and did it.  And what do you know--we got blessings!

Of course, you expect good things to happen to you when you do good.  Even if you don't believe in God and blessings, most people believe in karma.  Or, at the very least, enjoy that buzz you get when you know you did something good.  But we were rewarded immediately.

I came home with a giant bag of old curtains and sheets that someone was getting rid of.

Now I know that doesn't sound very exciting to most people, but I have been searching the charity shops for just those very items.  I have been wanting them to make rag rugs, which we are in desperate need of since we did the tiling.  The stone floors are really lovely, but VERY hard.  Unfortunately, an old pair of curtains runs about £6 and sheets are about £4.  Cost prohibitive when you need about 6 sheets or two pair of curtains to make a decent sized rug.  So when I got this big bag of old fabric, I was beyond thrilled.  In fact, I've already nearly finished a rug.  It's beautiful, and it will be a reminder every time I look at it that good things happen when you do what you ought to do.

In other news, our car insurance company has decided to write off our car.

About three weeks ago, I nearly tore the bumper off.  I cried.  We debated whether or not to put a claim in to our insurance company, since it was all my fault and there was nobody else involved--just me and the strip of metal on the side of a gate post.  But we have full coverage on our car and the deductible is only £100.  Sadly, the car will cost more to fix than it is worth.  Happily, the market value of the car is £1575 (remember, we paid £800 for it).  We found someone in town who will fix the damage for about £500, and the insurance company will sell us back the car for the amount that they could get for scrappage, and we can take the rest of the cash at market value and do what we like with the money.  We have decided to do that, and then take the money to repair the car.  We both really like it!  Then we will put the money into our savings account so it's there just in case we have any expensive car repairs in the future.

I probably should have blogged about the car accident before now, but I was so embarrassed that I did it.  It's always been Martin who destroyed our cars in the past.  He was pretty mad at me when I did it, but it was on a Sunday and he'd just got done teaching a Primary lesson about forgiveness.  Lucky for me, huh?

Anyway, I can't wait to get the car fixed.  And I'm going to see about getting an eye test and maybe some new glasses.  I think my depth perception is a little bit off.  Either that or I REALLY shouldn't drive if I'm even a little bit tired.  But that would be bad news, because I'd never be able to go anywhere!

Medical news...

As suspected, Edith officially does NOT have von Willebrand's disease.

Just thought I'd let everybody know.

Oh, and by the way, she loves to shop!

A few of my favorite things--in the garden...

This is my favorite!

Housework...

We lived with this mess for a few days, but it has to get worse before it can get better--right?

Totally worth it!

Bizarrely, this is my favorite part of the whole tiling job.  The tiny step up from the piano room into the kitchen used to be broken, exposed concrete.  Now it is a lovely little tiled step, and it looks immeasurably better.

Dining room is next.  Ugh--I'm really not looking forward to the work and mess involved there.  But the tiles look so beautiful.

They are travertine, a form of limestone.  The best bit is, it was nearly free.  We saved our Tesco clubcard vouchers and traded them in for triple their value at Topps Tiles.  And the travertine tiles, along with being my favorite tiles in the place, were cheaper than ceramic.  I'm all about natural materials.

A (parenting) match made in heaven...

Dylan is a cute kid, but he could really be a nightmare if I'd let him.

I am not a super-mom.  I make mistakes, and plenty of them.  But there is one thing that I always do right, no matter what.  I say what I mean and I mean what I say.  From day one with my children I have tried my hardest to be consistent in both praise and punishment.  And I have never backed down from a punishment I have threatened, even when it ends up making things harder for me.

My son is fond of testing his boundaries.  He likes to push his limits to find out just what he can get away with.  And I won't let him get away with anything.  Because if I let him, he would be completely out of control.

I guess what I'm saying is, I may not be the best mother in the world, but I am the best mother in the world for HIM.

I have a sneaking suspicion that Edith will be the same way, though she is still a bit more biddable than he is.  Wow, things are NOT going to be fun at my house in about 10 years.

A pleasant surprise...

Martin finally took the hideous gas heater out of the dining room.  I've been wanting it gone for about 3 years, and it only took 15 minutes to get it done.  And, when we took it off, we discovered that opening up the fireplace was going to be a much easier job than we thought.

