Plaaaay Ball!

First opening day of little league in my mothering years. And it was awesome. Carter looked like a seriously intense ball player. Watch out, majors, here we come! He had SO much fun!

Mac, however, is still ticked that he is only 3 and unable to play. Dang that birth order!

Thirsty

You can tell it is heating up down here, because the hijos keep asking me for water, water, and more water (and yeah, most of the time Mac asks for chocolate milk first, then, after being denied, he settles for water). But we are thirsty.

Both figruatively and literally.

Carter has an insatiable thirst for knowledge of how things work. This morning, as we were awakened by a blur of full-throttle, rather-one-sided conversation from an alert Cart, Matt mumbled, "Does he ever stop talking?"

For instance, the other day, Carter and I were talking about how he and Mac were born early . The gears started churning in that 5-year-old-going-on-30 brain of his, and the following was the resulting conversation:

Carter: Mom, what if a baby decides it doesn't want to come out of the mom's tummy?

Me: Well, then the mom gets really sore and grouchy, and her body pushes it out. (*Note* Heretofore, Carter has (reasonably) believed that all babies come out via c-section. That nice and tidy explanation worked for me up till now . . .)

Carter: But why? And how?

Me: Well, when it was time for you to come out, the doctor cut my tummy and just took you out.

Carter: But what if the doctor isn't there to cut the mom's tummy?

Me: Well, sometimes the daddy has to help.

Carter: How? Does he cut the mommy's tummy with a knife?

Me: Um, I guess he could, but . . .

Carter: Really? Could Dad do it? What knife would he use, mom? Show me which knife in our kitchen he would use to get the baby out.

Me: Ok, well, the reality is, Carter, that most babies don't come out through a mom's tummy. Lots of times they come out between a mom's legs.

Carter: Where she goes to the bathroom?!?!?!

Me: Yes, but--

Carter: THAT'S DISGUSTING!!!!

And that was the end of that.

I must still be a UTAHN . . .

Because the other day, Mac dropped something and said, "Freakin' heck!" I laughed so hard, he said it all afternoon. Made me miss my SLC hood.

The BANANA gods must be angry . . .

So Mr. Mac has been wanting to make banana bread for 6 days now. Each night, as we get ready to read bedtime stories, he wails in agony, having just remembered that we failed to make the banana bread that day.

So today, we did it. Or at least we tried to.

I gave each boy a bowl of bananas to mash (we were making two batches), and left the room for 5 seconds. When I came back in, Carter had headed for asylum in his room, and there was a mashed/smashed bowl of bananas--in shards and goop--on the floor. Oops. Despite the fact that it was unintentional, Carter was hysterical.

Many banana-inspired tears later, I coaxed him to come back out and bake with us.

Mac and I, in the meantime, had pureed the bananas and poured them into the bowl. Mad that he didn't get to puree, Carter stomped to the table, rather emphatically grabbing a bowl he thought was his. Um, yeah, you guessed it, it was the bowl with the puree. Which was "emphatically" sloshed all over the table, chair, floor, rug, and Carter.

Bummer. No more bananas. We ended the night with three delicious loaves of pumpkin chocolate chip bread.

My house smells . . .

MARVY.
My mother-in-law owns a cleaning company and sends very friendly cleaning ladies to my house every other week to clean the ENTIRE house.
(Even the sides of the toaster and the INSIDE of the garbage can *sparkle.*)
My boys couldn't be happier (CLEAN-AHOLICS that they are),
and I get to practice my SPANISH for a few hours.

My hydrangeas are a little worse for the wear--either they received a spritz of Windex or they are perishing from the delightful lemony-scented fumes,

but HECK--
My newly mopped floors make me HAPPY.
Hooray for Kathy!

We {heart} footwear

Happy Valentine's Day to us. And to you too.
To me from Matt:

To Matt from me:

To Carter:

To Mac:

WANTED . . .

my camera.

Tragically, when we came back from Christmas, one of us misplaced the camera. (I'm not naming names, but the perpetrator is the only person at our house who is not a chocoholic.)

Anyway, I've really been missing my camera the last couple of days because we had a few Kodak moments that alas, I cannot share with the world at large. They shall remain only in my memory.

Here's what you've missed:

1. Beltman and Pullup Man: Today, about 10 minutes after I made what I thought was a valiant attempt at convincing my kids that they must be clothed to go to the park, they came out of Mac's room ready to go. As Beltman and Pullup Man. Beltman was wearing five belts, a soccer medal, one skeleton glove, and a backwards baseball cap (and underwear--that is it). Pullup Man was wearing a pink swim diaper (Matt bought those last year on accident--for some reason Ariel didn't tip him off that they were for FEMALES), one jazz sweat/wristband, one scuba diving glove, shades, and flips (and that is it). They proudly announced their names and powers. They looked awesome, and they knew it. (p.s., I made them slightly alter their costumes for the park--but only slightly.)


2. Carrots and Edamame taking a ride in an ambulance. Courtesy of Mac's lunch. They were seated very tidily in the front seat, one carrot stick and one edamame per seat.


3. A self portrait of the author, NieNie style: Because I have cause to celebrate. Today I met a mom at the park, and as we chatted about our kids, she confessed that when she first saw me, she decided I must be the nanny because I looked too young to be the mother. (Bless that woman.)


4. A Valentine: Made for me by Carter a few days ago when he told me I was not allowed to come out of my room for 10 minutes. I acquiesed, not knowing what my acquiesence would cost me. When I came out, the house and the brother still looked intact, so I thought no more of it. But yesterday, he announced he could not wait for Valentine's Day to give me my present. He ran to Mac's room and pulled a picture from behind Mac's bed. (*sweet boy*) It is a beautiful likeness of yours truly. Complete with realistic, VERY bloodshot eyeballs. "See the bruises on the eyeballs, Mom? I know that is what eyes look like. I was paying attention."

See, now aren't you sad about my camera, too?