Birthday Lessons

Two phrases should cause you to fear your life: (1) "Rattlesnakes come to the pavement of parking lots ... and may be around sidewalks and shrubs" (bonafide flier we received on our door last week); and (2) "Mom, I want a birthday party."

Kids are sly. Instead of saying, "Hey Mom, I want to invite a bunch of friends over to make a lot of noise and overdose on junk food," they say, "Mom, can I have a birthday party?" And they propose with those puppy eyes and soft voice. How could any parent resist?

Since Nicole sweet-talked our neighbor into making an adorable ladybug cake, we decided to make animals the theme of the party. As the kids walked over our threshold, they entered into the jungle. We played all sorts of animal games, sang animal songs, and distributed animal party favors.

Now that the party is over, here's what I learned:

1. Kids don't care about playing games; they can have fun by running in circles as loud as they can.
2. If you can convince children to play a game, they are most likely to prefer Duck, Duck, Goose, as it involves running in circles as loud as they can.
3. Kids feel sentimentally attached to the birthday gift they bring to the party and want to participate in opening it.
4. Each child should be presented with a bib, instead of a party hat, upon entering the door in order to protect their clothes from red ladybug frosting.
5. A four-year-old girl can invite five boys to her birthday party and still have a good time.
6. Cousins make the best friends. (Travis was the only guest that received a hug upon arrival.)

I wonder what I'll learn next year ...

Saudade

Saudade [sαw'dad]: a word unique

to the Portuguese language that

symbolizes the emptiness one feels

when separated from loved ones.

Each time our truck departs Grandma's driveway, Nicole invariably says, with a sorrowful undertone, "Grandma's sad, Mom. She doesn't want me to leave."

Last night as we left, Grandma was standing in the driveway waving goodbye, and it truly felt as though we had just concluded our sole visit to her house for the year. Nicole sensed it, too, because she changed her usual mantra to, "Mom, I don't want to go home. I go miss Grandma. Mom, I feel sad." And so, for the first time ever, Nicole has experienced and expressed the deep emotion of saudade.

What It Means to Be a Doctor

If you asked, most people would probably give you smart as a synonym for doctor. Not me. I'd propose the word selfless. Doctors will work for 36 hours without sleep to care for you. Doctors will take your problems home with them and ask their families to pray for you. Doctors will miss ball games, dance recitals, 6:00 dinner, birthdays, anniversaries, and even Christmas to be with their patients. Doctors know sacrifice.

One doctor described the art as "the jealous mistress who will take everything you have and more." How could someone so smart fall into this trap? Place the blame on their compassionate hearts. They value the sanctity of human life and will go to any length to protect it. They are endowed with an empathy that few can comprehend.

While it takes a great deal of smarts to be a doctor, it takes even more sacrifice. And that's the business of being a doctor.

Mom's Purse: The Bottomless Bag of Wonder

As part of the baby car seat elimination program, Grant was privileged to sit in the grocery cart seat like a big boy for the first time. Since he's still a bit wobbly, he was propped up on the sides with a large blanket and strapped in the seat belt, which could barely snap shut around his chubby chest.

It's been a while since Nicole was his age and I have apparently forgotten the extensive measures I took to secure my purse in a baby-free zone while shopping. So, without thinking, I placed my purse in its usual position, which happened to be next to Grant on this particular trip. I concentrated on my shopping list and pushed the kids along without paying much attention to Grant. He was quiet, so I figured he was happy. Boy, did I ever guess that one right. By the time I decided to check on him, he had my pen in his mouth, ripped planner sheets in one hand (binkie in the other) and a big smile on his face. The smile dissipated, however, as the objects were relocated one by one back to their hiding spots in the large black hole, affectionately known as my purse.

Grant wasn't quite the same during the remainder of our trip. He fussed a little, looked around a little, and truth be known, probably thought a lot about a scheme to retrieve his leather friend. I'm afraid the two of them created a lasting bond that will take many more lonely shopping trips to break.