The people who installed the heater (which my dad tells me is a non-vented heater) didn't even bother blocking up the fireplace.  They just put up some truly hideous brick, installed some faux hearthstones, and whacked the heater on top.  So we already have an open fireplace.  We just need to chip out the ugly old bricks and install the fire surround we have out in the back garden (Martin bought it off somebody for about £20, and it's a cast iron fire surround!).  Oh, and have the chimney swept, but apparently that only costs about a tenner to have done.  We will have a proper fireplace in our dining room, which I am pretty jazzed about.  Now we will just have to find a source for firewood.  Martin's parents use coal in their fireplace, but I much prefer a wood fire.  And I'll have to learn about proper fireplace maintenance, as well.

There's something kind of primitave about having an open fire in the house that really appeals to me.  And it's in the back room of the oldest part of the house, so it's a massive fireplace that was probably used for cooking on at one point.  Nice to know that if the world as we know it ended tomorrow, I would be able to do some cooking for the family in our house.

I sort of like to think about that sometimes.  What would we do if civilization as we know it ended tomorrow and we were thrown back to the middle ages?  I'm a total freak about post-apocalyptic fiction and am (slightly) obsessed with learning how to do things like hand sewing, mending, preserving food, gardening, etc.  Just in case, you know?  A little bit crazy, but part of my charm.

This doesn't happen very often...

Sunday was a rough day for me.  I'd been sick all week and taking care of the kids by myself.  I hadn't had much sleep the night before.  In my tired and weakened state, I went to a Sunday School lesson about Christ in the garden of Gethsemane and I was a little bit emotional.

We read one of my favorite scriptures of all time:  Luke 22: 41-42

And he was withdrawn from them about a stone’s cast, and kneeled down, and prayed,



Saying, Father, if thou be willing, remove this cup from me: nevertheless not my will, but thine, be done.

It took me back to a time when I relied on this scripture a lot.

It seems like forever ago, but it's only been 7 years.  After 2 years of trying to conceive and feeling like a failure as a woman, I got pregnant.  It was one of the happiest days of my life, and from the second I found out about the pregnancy, it was a baby.  No blastocyte, embryo or fetus.  Baby.

I kept my news to myself until I was 10 weeks, and just two days before my first doctor's appointment I finally told a few family members.  Then I went to see my doctor and he did a dating ultrasound.  I will remember that moment for the rest of my life, because my womb was completely empty.  I felt like my heart was ripped out of my body.

Turns out that it was an ectopic pregnancy.  And in my case, the doctor believed that my body had already miscarried but some of the tissue was attached to my fallopian tube and was still growing.  I didn't have to have surgery, but I did need to have a "termination."

So a few days later, once we had confirmed that there was no viable pregnancy, I drove myself down to the local cancer clinic to have the methotrexate injections that would abort my unborn child.  I remember lying in bed the night before my appointment, praying.  I wondered how I could possibly go through with it.  I begged and pleaded with God for things to be different.  I cried until I didn't have any tears left.  But I remembered that scripture in Luke, and it gave me courage and strength.  To know that Jesus, the only person to lead a sinless life, also had to do something that he didn't want to do was such a comfort.  That He had the grace to submit himself to the will of his Father was a lesson.  And actually being able to go to the clinic and have the injections felt like a miracle.  I cried the whole time, but I did it.

I still think about my almost-baby every time Dylan celebrates his birthday, and remember that I should have a child who is 2 years older.  But it is without any bitterness.  Just a little bit of sadness and regret.  Because I know that I'm not the only person to face something that seemed too hard to do.  And I know that the experience made me stronger and made me appreciate motherhood even more.

Our wonderful teacher in Sunday School apologized for pointing out Jesus' "weakness," but to me, that brief plea to do things another way if possible is one of the most beautiful parts of the atonement.  As Christians, we celebrate the divinity of Jesus Christ all the time.  But I like to dwell on his humanity every once in a while.  I love knowing that He felt exactly like I felt, because I knew that I wasn't alone on that day.

I'm still crying about it.

Domestic goddess, me?

So I was talking to my Yankee friend Amy the other day about stain removal (yes, my life really is that boring).  She said that her mother swore by pouring hot water from a height to remove fruit juice stains.  I was skeptical, but didn't say so at the time.

Well, today Edith was wearing a beautiful little sundress that Noelle made--green and white checked gingham with a halter neck and little white pockets.  We passed a cherry tree on our walk home from Dylan's school, and it had ripe cherries on it.  I gave one to Edith, and she dribbled cherry juice all down the front of herself.

