I'm thankful

Today I felt perfectly happy and full to the brim of gratitude and love.

I don't have those perfect and special moments as often as I'd like, which is probably a good thing. If I had them more often I think I would not treasure them as much as I do. I remember feeling like this during our vacation to South Carolina in the spring; we were walking down the boardwalk, each child was eating a piece of salt water taffy, I was walking with someone I was lucky enough to meet ten years ago, the sun was shining down and warming us up and I just felt like everything was exactly perfect and there was nothing in that moment that I would ever want to change. Have you ever seen those fountains that are big spheres of rock, perfectly round, with a hole just on top where the water bubbles out and flows all around the sphere? I felt like I was one of those fountains, and pure happiness was flowing out of me and covering all of those five people around me.

This evening I was snuggling Theodore in his bed. He was almost asleep and the covers were toasty and warm. The room was dim, lit only by his nightlight. Peter and Eleanor were busy doing their homework (Peter at the hall table, Eleanor at her table in her room), and the sound of their silence and hard work (trust me, the sound of your children being productive and quiet is one of the most beautiful sounds in the world) was euphoric. Matt and Viola were in Eleanor's room, and from the warm coziness of Theodore's bed I listened to them as they played together. Viola was laughing and Matt was probably softly tackling and tickling, judging from their sounds. All of the sudden, I felt like everything was exactly as it should be. I had a magical moment where I felt an intense love for my family in a physical way; I felt full, all the way full, of love from my toes to the tip of my head. My children are healthy, happy, well-adjusted, smart, caring, empathetic, wonderful people and I am incredible fortunate to have all four of them. I can see their potential and it amazes me to think of the people they can be. I have given birth to four of my five best friends. I am so grateful for my life and and the lives of those I love.

I love these crazy kids more than they know.

The Three-Year Old Wonder Boy

I guess when you have older siblings, you catch on to things a little faster than usual. Especially if you're naturally athletic.

Here is my Theodore, riding a bike. Since this video was taken, he's gotten even better. He can go the whole length of the street without falling over or running into cars. I still have to help him slow down because he tends to brake too fast.

Still, it's pretty amazing.



Here's how it happened: Peter has outgrown his bike, which is the one Theodore was riding. We're in the process of looking for a bigger bike for Peter and have promised Theodore that when Peter got his new bike, we would put training wheels on the old one for Theodore. Until that time, though, we've been helping Theodore ride Peter's bike because Theodore is too impatient to wait. On Thursday morning, Peter and Eleanor were at school and Viola was napping, so Theodore and I were out with the bike. I was holding on to him while he rode and then suddenly realized that I didn't need to hold on anymore, so I let go. And suddenly, he learned how to ride a bike. No training wheels for him!

My new look

So I cut my hair. And it is short. It hasn't been this short since I was one.

No, it is not a mom haircut. It is a pixie cut. And despite how enormous this makes my nose looks, the cut is really cute. And I love it.

I had an appointment for a trim on Saturday, but a few days before the appointment I started seeing cute short hairstyles all over the place, and I got to thinking.

1. I have had the same hairstyle for the past 6 years. It may have been a little shorter or a little longer at times, but it has been the same style. I don't want to look back and see that I got stuck in a hair rut.

2. It wasn't even a style, really. Curly hair can't really be styled; it just does what it wants. And half the time it would look bad anyway.

3. I would end up with it pulled back or in a ponytail anyway. It was ALWAYS in my face, or on my neck. At night I would have to wake up and shift my hair around. It would get stuck under the straps of my bags. And when it was pulled back it would give me a headache.

Finally, 4. It's just hair. And it'll grow back.

So I went to my great stylist and asked her to cut it off. She was really excited; apparently she doesn't get to cut off a ton of hair everyday. I actually had a little crowd around me as she did it.

I had two pictures I brought to the appointment for inspiration. The first was this one.


Cute, huh? I didn't really think it would look like this, because my hair is a different texture than Carey Mulligan's. But it's adorable.

The second picture I brought was this.


Also adorable. I thought my hair texture was closer to Audrey Tautou's, and I love the little curls at the ends.