Natural Equestrian

Nicole has been telling me what she wants for her "September birthday" for several months. One of those things is a ride on a brown horse. Now, what you need to know about Nicole is that she's resolute. Once she decides she wants to do something, there's no turning back. She never changes her mind and always sticks with her conviction (I also refer to this as stubborn).

So, yesterday at the University carnival, her wish came true. She spent at least 30 minutes on two different ponies trotting along the wide sidewalk trails on campus. I think she was born to ride horses. It appeared very innate for her and she thoroughly enjoyed riding. After a few minutes, she felt comfortable enough to hold on with one hand. She expressed her affection for the ponies by softly rubbing their heads. When it was time to dismount, she told the trainers that she didn't need any help; and she jumped down. I'm thinking that our money set aside for preschool might be better invested in equestrian lessons. Can't you imagine her in boots? Go cowgirl!

OCD

This acronym, short for Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, is a common term among medical student families. You see, it's common knowledge that the majority of medical students must possess some OCD tendencies in order to make it through their vigorous studies. Honestly, if you think about it, who better to study 18 hours per day for eight consecutive months in order to pass a test than someone who has OCD-like behavior? Fortunately, most of them score much higher than pass. But I digress...

I contend that my affinity for a white home rivals the study rituals of second-year medical students. The towels are white, the flower vase and flowers are white, all of our bedding is white, our lamps are white, as is the shower curtain and all of our window coverings. I only buy white cleaning rags, wash rags, napkins, and plates. I love the way the white looks: it's so clean and bright. Perhaps the best part about having so much white is that it really is clean because all of it is Cloroxed weekly. In addition, I never have to worry about matching colors or replacing out-dated colors. My sister says I'm crazy, but it's not that at all. It's classic. It's timeless. It's OCD. Who else could scour every store in town in search of an all-white sippy cup that will blend with the rest of the dishes in the cupboard? (FYI, unfortunately no such sippy cup actually exists.)

Mini Driver's Ed

We, meaning the chidren and myself, spend an inordinate amount of time in the car. Most of this is due to our commute to Ogden bi-weekly. Nevertheless, Nicole always has her road safety radar on -- no matter where we're going. I don't know why she is so concerned about "the rules," except that she, herself, likes to govern her life by rules. Frequently she'll make up new rules and say, "That's the rule, OK, mom?"

Hence, a few nights back on our way to take dinner to Daddy, Nicole noticed a car turn left out of the VA hospital. (Normally, not such a big deal, but there is a no left turn sign there.) She was so upset by this that she wanted to tell the police that work inside the hospital. As fate would have it, the police were on their break, or otherwise detained.

But this is not all. She watches for cars who drive too fast; cars that run red lights; motorcyclists who ride without helmets; semis who drive in the fast lane; and unbuckled passengers. Whenever a policeman is unavailable, Nicole has a fast, effective and fool-proof way to discipline the outlaws: she spits at them. Yes, folks, that's right; she counts out loud to three and then spits at them through her tinted glass window. (It's the only time spitting is allowed and I can't bring myself to stop her because it's so funny!) And she gets results. Most of the time, the offenders quit the illegal behavior or drive so far away that she loses sight of them and refocuses her radar on a new wrongdoer.

Modesty Matters

Nicole is conscientious about protecting appropriate body parts from others' view. For example, her last words before closing the bathroom door are, "Mom, I need my privacy."

A couple of weeks ago, we finally watched the movie Elf with Will Ferrell (not recommended due to humor level of stupidity). Since Ferrell plays the part of a giant elf, he dresses in a green jacket with yellow tights. He looks ridiculous, which is why his father tells him to "get rid of those tights as soon as possible." So what does he do, but remove them right then while standing in the dining room. Nicole gasped and said, "Uh oh, his legs need privacy, don't they Mom?"

