Friday, December 26, 2008
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Friday, December 19, 2008
It snowed today, sideways. Ugh. I drove home at about 3 miles per hour. It took me an hour and a half to go 10 miles. Before that, I went to several stores, and spent an hour in Jiffy Lube. By the time I got home every muscle in my body was shaking. It's a lot of work to drag three children in and out in the snow. Their coats increase their mass by like 3 times. My arms aren't that long. This is one of the rare times when I remember that I am puny. Most of the time it doesn't bother me. But, I am not the kind of person who likes to be encumbered by anything; least of all my physical limitations. My height has always been an interesting love/hate thing for me. I spent half of my childhood trying to decide if I loved being so small, because it made me unique, or I hated that no one ever took me seriously, and boys couldn't think of me as anymore than a little girl. I can't really blame them, I looked like a little girl. And I don't really care now, I only needed to attract one... the right one. (I did, by the way-- in so many ways I can't even explain) And so now that I'm grown (haha no pun intended) and people HAVE to take me seriously because I tote 3 kids with me everywhere I go, I think I've decided that I like my size, just fine, thank you very much. It's so much a part of me I can't even imagine what it would have been like to grow up NOT being the smallest person in the school, (even when I was the oldest). Not that I'm saying my height defines me, but rather the experiences I've had as a result of my height--or lack thereof-- have help mold me into something that I otherwise might not have been, had I been born with the genes to grow to a healthy 5'4". How can I deny that hearing jokes about how I look, and being teased because I was a late bloomer and had NO CHEST, taught compassion. How can I regret that being the physical underdog, made me learn to work twice as hard, and think twice as fast so I could keep up with the "big kids." I'll never forget the year I spent on the 8th grade basketball team. Me. Cori. At that point a mere 4'5" and 63 pounds. Don't be fooled though, I spent more time playing chopsticks on the bench then playing Basketball on the court. But, dang it, I was on that team (I have the pictures of me in my uniform-- about 8 sizes too big-- to prove it) and I scored the last 2 points of the season. Learning to push myself has helped me survive growing, having, and caring for the 3 little munchkins who at present weigh combined about as much as I do. I may be small, but I am strong. All the times I was babysitting kids who were half a foot taller than me, taught me to speak up, and be sure of myself. Never let anyone see that I was afraid. Little kids can smell fear. That helps me now to feel like an adult even though I have to look up to give my babysitter instructions. Nice. Figuring out creative ways to reach the top of the cupboard, the roof, the ceiling, taught me to be inventive. You would be amazed at all the different things you can use as a stepping stool. So I'm glad I'm short, it's made me a stronger person, in more ways than one. Just because you're the runt, doesn't mean you're weak.
That's me. The midge, on the right. A foot shorter than everyone else.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
And while we're focusing on Carter's magnificence, he went skiing with Craig last Friday. SKIING. My 3-year-old. Yes, he's a stud, just like his dad. Skiied all afternoon, and only cried when it was time to go home. And I'm like 90 percent sure that after one afternoon on the slopes (or well, bunny hill I guess) he skis better, and more confidently than me. He's going to be an olympian, oh yes he is.
My little novelist. Hey, baby steps, right?
Monday, December 15, 2008
My children were fabulous on several levels this weekend. A post about why will follow shortly. But in any case, it was one of those weekend where I fell in love with my children all over again. This happens quite often. And I was thinking about how I sometimes wonder if I should have waited a few more years to have kids. I am a young mother. When you have three kids before you turn 25 that qualifies you for the title. I often think about the things I gave up by making the choice to procreate so young. It's bothered me that I don't have my degree yet, that I never got to go study abroad. We've made financial sacrifices so I could stay home with my children, I don't have nice jewelry, Craig doesn't have the skis he's wanted for 5 years, we don't drive nice cars. I don't have alot of extra "me" time, mostly I clean up milk spills, wipe noses, and change ALOT of diapers. And I look down at their chubby little faces and I can't make myself feel sorry. If I could go back, I would do it all the same. I will get my degree someday. Someday I'll have a nice car, Craig will have his skis, and the kids will grow up and I'll have more time to myself than I'll even want. But, nothing I do will be as important as the work I do everyday within the walls of my home. These are my treasures. They are eternal.