I ended up getting the first haircut. It's very, very short, even shorter than I expected, but I love it. I look completely different than I have ever looked in my entire life. I may not look completely stunning, but it just feels SO GOOD. My hair is off my back! And my face! I can go outside on a windy day and not get my hair stuck on my lip balm!

So, yes, my hair texture is weird. I swear, though, I look better in real life. I don't photograph very well. And I may have to straighten it a little to get it a little less...weird. But it really does look good. Plus, cute headbands! Little clips in my hair holding my bangs back!

Yeah, I kind of look like my brother now. That's okay. It'll grow out quickly and hopefully I'll have more of the second hairstyle.

Surprised?

Myrtle Beach

We had SO MUCH FUN! First off, this was our first vacation in which we did not go to Minnesota to visit family, or go to DC to visit family, or go to Utah to visit family, or go to the cabin and be with family. As much as I love visiting family (hi, mom!), it was really nice to just have our little own family to make memories with.

We decided on Myrtle Beach basically after just looking at a map. It was originally going to be Florida, then it morphed into Charleston, then into Myrtle Beach. We got a great recommendation on a resort from a friend, which was the best decision we made regarding the trip. We stayed in a great resort right on the beach with a few outdoor pools and an indoor pool. We were on the 14th of 16 floors, so the whole time I was worried about the kids falling off the balcony. The view was gorgeous. It was just warm enough to wear short sleeves and play on the beach in our swimsuits, but not hot enough to want to swim in the ocean. At least that way I didn't have to worry about my kids getting sucked into the ocean, though!

We swam, we to the aquarium, swam, ate great food, swam, played on the beach, swam, made sandcastles, swam, walked down a pier, and swam some more. Good thing we had that indoor pool!

The highlights of the trip were: seeing the sharks at the aquarium, seeing a fisherman on the pier catch a stingray, Eleanor falling and hitting her chin so hard we worry about having to get stitches, playing on the beach, sitting in the warm sun, seeing dolphins swimming just off the shore, and watching the sunrise.

A view off our balcony. If you look closely, you can see me and the three older kids on the black bridge in the middle of the picture.

Playing on the beach.

Why, yes, that IS a shark right behind Eleanor!

Really expensive taffy. They got five pieces each and we MADE them enjoy it.

Viola was happy in her stroller.

Trying to get the kids all look at the camera and smile at the same time is impossible.

The boys.

Me and the baby.

Isn't she cute?

A rare family picture. Thank goodness for the timer on the camera.

Sunrise.

Odds and ends

Okay, since I waxed poetic about Viola for a few posts, I'll now move on to the other little fireball that keeps me busy all day: Theodore.

Oh, how I love him! Seriously. He is, and always has been, the most intense of my children. If he feels something, he feels it intensely. From the day he was born he was not afraid to let his opinion be known. Now he is almost three and full of energy.

He loves to climb.



He loves to play games, especially Twister.



He loves playing with my makeup.



He loves peanut butter and honey sandwiches. If he could eat these all day, every day, he would. He loves to take baths, and he loves going to the grocery store with me, probably because he gets a cookie and goes on the horse ride next to the checkouts. And he still loves to snuggle me (or as he says it, "dungle" me). He loves sports and is a natural athlete. He has decided that he wants to run races and play baseball, go to a Batman dance at a farm (?), and go be Spiderman in the Nutcracker. Clearly, he doesn't see the world as the rest of us do. But I love him for it.

***

I have learned that when you close the back door of your van, you shouldn't stick your head in the way. Here is some photographic evidence of my stupidity.


***

Finally, Eleanor has lost her first tooth! My baby! It's been wiggling around a lot lately, but she let me pull it out on Sunday. The tooth fairy came and left a dollar, but then Eleanor wanted the tooth back to show Grandma. So she wrote a note to the tooth fairy that said, "Dear tooth fairy, please bring my tooth back, Love, Eleanor." The tooth fairy nicely complied and left a (if I may say so myself) beautifully written and decorated note telling Eleanor that the tooth fairy needed it back in a few days, but she'd be happy to lend it back to Eleanor. So nice of that tooth fairy!

My little buttercup has the sweetest smile

I have always loved babies.