Panic.

Despair.

Anger.

Idea...

When we got home, I took the dress off her and put her down for a nap.  Then I came downstairs and put the kettle on.  I took the clothes off the washing line and did a few other little jobs.  Then I held that dress over the kitchen sink, took a deep breath, fought the inner voices that were telling me to pre-treat with chemicals and NOT set the stain with heat, held the kettle about 12 inches away from the dress, and poured.

What do you know, that cherry juice came right out!

The dress is drying on the washing line, and ready for Edith to put it back on when she wakes up.

I'll have to tell Amy that her mother's tip worked a treat.

I definitely won't be avoiding conversations about stain removal, either.

I have the best family...

Today Dylan did some writing. 

He wrote "mom," "dad," Dylan," and "Edith."

Ok, so it's not Shakespeare.  But he wrote "mom" without even asking us how to spell it.  He did "dad" all on his own as well.  He's got hos own name down pat.  He had to have a little bit of help with "Edith," but it is a tricky one.  He thought you spelled it with an "f" at the end.  He's gone from completely uninterested in reading and writing to the star pupil pretty much overnight.

Edith just keeps getting cuter.  As she gets older, her personality becomes more apparent.  She's a bossy little madame, but she's so kind and caring as well.  Oh, my little ginger firecracker!

And my husband...well, I am seriously lucky.  He does it all.  He's loving, devoted, hard-working, and a great father.  I mean, sure he has his faults.  Don't we all?  But I love him to pieces, even though he's completely incapable of cleaning up after himself.

I had a slightly surreal moment in Tesco on Monday.  I had a person I've never met turn around and say, "Oh, you're Jamie.  And that must be Dylan and Edith."  Turns out, she's a friend of Emma and Lewis and she reads my blog, which is linked to theirs (I didn't get your name, but it was nice to meet you).  That's never happened before.  Most of the time, this blog just seems like I'm talking to myself and putting up pictures for my mom.  I've always thought I was kind of a private person.  Except now I publish most of the details of my life on-line.  Is it strange that I never really thought of it that way before?

A REAL red letter day...

Today I got the best piece of mail I've had all year!

When we last visited Utah (before Edith was born) Dylan had two seizures.  We'd upgraded our bank account to include travel insurance just one day before we left on the trip, but we found out after we got home that they'd signed us up for the wrong policy and Dylan wasn't covered.

We lodged an official complaint, which our bank denied.  So we took it to the next level, and lodged a complaint with the financial ombudsman.  It took a long time to recieve a decision, but we finally got it in the post today.

Our bank is going to have to pay the medical bills.  They are going to have to pay an additional 8% per annum interest.  In addition, they are going to have to pay us a small sum as compensation for the stress and inconvenience caused (I didn't ask for that part).  So we can finally pay those bills, and we can donate the sum that Primary Children's Medical Center wrote off for us back to them.  And my mom and dad can finally stop getting harassed by bill collectors who refuse to give up and also refuse to make an international phone call to pursue their cash.

I was so excited to get the letter, I literally cried. 

In parenting news, Dylan has been having a hard time at school.  He's been fighting with other students, hitting them, throwing things, and just generally disobeying his teachers.

Of course, this means that he hasn't been able to watch bedtime cartoons.  That's the standard punishment for bad behavior at school.  But Edith is old enough now that skipping bedtime cartoons all together is a punishment for her, too.  So last night I gave the kids their bath first and then sent Dylan up to bed.  Edith and I stayed downstairs and watched cartoons without him. 

Wow, he really did not like that at all.  He screamed for 45 minutes.  I didn't cave in, though.  I stuck to my guns. 

I was totally Zen!

(Thank you, Zumba, for wearing me out and helping me vent my anger and NOT take it out on my kids.)

Today when I dropped Dylan off at school, I told his teacher about his home punishment if he had to stand out at school so she could use it as an incentive for good behavior.  And guess what...it worked!  He was great at school.  So great that I agreed to let him have a sleepover with Nathan and Esaias Munday.