Friday, December 12, 2008
Happy Happy Birthday Taylor dear...Happy Birthday to my one and only niece! The cutest little ball of cheeks you ever saw. Who walked at nine months, and can certainly hold her own against her 3 cousins and brother. You are one tough chicky Tay. We love you. Happy 1st!
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Lately, Hannah has been referring to herself in the 3rd person, and not by her name. Instead, she says, "Mom, the 4-year-old wants a cookie, please." Or, "Mom, the 4-year-old would like to not take a nap today, please. The 4-year-old wants to play quietly in her room instead." Also, if she does something good, like pick up her toys, or say thank you, or clear her plate, she takes credit for it in the 3rd person as well. "Mom, the 4-year-old cleaned those toys up." "The 4-year-old said thank you, Mom." "I cleared my plated, mom" (then points to herself and says) "me, the 4-year-old." Classic. Hannah. Love it.
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Monday, December 1, 2008
doing weddings, receptions, laundry, packing, driving to and from idaho twice. Doing more laundry, packing again for the holiday and seeing Twilight 3 times in the theater. And no, I'm not kidding. I really have seen it 3 times. And I don't regret it. My head is so full of stuff, I don't even know where to start. Oh well, here goes.
Disgusting. On Saturday morning my father-in-law told us that he heard on the news that there was a Walmart worker somewhere who was trampled to death, TRAMPLED, by customers rushing the doors for the after thanksgiving day sales. That is seriously sick. What are you, animals? I'm glad you're all getting into the holiday spirit. 'Cause presents is what it's ALL ABOUT.
I had all of my holiday shopping done before thanksgiving this year. I know, amazingly, I'm ahead for once. Which was a good thing because Carter started puking thanksgiving night and continued to do so until I was supposed to leave at 4 am. to go shopping with the Robinson women. That killed that for me. You don't leave your husband alone at your in-laws with three toddlers, and one of them puking. (side note: 3-year-olds do not know how to warn you when they throw up. It just goes EVERYWHERE.) But my fabulous husband got up with me a few hours later when little Carter was feeling all better (thank goodness for the short-six hour bug-- Hannah had it 2 nights before, same deal. Six hours of throw up and then she was fine) to go shopping. I ended up having more fun just going to best buy to buy a jump drive, and then to toys r us and the mall with my hubby and the kids than I would have had otherwise. I love my little family. Also, still got good deals, and the crowds weren't too bad.
Hannah keeps saying, "Hey I've got a good idea..." every time I tell her she can't do something right now, and then usually tries to set a time when she can do it later. Also, if she asks for something and I just tell her no, flat out without the later, she goes, "Oh, I was just kidding, mom." Hilarious.
Craig was so sweet to me this weekend. He kept hugging and kissing me, coming up behind me and putting his arms around me. Or touching my neck. I was flying. I've got my own Edward, and I'm in love.
We're only doing a few small gifts for eachother this year since we're going to disneyland for Christmas. And I find that I am loving it. I'm actually being more thoughtful about what I'm getting my kids/hubby, instead of just grabbing the first junk that touches my eyes. I'm thinking that next year we do the same thing, even if we aren't traveling. I'm finding that I "need" alot less and "want" more than I thought. I don't want Christmas to be about stuff.
We watched "The Nativity" tonight for FHE. (the video that the LDS church put out a while back) It's short. I've watched it dozens of times. And everytime I sob from the second I see Mary, until the end. I was soaring as we watched it tonight, tears and all, and Hannah, knew all about it. And she kept talking about how Jesus is the most important part of Christmas, how it's his birthday, how the wise men brought him presesnts, and that's why we give presents, how she loves Jesus and he's in her heart. We're doing something right.
I talked to my sister Tashi on the phone this evening, and spent the weekend with Meghan. There is NOTHING in the world like the BOND BETWEEN SISTERS. That's all I'm going to say about that.
