Friday, December 26, 2008

hu hu, Hi!!!

We're still here. It rained all day yesterday. Poured actually, check out the pants. Mmm, yeah. Happy Day after Christmas... from Disneyland.

Thursday, December 25, 2008

the reason.

Remember Him.

Merry Christmas everyone.

Friday, December 19, 2008

my life at under five feet.

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


So I'm sure you've all been just holding your breath to find out why my kids are so fabulous, as I promised to explain (see previous post) and then, flake that I am, wrote nothing. So I'm finally going to let you all in on the details from last weekend where we passed several milestones... get ready to live.

First of all, and perhaps the most important. Carter is potty-trained. YES, after months, and months of fighting it, he wore underwear everyday last week without a single accident. No peep (my kids word for urine) on the floor, no poop underwear to gag at as I wash them out. Nothing, just clean toileting. Yes, my life is goooood.

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 baby started walking. Not all the time, but he is taking steps. Last friday he walked across the entire Kitchen without looking like he even noticed what he was doing, then sat down and crawled off. I was screaming and jumping up and down. He laughed at me--like I was insane. I am. He goes back and forth between crawling and walking, but I'm not complaining. I'll keep him small as long as I can. In too short a time he'll be a little toddler mouthing off to me. :-(

Which brings me to Hannah, who I finally realized isn't really a toddler anymore. She wrote, WROTE her first letter to Santa Claus on Friday. And she did it. Ever single letter, all by herself. My girl is growing up. It's exciting. Her letter:
Dear Santa,
I'm going to disneyland. I want dress ups.
Love, Hannah.

My little novelist. Hey, baby steps, right?

Monday, December 15, 2008

to my children.

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.

And so I say to my children, without regret:

You are the trip I did not take;
You are the pearls I cannot buy;
You are my blue Italian lake;
You are my piece of foreign sky.

(Anne Campbell, To My Child)

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

the four-year-old.

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

28 things you might not have known about Craig... on his 28th Birthday.

Craig Scott Robinson: December 5, 1980.

1. He is the oldest of 3 children.

2. He grew up in Shelley, Idaho.

3. He loves ice cream, and I mean loves.

4. He HATES chocolate, and I mean HATES.

5. He writes left-handed, but does everything else with his right. (I'm the same way, by the way)

6. He wears glasses/contacts. His eyes are so bad that he can't see a foot past his face. If he doesn't set his glasses on the night stand next to the bed, then he can't find them in the morning.

7. He got his license when he was 15.

8. He tells the most hilarious stories, just ask my sister Meghan.

9. He served his mission in Vladivostok, Russia. When he got there the area (which is bigger than the entire United States) had only been open 6 months and there were only 20 elders.

10. He's hot when he speaks Russian.

11. He's a real life Rocket scientist. Yeah, lucky me. I hope our kids get his math skills.

12. He's a fabulous rock climber, and has climbed the Grand Teton

13. He grew up with horses, hence the Carter/horse obsession. (ps. he's hot when he rides them.)

14. He once almost got arrested for trying to climb up the side of a gas station at night. He didn't even realize that it might look like he was trying to rob the place.

15. His first job was moving pipe on a farm when he was 13.

16. He played football in high school and started on both offense and defense.

17. He's been sky diving.

18. He's a certified scuba diver, and sucks through his air twice as fast as me.

19. He's got fabulous blue eyes.

20.He plays the piano and the guitar, but he can't sing.

21. He had a full academic scholarship all four years he was at BYU-Idaho, smart, smart boy.

22. He told me he wanted to marry me after we had been dating a week.

23. He hates to go clothes shopping. He won't even try things on until like 3 weeks later.

24. He sneezes louder than anyone I've ever met, Craig doesn't do ANYTHING halfway.

25. He loves to read, The Lord of the Ring books are his fav's.

26. He has a secret agent obsession and thinks that he "is" Jason Bourne.

27. He can change the oil, brake pads, master cylinder, etc. in our cars, (and does so frequently)

28. He'd rather have Birthday Pie than Birthday Cake.

I love you Craig, I bless the day you were born and every year I get to spend with you!

Happy Birthday!

Monday, December 1, 2008

i've spent the last three weeks...

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

Dear Stephenie Meyer

Thank you for being the fabulous stay-at-home mother/author that you are. For creating the intoxicating universe of Twilight, that I've spent over a year obsessing over. I swear there is a drug in your books. No matter how many times I read them, I want more. Somehow they found a way to get it into the movie. It wasn't quite as awesome as your book, but still so much awesomeness. And my, my it has the same effect as your books. I just wanted more. They should have made it 3 hours instead of 2. Believe me, no one in that theater would have complained. I don't care that those books were written for teenagers. Even twenty-somethings like me with 3 kids, still want to feel passionately. And your books have that down... to the ground. You don't know how many husbands are enjoying the fruits of your labors, with their wives entertaining there own little Edward fantasies on their husbands... come on girls, you know you do too. So thank you, Stephenie. Even my sweetheart enjoyed the movie.


A devoted fan.
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...


Oh yeah...

This is going to be good.

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 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

if I had a million dollars...

I would build me this house, exactly.

Complete with this kitchen.

and a pool with a waterfall and slide in the back yard.

And a rock wall for Craig, next to it.

I would straighten my hair with one of these everyday.

And then go have a cup of hot chocolate in my own personal barnes and noble.

And I would dress my daughter in fabulous trench coats from Burberry.

Oh, if only...

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

goin' to the chapel...