The neighbors are replacing the wall in the back garden.  It was falling over and the mortar was crubling to pieces.  I'm a bit sad, because they are replacing it with a modern panel fence.  No more secret garden brick wall--at least, not on the north side.  But it's going to look good.  Better than the back end of their cheap old fence they put in when they first bought the house.  We're just going to need to put some climbing plants on a trellis to get back some of the character.  They've spent the last two days ripping out the old wall, and the new fence is going in tomorrow.

I am also going to take Dylan to play football tomorrow morning.  I'm not sure if they'll let him play, because he is technically still too young.  But he certainly doesn't look or act too young.

Speaking of Dylan looking grown up, he got a new haircut today.  It's a bit Justin Beiber-ish, and he looks so adorable.  He asked me to start combing his hair flat instead of spiking it up, and this cut was the next step.  He's really starting to be interested in what he wears and how his hair looks.  And wow, he's going to be a looker.

I swear, next time I'll mention my daughter a bit more.

And that's the news.

Complicated...

I have a strange relationship with my two dads.

My mom and dad split up when I was just a baby.  Then my mom remarried an amazing man who already had two daughters of his own (I just started humming the Brady Bunch theme song).  They joined their families very successfully and then had two daughters together.  Later, in an attempt to diffuse the estrogen, they adopted a son.

I have called my stepfather "dad" since I was about 3 years old.  He raised me, and treated me like his own daughter.  I love him dearly, and always will.  Most of the time, it doesn't even occur to me that I'm not actually his!

And my father?  Well, we lost touch over the years.  I had a new family, we moved far away, and with each passing year it became more and more awkward that we hadn't seen each other.  He always sent me birthday and Christmas cards and gifts, and included his contact information.  He left it up to me, whether I would see him or not.  That's a big decision for a little girl, and it wasn't one I was capable of making until I was much older.

We finally met when I was 17.  It was really strange.  In the discussion about nature vs. nurture, I'll go 50/50 every time.  I hadn't seen this man since I was about 3 years old.  I was raised by someone else.  But not only did I look just like him, we ARE alike.  We share similar personalities and an almost identical sense of humor.  And when I met the rest of the family later that year, it was like I'd never been away.  I was so much LIKE these people.

So I have two dads--one who gave me life and one who made me who I am.  I am like both of them, and I love both of them. 

Dad, you were and are a wonderful father to me.  I love you so very much for taking on the very difficult challenge of raising a mixed family and doing it with such style, grace, and love.  For always making me feel that I was equal to your "real" children.

Daddy Doug, I'm glad that you're in my life now.  You give me a sense of who I am and have taught me so many lessons, both about you and about myself.  I see the way your life has gone in recent years and really admire the man you are.  I love you, too.

So, to my two dads, thanks for being the men that you are.  Between the two of you, I think I've turned out alright.  So far, at least. 

Let's reserve judgment until we see if I really screw up my own kids.

Happy belated father's day.

I love you!

Edith--supermodel in training...

Bank Holiday continued...

Bit of a dude...

Taller than Richard!

Getting her diaper changed in the car boot.

More Aysgarth Falls pics...

This is where Robin Hood fought Little John in "Robin Hood, Prince of Thieves."  It's also my favorite place in England.  Seriously, this place is beautiful!

Paddling at Aysgarth Falls...

Sitting in an English garden...

Martin's Nanna Steph's garden, to be more precise.  She has one of the most beautiful gardens I've ever seen.  Such an inspiration!

Why Martin is never the "trip photographer..."

We tend to wind up with slightly artistic and totally random photos like these.  There were eleven of them.  You'd never guess that we had been to a duck race in Kettlewell.  But we had been.  Me, Martin, the kids, and Richard and Noelle stopped off on our way to Aysgarth Falls.  We each bought a rubber duck for £1 each (all proceeds going to the church roof fund or some such thing), the ducks were numbered and all let go at the top end of the village.  First place duck "owner" received a £65 prize.  It was a laugh.  Sadly, we mostly just have random pictures of the river and a bunch of ducks floating down it. 

It's so much easier now...

Edith just woke up crying.

Don't leave me now, because I'm not going to whine about it.  Seriously!

I was just going to say how nice it is that she's talking now.

When I went up to see what was wrong with her, I picked her up and gave her a cuddle.  Then I asked her if she was ready to go back to sleep.

She pointed to my bedroom and said "wreent."

I know it sounds like total gibberish to everyone else, but luckily for me I am (almost) completely fluent in Edithese.

She wanted a drink.  She was pointing to my bedroom because I keep a Nalgene bottle full of water on my bedside table.