I still haven't put up my Christmas lights, or tree yet. This is borderline bizarre for me. I'm kind of a nut about outdoor illumination. I'm serious, I got up on the roof and hung the lights when I was a teenager and spent the money from my waitressing job to buy more strings of lights when my mom insisted that we had enough. Oh no, there's never enough. And yet, here I am, several days after thanksgiving and no lights. I guess I really do have 3 kids now.
My sweetheart turns 28 on Friday. I got his gift a month ago. Oh, I can't wait to give it to him. Oh, and when did we get so close to 30? I swear he was a 21-year-old Returned Missionary like 5 minutes ago. I'm starting to learn that this is how life works. You blink, and ...
Monday, November 24, 2008
ps. what do you think of my sweet Edward t-shirt?
Saturday, November 22, 2008
I've got the tickets, the t-shirt, and the obsession. And tonight...
Thursday, November 20, 2008
If I can't see or hear Carter... there's trouble. I may have mentioned this before-- oh a thousand times or so. He is my child who writes on things, finds the scissors, and wants to glue pieces of paper (that he ripped) back together...by himself. Yikes. I'm laughing now, that I thought I was such a stellar mother with Hannah. "Oh, my daughter never writes on anything!" I used to think to myself. She doesn't get into the scissors. Yeah, that has NOTHING to do with good parenting. It's totally a personality trait. (Or so I tell myself to feel better about the fact that my kids are OUT OF CONTROL!)
But anyways, back to Carter.
He's curious, and independent. Bad combo.
Now for his latest shenanigan. So I come down stairs the other day because, as I mentioned, I couldn't see or hear Carter, and that's a bad thing. He's in the kitchen. Sitting on the floor, and in front of him is my bag of grated cheddar cheese, the tortillas, my kitchen SHEARS, and cheese confetti all over the floor. In his little chubby fingers is a folded up tortilla with cold grated cheddar inside. Before I can respond to the expensive cheese mess, he looks up at me and says: "I make a quesadilla!" (Which we'd had the night before... apparently he's a fan)
It stops me short of my scolding. "Wow, Carter!" I say to him, "you are so independent, but please do not cut my grated cheese open from the bottom and then let it spew out all over the floor! Okay?" He raises his eyebrows as he nods and smiles. Oh, yeah. He's definitely doing this again. And he has by the way, several times.
It really is quite cute, by the way. There is absolutely no malice involved. He just wants a quesadilla, he doesn't want to bother mom, so he comes down stairs to make himself one, but those darn zip-lock tops are so hard to undo, so he just cuts open the tortillas and cheese from the bottom with mom's not-so-well-hidden kitchen shears. Lovely.
And it makes me wonder. How do I encourage him to develop these traits in him: his independence, his problem solving skills, his creativity, and also convey to him that I really really don't want him cutting open my cheese FROM THE BOTTOM! This is one of my biggest challenges as a mother. I'm sure all mother's deal with this. Wanting to encourage their children's individuality, their personality, and not have grated cheese spread all across the kitchen floor.
Was it unreasonable that I wanted to pick all the dirt and hair out of the cheese and put it back in the bag? 4 dollars worth of cheese... come on people.
I didn't, by the way.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
I would build me this house, exactly.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Here are a few highlights from my brother in law, Blake's wedding last weekend.
My hubby, Blake's brother, and the other Mrs. Robinson.
My sis-in-law Tracy with her own little "mini-me." PS. My nephew Luke is a little stud.
