selective memory

So, my sister-in-law Lora recently started a blog project entitled 'A Week in the Life'. I'm really excited about reading her posts and looking at pics of their super cute little family. I'm going to love this glimpse into their everyday routine.

Then I thought about my life and the prospect of me doing such a project and I came to the conclusion that....

Right now I'm really not sure I want to remember all the nitty-gritty details. I think I want to have a selective memory so that all that remains is a general sense of "Wasn't that so much fun when they were all little and you couldn't ever manage to get anything done and you felt like the most inadequate pathetic excuse for a person that ever walked on the face of the planet and the guilt of all the things good that you weren't doing and all of the things that you were doing badly ate at your insides and sometimes you wondered whose idea it was to have kids in the first place because surely it couldn't have been yours because really you just don't have any patience for the grubby little creatures at all and you wondered if you ever would reach some sort of peaceful state of being where you could feel put together enough to function at a semi-normal level and have your hair combed almost everyday, at least every other day? Oh yes, those were the good times." Yep, I surely would just rather remember the overall sense of warm fuzzy goodness and hazy happy memories than the stark reality of not being able to stand without stepping on something that isn't meant to be stepped on in my little home because it looks like this...





P.S. Just so no one worries too much. Really I do have good days. We managed to clean that up today. Mostly. And I was a little less irritable and impatient with my girls. Even if Cumorah is on a rampant ridiculous lieing streak that I'm frankly unprepared for and too inexperienced to know what to do with. Even if Rivers will continue to draw on everything but paper and contradict everything anyone says or suggests. The children really are cute and sweet and precious and if nothing else I spend a portion of everyday cuddling and kissing each of my three children. There are few things in life better than feeling tiny arms around your neck and little heads on your shoulder or tiny hands on your cheeks pulling you in for a slightly slobbery kiss. And they tell me things like...

C: "Mom, you look like a beautiful woman."
R: "Yea, you look like a woman in the shoe." (the old one who spanks her children all soundly because she has so many she doesn't know what to do)


R: Mama. Maaaaaaaahhhhm. Mommy. Mama, mama, mama.
M: What?
R: Mama, mama, mama, mama. Mom.
M: Is there something I can do for you?
R: Mommy. Mama, mama, Mommy.
M: Rivers, Rivers, Rivers, Rivers.
R: I love you, Mama.
M: I love you, too, Rivers.

And even if I am quoted as saying, 'My two year old is a brat and my three year old is a liar.',
I really do love them. And I really do think they are amazing individuals.

And someday my husband will come home and then I think I'll leave him with the children for a while.

getting clean

This picture is for Daddy. His baby boy is growing quite a bit during his absence.

Look, he's sitting up in the bath.



He's been sitting really well for a couple of weeks now. But not in the bath. Previously he tended to get a bit too excited and would throw himself back with his arms outstrectched and his little legs straightened out.

Not anymore. Now he's super happy and splashy.



And so so cute. He really is a happy baby. Such a good, good baby. I'm really lucky.

So is he. Because being number three in under three years necessitates patience and happiness and goodness. He has no choice. It is the only way he can survive being neglected.

However, he really likes attention. Most babies do. He gets so excited when he thinks you're going to pick him up. His little arms go straight out to the side and his fingers start working like mad. His legs straighten out to and his entire body violently vibrates. He smiles really big and breathes fast. If you don't pick him up when that happens, it's very, VERY sad. And he lets you know. And any grown female in close proximity must rescue him. They have no choice. They are compelled.




The girls had their third shower this evening. I get as wet as they do, but it is faster.

Rivers was the first to get a shower. It was sort of by accident. I thought she would hate it, but she really didn't. Cumorah wanted a turn and she did a lot better than I thought, too. She doesn't handle water on her face as well as Rivers, but she does all right.

So they ask for showers now. It's all the rage.




Tell Daddy what you did. 'I tooked a shower.' So proud. Such a big girl.




She is really not as excited as Rivers. She did ask for the shower, but then she changed her mind. I didn't get the picture of when she changed her mind. She wasn't very happy. She got over it as she usually eventually does. Don't forget the EVENTUALLY part (or the USUALLY part).













You can feel the water on your fingers if you wiggle them like this.













I'm a rock. Mommy, look I'm a rock. Rivers, I'm a rock. See, I'm a rock.





Are you looking, Mama? Do you see me being a rock?