One of the most exciting developmental milestones (so far) in my childrens' lives has been the ability to speak.  Oh, language is a real gift.

Newborns are easy.  If they are crying, chances are they either want to be fed or need the mess from their last feed cleaned off their backsides.  Now obviously you have the occasional "other" problems, like over-stimulated, over-tired, teething, etc.  But let's be honest here--I breast-fed my babies until they were quite ridiculously old and if there was something else wrong with them, a little "momma milk" sorted it out anyway.

But somewhere in between the baby stage and the toddler stage is that awkward, annoying and difficult stage when there is no reasoning with them and no comforting them.

Wow, I hate that stage.

They know what they want, but they are unable to tell you what it is.  You want to help them and give them what they want, but you just CAN'T UNDERSTAND! 

Dylan was always a great communicator.  He was slow to start talking, but once he started--well, I haven't been able to get him to shut up since.  He had a few words that were difficult to understand, like "ottaker" instead of "helecopter" and "issinge" instead of orange, but he always spoke so clearly.  Perfect strangers never had any trouble understanding him, even from just two years old.

Edith has been a bit more difficult.  She was a slow starter as well, in a lot of different areas.  And now, well, she's turning into a little chatterbox as well.  But she speaks her own little toddler language that only Martin, Dylan and I understand.

She is completely unable to make a "k" sound, so when she means "pink," what she actually says is "peen-t."
Instead of saying "thank you," she goes "ahh-ahh."

I really love that she has her own little language, but I love it even more that I understand it.

It really is so much easier whan that child learns how to talk.

It's even better when they begin to learn to reason. 

Logic is so very underrated.

A Saturday in Twigmoor woods...

A happy reunion...

The kids just spent about 50 hours with their grandparents.  It's the longest I've ever been away from them, with the exception of when I was in the hospital to have Edith (though she was actually with me the whole time, so it doesn't really count).

They spent two nights in the caravan (that's a trailer for all you Yanks out there) up in Yorkshire, and had a wonderful time.  Martin and I spent two days working on the house.  He built cabinet doors and I cleared out every single junk space in the house.  It was seriously exhausting, but so good to actually get stuff done.  Plus, we got to go see the new X-Men movie and spend time together, which is always nice.

Having kid-free time was a real treat, but I must admit that I was, as always, blown away by the realization of how selfish and self-indulgent our lives were before we had children.  Sometimes I miss that life.  But most of the time, I miss them when they are gone.

I got the best cuddles EVER when they finally got home at about 1pm.  Apparently, they had been asking for me.  But they had a good time.  They went to the beach, had icecream, went for walks, fed the ducks, played croquet and boules, slept together in the big bed in the caravan, and ate all their meals at a special table just for them.

So the house is completely clean, the laundry is all caught up, and we took two car loads of stuff to the local charity shop. 

Hooray for life laundry.

And hooray for having my kids back at home where they belong.

Monday...

We started our day with a trip to Hull...

...where Edith and Dylan shared a blueberry muffin and enjoyed orange juice, Innocent smoothie, and a sip of Chai Tea Latte.  From a mug bigger than Edith's head.

I took Edith in to have her third of 3 blood tests for von Willebrand's disease.  She had a good time playing in the waiting room.  Going to the women and childrens' hospital rocks--they have the best toys in the waiting room!

We also had a lovely meal at Cathy's house, and the kids fell asleep in the car on the way home (again).

I'm sensing a theme here.

Last week...

Sunday involved church, of course.  Then we enjoyed the best of both worlds--a visit with the Mundays AND a quiet night in...

The kids played so well together.

Emma let Dylan borrow the Mr. Incredible suit, and he's been wearing it every time we let him since then!

Dylan fell asleep on the drive home.

So did Edith.

Then Martin and I vegged out and watched telly all night.  Well, until 11pm or so.

Perfect day, really.

On my mind, but not too deeply...

I've been having a bit more quiet time lately.  Not because the kids are quiet, of course.  Having pushed their bed time back by half an hour, if anything they are a bit more noisy and hyper than usual.  But on Friday and Saturday nights, I didn't turn on the telly or listen to music at all.  Like a good little Relief Society teacher, I was preparing my lesson (it went quite well, thanks).