Show me the way to go home... I'm tired and I want to go to bed.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
So I realize that my posts have been a bit, shall we say heavy lately. But I guess we're living in a strange time... things are heavy. On a lighter note: I thought I would share a few little tid-bit observations I've made over the last few days of my kidlets.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
All of the protesting and persecution of our church (the LDS church) over our support of proposition 8 has been very disappointing. In fact, I spent half the night last night reading articles about our churches being vandalized, and loud protests outside our holy temples all over the country. I've been amazed at the way the LDS church has been singled out as the "BIG BAD GUYS" despite the fact that Mormons make up only about 2% of the population in California, and I can guarantee that not every Mormon in California voted yes on 8. This is disappointing to me, as well as ironic to see protesters with signs that say "no to h8," next to signs that read "Mormons suck." Hmm. I guess it doesn't go both ways. But all the name calling doesn't make me mad, it makes me feel sad. There can be mutual respect for differences of opinions. I would like to hope, and perhaps we won't ever know, that those of us who supported the "yes on 8" campaign would not have stooped to bigotry and persecution had the results gone the other way, but like I said, perhaps we'll never know. What often puzzles me is how to respond to these situations. While considering this last night before I drifted to sleep, a story I've often heard of popped into my head. Allow me to quote a talk by M. Russel Ballard.
"Joseph F. Smith was 19 when he returned from his mission in Hawaii. As he traveled from California to his home in Utah, he was confronted one morning by a “wagonload of profane drunks … , shooting their guns, yelling wildly, and cursing the Mormons.” One of the drunks, “waving a pistol,” came toward him. Although Joseph “was terrified, he felt it would be unwise and useless to run … , and so he advanced toward the gunman as if he found nothing out of the ordinary in his conduct. ‘Are you a — — — Mormon?’ the stranger demanded. Mustering all the composure he could, Joseph answered evenly while looking the man straight in the eye, ‘Yes, siree; dyed in the wool; true blue, through and through.’ Almost stunned by this wholly unexpected response, the gunman stopped, dropped his hands to his sides, and, after looking incredulously at Joseph for a moment, said in a subdued tone, ‘Well, you are the — — pleasantest man I ever met! Shake. I am glad to see a fellow stand for his convictions.’ So saying, he turned and walked away."
And so I thought about this story today, and how I am unashamed of those of us who stood up for what we felt was right. And I am more than unashamed to be a member of the LDS church (Mormon). I am honored. It has been the greatest blessing and brought the greatest joys of my life.
I feel a great love and sorrow for those who are angered by the outcome of proposition 8. I don't hate homosexuals. I have a few homosexual family members, and when they told me they were gay, I told them that I didn't love them any less because of it. I don't agree with their lifestyle, but I love them nonetheless. I don't always agree with the lifestyles of my heterosexual family members either. All I would hope for is an environment of mutual respect. We can have differing beliefs and opinions without all the name-calling, and especially without defiling and vandalizing our sacred places of worship.
Our church is no stranger to persecution, and it will continue, of that I am sure. I will be sad, but not for me. Name-throwing hurts the pitcher far more than the catcher. And I will bear it gladly, because I am not ashamed of who I am or what I believe. I am a MORMON! Dyed in the wool, true blue, through and through.
"For I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ: for it is the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth..." Romans 1:16
Monday, November 10, 2008
It is virtually impossible for me to spend less than an hour and a half on the phone chatting with any one of my 4 sisters... see how lucky I am to have so many. That's all, just feeling blessed...
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Scarves are my antidote to the frigid Utah winters. Seriously, as soon as the weather turns from summer to fall, I am all over these things. There really is no other way to have any kind of style when you have to wear a coat everywhere you go. I strap one of these onto my neck and I go from feeling frumpy to fab. This was my major motivation behind learning how to knit; so I can make one in every shade, to match every piece of clothing I own, and accent my Brown pea-coat that I am in love with, my tan short-trench, my jean-jacket(ode to my 90's upbringing), my black pea-coat which I'm not so in love with anymore(it's getting old), my puff-vest, and even my ski-coat. Or, if I see a sweet striped scarf at Ross for 4.99, I buy it. Even if I don't have a shirt that matches it... I'll buy that later, he he he. Not to mention the fact that scarves keep your neck toasty warm and cut down on the amount of icy wind that can waft down your jacket and send that not-so-lovely chill down your chest area. Yeah, not so in love with that.