Here are a few highlights from my brother in law, Blake's wedding last weekend.

Samantha the newest Mrs. Robinson.

After the wedding.

Chowing down at the dinner...

and trying to keep our flower girl dress clean. (we failed.)


In face.

Ethan with Grandy: this child was perfect for the entire 7 hours. And I mean go to anyone, not
cry a bit, totally content... perfect.
Thank heaven for small favors.
Carter the gentleman ran over and asked his sister if she would like to dance... all by himself.
I'm in love.

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.

The End.

Saturday, November 15, 2008

observations of a mother.

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. is far too easy for Hannah to look like a total rag-muffin. I swear if I don't spend half the morning with her sitting on my counter with her feet in the sink dressing her up like one of my childhood barbie dolls, she transforms into "little orphan Hannie." (my nickname for her when we are looking all shades of white trash) and don't even get me started on when she picks out her own clothes.

2.All girls are mommies, from the time they first pick-up a baby doll when they are still a baby, to when they are four and are buttoning up their little brother's jammies. And seriously, my Hannah is the bossiest, funniest little mommy of them all.

3.Blankets make the best toys. From building a "fort" to pulling the baby around the kitchen floor (which he LOVES, by the way) They are low-maintenance and fun, and the kids almost NEVER get hurt.

4. Something about renting the kids a movie from the redbox, buying them each a donut and letting them bring their blankets and pillows down from their bedroom to lay on the Family room floor and watch it, totally mellows them out. Even the baby. I don't know why, but I'm not complaining.

5.All little boys are gross. It's inbred in them. I know this because I have two, and they are both very different, and equally gross. Whether it's slime baby(see exhibit 1) or Carter sticking his head in the toilet, THE TOILET!(see exhibit 2) To "fix his hair like daddy", (I really hope that that's not how Mr. Robinson has been fixing his hair, ew) They are disgusting. Trust me. I'm potty training... it get's everywhere. Yuck.

6. Little boys need a daddy they can snuggle up to and watch a good western about Pecos Bill, and get out of going to bed for an extra hour. Daddy. Cowboys. Horses. Carter is in little boy heaven.

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

true blue, through and through.

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

call me.

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...

PS. Thanks for the chats Meg and Tashi, I love you.

Sunday, November 9, 2008

must have

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

Dear Mr. Robinson

It's Friday night and you've got that wild look in your eye that makes me think perhaps your week was even longer and more stressful than mine was. And I'm wondering if I've been doing everything I possibly can for you, and I'm inclined to think not. Like for instance, telling you how phenomenal you are in everything you do. How awesome it was that you ripped out the linoleum in our entry and stayed up until 2 am for a week laying tile just because I complained about never having any time for household projects. It looks fabulous by the way. Or how you totally encouraged me to go up to Logan last week and just chill with my lovely family and remember who I am again, even though it meant leaving you a lone man for 2 days to fend for yourself.

Last Friday you donned a striped t-shirt, striped socks, stocking cap and pillow in your belly, just so you could help me complete my dream of having a complete Peter Pan family for Halloween. Only a man truly confident in himself would do that. You didn't whine at all, you were excited!!! You even came up with the pillow idea, and you walked around our neighborhood showing off your duds to all our friends. You are the sexiest Smee I've ever seen, by the way.
You woke me up two days before our anniversary with a dozen red roses and then swept me away to California for 4 days. That was... there aren't words. I wrote a scene about that, just for you.

You left work early and drove all the way down to American Fork after that hideous owner at the Jewelry store screamed at me over the wedding ring they were supposed to be fixing and made much worse. I was really worried that you would end up in a fist fight. If that guy would scream at a little 4' 10" woman towing three little kids, what was he going to do when you got there? I don't know how you did it, but I ended up at the jewelry store an hour later with the owner apologizing to my face, because you calmly explained to him that it was unacceptable for him to speak to me that way and that he needed to apologize to my face. What a man you are! You were so kind when we went back to have him apologize to me. So kind to me, and to the man. I kept watching the shock on his face as you treated him with so much respect and understanding.
You never lose your temper at me. You never yell, even though I deserve it sometimes. You never do, even when other people would. You always know what's best for me. Even when I'm being my stubborn, stinky self. When I inevitably do follow your advice... you're always right. It doesn't bother me. I like it. Were you born with that much wisdom?
I like that sometimes at night when I'm still awake and you are totally asleep you'll unconsciously roll over and grab me and pull me tighter into you. It used to be, that I needed my space to sleep, but now I like sleeping tangled up in you. I like that you want me close even when you're unaware.
We've been exercising more consistently, and I've got to tell you love, you've got a hot body...
Also, you were right (again) running is the best way for me to slim down, without bundles of time for exercising, plus, I'm liking it again. Maybe we'll get around to that 5k we've been talking about?
But tonight, I'm going to finish this letter to you, and maybe I'll go get you some Breyer's out of the freezer, I'm like 90 percent sure I've got some raspberries in there too. I bet you'd like that. I'm not going to massage your back, because you don't like to be massaged... it tickles you too much, but I will find some other way to let you know how much I appreciate everything you do for me, and the kids, and the young men in our ward, and your family, and mine, and it goes on and on. How you hold us together, and it wouldn't work without you. And I bless the Sunday I opened my front door to meet my new hometeacher, and looked at my future husband for the first time, and a shock ran down my spine because you were "the one." You still are, love... the only one.
Mrs. Robinson.

Wednesday, November 5, 2008

kid friendly

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.