Walking around campus, she whispers comments to me about girls needing to cover their tummies. The other day at the playground, one of the girl's panties showed from under her dress as she went down the slide. Not wanting to hurt her feelings, Nicole reported to me once we returned home, "It's not good to show your legs or panties to everyone, huh. They need privacy." May she always have a sense of modesty!

It's a Sign

A number doesn't exist to describe the number of times an older person (hereby defined as someone with adult children) has stopped me at the store and said something to the effect of, "Don't blink or they'll grow up," referring, of course, to my children.

It is with much sadness that I admit I have blinked. While the thought alone of Nicole starting school next year is understatedly distressing, she is already acting "like a big girl" (and she's not even four yet!).

Among other things, apparently Nicole is old enough to make her own bed now. Each morning she makes her bed before leaving her room. Then she asks me to close my eyes as she leads me down the hallway to unveil her surprise. Imagine the pride in my heart when I round the corner into the children's room and view her masterpiece: It's lovely, Nicole. Simply lovely.

Multi-Tasker

Grant has an almost superhero-like ability to multi-task. As you may know, Grant's binkie is a type of permanent appendage to his face. However, you would not believe what he can do -- all while sucking away furiously on his unnatural limb (it's made of soft, green plastic!).

• Play with toys
• Ride in the stroller
• Take a bath
• Scooch (code for semi-crawl)
• Baby talk
• Smile/Laugh
• Cry
• Sneeze

He even likes to play with a second binkie with a binkie already attached to his mouth. (It may be one of his favorite toys.) One of these days, I'm sure he'll invent a way to eat while sucking on his binkie. Meanwhile, he'll continue to return this odd-shaped tentacle to its proper resting place nearly 100 times per day: his mouth.

Silliness Revisited

I wasn't kidding about that silly gene. The kids have joined forces to exponentially increase their comedic output. Their latest prank? Nicole converted her Lego wagon into a baby stroller.
A bonafide baby stroller. Don't let Grant's innocent face fool you -- he was privy to the whole scheme and loved every minute of it; that is until the make-shift stroller "accidentally" dumped him out. This is surely only the beginning of many shows to come.

Self-Feeding

It's a miracle! The boy who still looks like a baby (because he has no teeth) has learned how to feed himself. This morning, he was so desperate to drink his bottle that he grabbed it out of my hands and shoved it in his mouth as quickly as possible. He apparently felt proud of himself because he gave a huge smile afterward.

Later this evening he fed himself small pieces of bread while sitting in his high chair. He knew exactly what to do; he did the same thing that he does with any object that is clenched in his fists: give it the taste test. Imagine what he'll be able to do with teeth!

Team Spirit

Every year the School of Medicine hosts an all-school picnic. We love this opportunity to mingle with fellow medical students and their families. In addition, the food is always great and the party is situated in a fancy park with a playground for the children. This is how we spent our evening yesterday.

The first and second years produced a spectacular turnout; while most of the third and fourth years were on call at the hospitals (hence our defeat in the tug of war). As is typical for these events, one girl asked me if I was the student or the spouse. Somehow I knew that she was a first year, which she confirmed a minute later. Then she asked about us. I answered, "We're in third year." She must have misunderstood because she offered a correction, "Oh, he's in third year."

I let it slide, but I meant what I said: we are in third year. Yes, we. We are a team. Neither of us would be here without the other and we know it. That's why we say "we."

True Meaning of Christmas

During our bi-weekly drive to Grandma's house this week, Nicole asked me why we weren't going to Aunt Shari's house. She loves to be there for the same reason everyone does: it's a fun place! I wanted Nicole to have something to look forward to, so I reminded her that we were going in December. She was so excited and wanted to know when December was. I replied, "It's by Christmas time." To be sure, she asked me what Christmas was (even though she knows very well).