I really enjoyed the peace and quiet, and I've resolved to have more telly-free time in the future.  Maybe just 1 night a week or something, since I AM at home on my own 4 nights a week.

Anyway, this extra quiet time has given me some good thinking time, and here's what's been on my mind lately:

It really pisses me off that people think Martin is gay.  Ok, so I (and my posse of gay friends) thought he was gay when we first met.  To be honest, that's probably what attracted me to him in the first place.  In the grand tradition of "damaged" women everywhere, I used to be hopelessly drawn to emotionally unavailable men.  I've often wondered how many guys I made out wi--erm, kissed who actually turned out to be gay.  I can think of at least two that I know of for sure.  But anyway, I digress.  I'm totally ok with people thinking Martin is gay--until they find out he's got a wife and two kids.  Also, it's especially not ok to continue thinking he's playing for the other team once they've met me.  That's so incredibly insulting to me.  Yes, Pete.  I'm talking to you, man!

Watching Edith growing up is so bittersweet.  She gets more and more beautiful, and I just keep getting older.  50% of her looks came from me.  Sometimes I wish I could have kept them.  I get a little bit jealous.  It's only going to get worse as she gets older, because when she's 15 I'll be 45 (oh boy, pushing 50.  It's looming).  She'll be peaking and I'll be troughing at the same time.  Why oh why couldn't I have had another son?  It's a good thing I love her so much...

I love gardening in England.  Seriously you don't normally even need to water anything.  But it took me a while to figure out which were weeds and which were flowers--totally different weeds here than in Utah.  Except for dandelions. Those seem to be universal.

The new car is so fantastic!  It's such a treat to drive, and it's nice to be able to drive somewhere with confidence that the car isn't going to break down or fall apart.  I need to get some new shades to wear when I drive.  It's kind of funny, really.  Martin and I now fight over whose turn it is to drive.

And that's what's on my mind right now.

See, I told you it wasn't too deep.

Pictures of our weekend activities to follow.

Kiddie pics...

Cute kisses--and man, my eyebrows look fantastic, don't they?

Long and lean, just like daddy.

Best mates!

My little beauties...

Charlotte gets giant cuddles from Dylan and Edith.

Piggy-tails!

Cheese!

Bed bouncing.

One of those days...

I love my job.  No, really.  I do.  But every once in a while I just get fed up with being a full time stay-at-home mom.  Today was definitely one of those days.  But more so.  Today I was just fed up of having kids at all.

The last 24 hours have brought urine and squash on my carpet, crayon on my walls, the iPod speaker getting dropped (and possibly broken), toys left on the floor and stepped on (I hate Lego) and a creeping and pervasive mess in my house. 

I just feel as though the kids are gradually turning everything we own into absolute crap!

I remember one day not long after my grandpa died when I broke a bowl.  It was an accident.  I opened the cupboard and it fell onto the ceramic tile floor in my parents' kitchen.  My mom screamed at me, and then she started sobbing.  Her parents had bought her those dishes when she got married, and she was devastated when that bowl broke.  I thought she was being ridiculous at the time.

I so get that now.

Nobody tells you when you start this whole parenting thing that all your stuff will be systematically destroyed.  You know, it would probably be really good birth control if they did.

I love my little mess makers, but jeez louise, enough already.

Tomorrow should be a better day.

A sound financial decision...

Things that are wrong with our car and cost of fixing them:

2 new tires:                          £100
Front end suspension:          £250 (inc. parts and labor)
Blowing exhaust:                  £100 (estimated)
Wing mirror:                        £25
Brakes:                               £125 (estimated)
Climate control fan switch:  £50 (estimated)
Road Tax:                          £105
MOT test:                           £35
Ignition repairing:  Not a clue!  Just started having problems last week.

Grand total:  £790 (plus the cost of fixing the ignition, whatever that would be)

Total cost of new car which we just bought:  £800

This includes the tax until September.  The MOT is good until February 2012.  The new car is 4 years newer than the one we currently drive, will cost about £40 less per year to insure, is in a lower tax bracket, and gets better mpg. than the Nissan we are currently driving.  The bodywork has a few bumps and scratches, but it is in much better shape than the old one.

Plus, it is a Seat Leon.  I have wanted one of these cars for about 4 years now. 

We'll be picking it up from Heanor first thing Wednesday morning, and leaving the Nissan with a scrap dealer in Nottingham.  I can hardly wait to start driving this new car. 