PS. I'm still potty training Carter, and I gotta say: I'm a die hard do-it-yourselfer/ bargain hunter, but if I ever have a million dollars, I would pay someone else to do it for me. It stinks... in more ways than one.
Friday, November 7, 2008
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
The election is over. For better or worse. And I'm glad. I'm sick of hearing about it. This is our new reality, and I'm ready to just move forward with it. Thinking about the election makes me reflect on my own voting experience. It was, like many of my experiences, interesting. Not that the process of voting was all that interesting, I already knew where I stood on most candidates and issues, plus, most of Utah is republicans, which makes it pretty easy to vote. No, what made it interesting was the fact that I was yet again, trying to do something not designed for kids, with three kids in tow. Just as a disclaimer, one of my biggest pet peeves are those mothers who bring like 8 out of control kids into a place where it's totally INAPPROPRIATE to bring them. And they run around making a nuisance of themselves, and being obnoxious, and everyone just has to smile because she's looking at them like, "hey, we were all kids once, right?" Sorry lady, that doesn't make it okay for you to let your kids trash everything in sight. Hands in pockets, people. So anyway, I really really, don't want to become "that mom," so I expel great amounts of energy trying to avoid those situations at all costs, but more often then not, I'm alone, in the dentist's/doctor's office, or at the precinct with 3 kids under the age of 4. Yikes. I have a sweaty face before I even arrive. My tactic is to try and go unnoticed, you know, not draw attention to us, finish our business and skedaddle before my kids start getting out of control. This crumbles the minute that one lady (there's always one) feels the need to exclaim at the top of their lungs "ARE THESE ALL YOURS!?" Yep, I answer, truly proud, but slightly annoyed, why would I bring kids I'm babysitting to vote, lady? This is followed by a number of statements, "You don't look old enough to have three kids!" "Your so tiny!" and then looking at Hannah and Carter and seeing the similarities in their size they ask, "Are they twins?" This is where I take a deep breath and get ready for anything. "No, I reply, She's four, he's three and the baby is one." I get mixed reactions at this point. Sometimes, I get this look like, "Can't you control yourself?" To which my obstinate side immediately reacts spreading the indignant, "No I can't" look across my face, daring anyone to insult my offspring, or my right to have them. Most of the time however, people just get a kick out of the fact that Carter is now an inch taller than Hannah, even though she's a year older. Poor kids is cursed with the short gene. And I get a little laugh with them, about how she's her mother's daughter and then try to finish up and scoot out of the room before Carter starts whinnying like a horse (that happens more often than I'd care to admit). The problem is, the attention of the entire room is now focused on me, and I was trying desperately hard not to do that. It makes it much more interesting when I'm trying to get the kids to just stand next to me, like statues, while I hurry and vote, and not do anything too disruptive. Which is virtually impossible. And then they drop their books, fruit snacks, etc. on the floor, and Carter starts crying because now he doesn't have as many as Hannah. Crap, I am that mom. Some days I have true successes. Monday at the dentist Hannah was an angel, she just sat in the chair and opened wide every time they told her to, Ethan was so mellow that I was worried he was drugged, and the worst thing Carter did was sit next to the toothbrush drawer and exclaim over and over that they had a batman toothbrush! The amazing, and angelic hygienist let him take home the toothbrush too, even though it wasn't his appointment. She kept exclaiming how we were a little fairytale family, and how sweet my kids were. It made me feel AWESOME!!! I could seriously take her home in my pocket, it would do wonders for my self esteem. And I was truly proud of my little bunch of munchkins. They are truly phenomenal kids. I don't know how I was so blessed to have this many awesome little spirits come to me. They are all so tough, and funny, and sweet, and smart, and energetic, and mine. MINE MINE MINE!!!! I love that I see myself in them, that I see their dad. I love that every time I go to the store there's some weird old lady who gives me some little tidbit on motherhood, that I catalogue for later consideration, that I'm sweaty by the end of church, and that nobody ever thinks I'm old enough to have 3 kids. I love it because they are mine, and I will have more, and I will love them all too, because being a mom rocks, sweaty face and all.