Obviously not thinking before speaking, I blurted out, "Christmas is when we have the tree in our house with the presents and Santa, etc." I immediately thought to myself, "That's not what Christmas is. What am I teaching my daughter?" I retorted with, "Christmas is Jesus' birthday."
Nicole's response was completely unexpected. She got a huge smile on her face and said, "Oh boy! What are we going to get him?"

This time, I was going to reply with the proper answer. I said, "Nicole, Jesus wants obedience to the commandments. He wants us to be good."

She pondered this response and gave me an "are you kidding?" kind of question back as she asked, "That's it?" This would just not do. She continued, "No, Mom, we need a whole bunch of balloons and cake and lots of presents."

Nicole has asked me repeatedly over the past few months why Jesus won't come to our house to visit. I wonder if she thinks he'll come for his birthday party this year. Perhaps he would consider it if we really did celebrate him instead of fuss over gifts for others.

The Silly Gene

Shortly after Nicole was born, Clint and I observed some funny behavior. Nicole, we had postulized, was born funny. She liked to perform tricks to make us laugh. Even now, she likes to tease, sing songs, tell stories, hide and, yes, still show off tricks in an effort to elicit a smile or even a giggle. Clint and I wondered, "Where could this child have possibly learned this conduct?" Take a look at her record:
It would seem now that we have the answer. You see, now Grant has begun playing games and acting comical. I suppose we're a bit slow, but Clint and I have finally arrived at the conclusion that it's genetic: our kids are born to act silly.

Fall is in the Air

The leaves are changing colors; the daylight hours are decreasing; and the weather is cooler. But the most reliable sign that Fall is just beyond the horizon is the arrival of candy corn on the store shelves.

Each year, I succomb to purchasing an extraordinary amount of candy corn, all between the dates of September 1 -- October 31. As a child, I do not remember candy corn peeking its sugary face in public until the beginning of October. So while everyone complains about the commercialization of the American Society, I benefit by gaining four extra weeks in which candy corn is available.

It's fortunate that my birthday falls in October because it simplifies the task of deciding what to give me for my birthday. Experience has proved this to be true since I gather approximately four to five bags just for this occasion. And believe you me, I have no difficulty indulging myself before the candy has a chance to go stale. You might say that I love this candy.

What makes candy corn special is that, in its purest form, it is only made fresh for the Halloween season. Other holidays have tried to produce replicas. Thanksgiving has "Indian Corn," which is brown, orange and white. Easter offers a pastel variety (turquoise, lavendar, yellow, etc.). Yet I await a worthy competitor to the original yellow, orange and white masterpiece. Until such a day arises, I will continue my yearly binge during these always too short fall months.

Every Family Needs a Baby

I can't count how many times I've heard my mom repeat that phrase. And I know why she does. No one can make your day quite like a baby. They're always ready with a smile. They giggle with a small tickle. They find pleasure in the simplest of life. Every family needs a baby because no one can love like a baby can.

Telling Time

It's fun to watch Nicole's brain tick as she tries to figure out how we measure time. She likes to tell me things that happened yesterday and things that are going to happen tomorrow, but sometimes the words get in the way.

Lately, she's been trying to express more specific amounts of time. A few nights back she was playing in the bathtub, waiting for me to wash her hair. I told her that I would do it in five minutes. Five minutes later, I entered the bathroom and told her it was time. Apparently she thought five minutes should have lasted longer. So she told me that she needed "just a few more minutes." Then, to make sure that would be long enough, she asked me, "How much is a few minutes, Mom?" Satisfied that three minutes would suffice, I told her I would come back.

The poor thing must have thought three minutes would be longer than five minutes because she was surprised to see me so soon. This time, she would be sure to get it right. She said, "Mom, come back in one hour, OK?" Then after a brief pause, she added, "Mom, an hour is a long time?" I replied that, yes, indeed, an hour was a very long time. She was glad to finally know.

The next day before leaving for Grandma's house, she was sure she had exactly the right words to tell me how long she wanted to stay. "Mom, I want to stay at Grandma's forever ever. Let's stay for ONE hour, OK?"