Of course, the most sound financial decision of all would be to do without a car entirely, which is very feasible for us.  Martin walks to work, we live super close to a Tesco, Dylan's school takes less than 5 minutes to walk to.  But we have that 35 mile round trip journey to church every Sunday.  The church isn't on a direct bus route so we would have to change buses twice, and leave home 2 hours early and church 30 minutes early every week.  AND would cost us about £15 a week to do it.

The best decision for our finances isn't necessarily the best decision for our family.

And, well, it's a really pretty car.

Ewww...

I know my kids are entirely too old for me to blog about their poop, but here goes anyway.

Edith wouldn't come in the house this evening for bedtime cartoons.  That's very unusual!  She just stood out in the middle of the garden and cried.

When I went to collect her, I discovered a big old mess.  She had to be sprayed down in the bathtub.

I guess I will stop blogging about my kids' bowel movements when they are no longer the most interesting part of my day.  But scraping human waste out of Edith's boots sure seems newsworthy to me.

Motherhood is such a treat sometimes.

ARGH!!!

Dylan has an annoying new habit.  It's even worse than the incessant "Why?"

He asks a question (or makes an observation). 

We answer the question (or acknowledge the observation, because he's Dylan and he won't shut up until you acknowledge his comments).

Then, 10 seconds later, HE ASKS THE QUESTION AGAIN!

Seriously, the kid is making me crazy.

Oh, and for some reason Edith has started freaking out if she doesn't have her feet covered. 

My little neurotics.

They say the apple never falls far from the tree, right?  So who's the nut job--me or Martin?

Ooooh, don't answer that, ok?

Girl time...

Dylan is sleeping over at the Mundays' house tonight.  Emma kindly invited him over, and I couldn't say no.  So Edith and I had the house to ourselves for dinner, bath, and bed time.

At first, it was a bit strange.  She cried when Dylan left, but perked right up when I let her sit on the kitchen counter while I cooked dinner.  She loves to do that--mostly because I give her pieces of vegetable and chunks of cheese, etc. while I am cooking.  So we cooked dinner together, did a little bit of shopping while it was in the oven (cottage pie, and one of my best ones yet), then came home and ate.  She watched "In The Night Garden" instead of "Octonauts" for her bedtime cartoon, and got to sit on my lap the entire time.  Then she had the bath to herself and got lotion rubbed on her cute little body before we got jammies on.  We read the story that she chose ("Good Baby / Bad Baby) whilst lying side by side on Dylan's bed.  She got to hold my hand while we said bedtime prayers.

Edith was in heaven.

I liked it, too.

Sometimes I miss the attention I was able to pay to Dylan when he was an only child, and I feel guilty that I can't lavish that kind of attention on Edith.  She never has me to herself.  So the rare occasions when I do have her on her own (she usually sleeps the entire time Dylan is at school) are such a treat. 

The thing that amazed me the most was how much more she talked tonight.  Seriously, she was a little chatterbox.  I guess she just can't get a word in edgewise when her big brother is around.

Edith has always called me either "mama" or "mom."  She learned it from Dylan, who always calls me "mom."  But just this week she has started calling me "mommy."  It just makes me want to pick her up and cuddle her every time.

Having just said all of this, I DO prefer having them both around.  When they aren't fighting, they play together so beautifully.  Every once in a while, Dylan asks Edith if she will be his best friend.  And she always replies, "Yes, Did-dun." 

Girls' nights are fun, but I prefer it when our little family is complete.

Awww...

Today my son stripped down to his birthday suit and ran through the sprinklers. 

I looked at his little pile of clothes on the kitchen floor.

I watched him tentatively sticking his hands and feet in the water.

I listened to him shrieking with pleasure.

I melted a little bit.

Sometimes my kids make me all gooey inside.

A revelation...

Sometimes my bathroom really reeks. 

The smell seems to be coming from the toilet, so I often bleach it and scrub it to get rid of the smell.  Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. 

Last night, as I was getting the kids into the bath, I looked down into the (empty) laundry hamper.  It was wet.  I wondered aloud, how on earth did the hamper get wet?  And Dylan told me...

"Sorry mom, I accidentaly peed in there."

So the times when the bleach worked probably coincided with laundry day.

Sometimes it is awesome having a not-quite-four-year-old boy living in the house.

Hey, at least now I know.

Right?