I was the little girl in your ward who wanted to hold all the babies instead of listening to the Beehive lessons. I was the girl who stayed late after church because I was having too much fun playing with the cute little toddlers. I always bee-lined straight to any new mom and asked to hold her baby. I still remember some of my favorite babies and am kind of shocked that they are probably about 17 now.

And then I had my own babies, and all the other ones paled in comparison. They were cute, sure, but the glow had gone off them and landed on my own. My own babies were so perfect that no other babies could compare. I still marvel at the fact that I have been given the four most perfect, most adorable, and most incredible babies ever.

The funny thing is, though, I had forgotten how much I loved babies until about a month ago. There is no specific point in time that I can remember, but all of the sudden I remembered how much I love having a little baby of my own. It came to me right about the point that Viola started only wanting me. I would hand her over to a well-meaning person and Viola would immediately start to wail. Grandma Rhynard took one look at her and Viola lost it. Eleanor, my poor, sweet, oblivious little Eleanor, loves nothing more than to hold Viola, but Viola Will. Not. Stand. For. It. Every time Eleanor holds her, Viola starts to screech, and nothing will placate her but for me to pick her up. Matt will sometimes do, but not always. As much as I want some personal space, nothing warms my heart more than my little girl reaching for me and grinning when I take her. When I hold her in my lap, she will turn her head upward to make sure I'm there, grin at me, and then reach up to touch my face as if she needs to check one more time it's me. She loves to grab my face and pull it close and get me as close to her as humanly possible. She loves to nuzzle my shoulder for comfort and breathe deep into the crook of my neck as if she has to inhale every little scent I have.

And I can't believe how much I had forgotten how great it is. She has gone from a screechy little baby whose default setting was "grumpy" to "blissfully happy as long as mama is holding me". I had forgotten how nice it is to get those huge grins that are reserved only for me. As a friend of mine put it yesterday, "it's so nice to be smitten."

And I'm amazed (again) at how my capacity for love has grown. I love my children intensely and primally. My love for my children is so unconditional and so strong that when another child joins our family I am always surprised that I have the ability to love another one in exactly the same way. I would have thought that with such strong love that I would reach maximum capacity at some point, but it hasn't happened yet. I heard once that with each child you have, you grow another heart, which is completely cheesy and goes against everything I stand for, but yet still describes perfectly how it feels. Before Eleanor was born I honestly didn't believe that I could love another child as much as I loved Peter and secretly pitied her, but then she was born and I was completely blown away at much I suddenly and completely loved her.

And now I have my Viola, and I should know better and not be surprised, but here I am. I am surprised at how much I physically crave my daughter, at how much I enjoy snuggling her during her nightly nursings, at how much I love that chubby little bum of hers, and how my heart really aches with love for her (I'm pretty sure that's a song lyric, but I can't place it).

I love all of my children to a degree that they will never understand until they have children of their own.

Oh, you want some pictures? And that's why you only come to my blog anyway? Fine. Geez.

One more photo session of Viola in her coming-home-from-the-birthing-center outfit before she physically bursts out of it:


"Oooh, hand!"


And, sneeze.


The first and the last.

This one is for you, Rebecca

Rebecca, I dressed Viola in the adorable purple dress you sent her, and she was so cute that I had to take a picture for you.

Thanks again!

Warning: reading this will cause you to have a very itchy scalp

So you probably want to hear the story. Are you sure you do? It's horrible.

It started on Saturday night. Matt woke up Eleanor at 10:30 to go the bathroom, as is our custom, and on the way back to her bed she scratched her head. I saw the scratching and commented that we ought to watch her for lice, since she just scratched her head.

I wasn't serious, not really. That is just me doing one of the things I do best: worrying about the worst possible scenario. I'm very, very good at this. If Matt is at work late and doesn't call, I worry that he has gotten in a car accident on the way home and is dead. And now I am a single mother, with no income, and my children will grow up without a father. Should I sell the house and move in with my parents or stay here, try to live on life insurance and keep the kids in the only house they've known? Or how about this one: I get a funky little bump on my leg that won't go away. It's not a mole, it's weird, I've never seen anything like it. Naturally, it must be cancer. It will metastasize and I will die. And my children will grow up without a mother. Oh, my Theodore will be so lonely! Viola will have to drink formula! Horrifying!

So naturally, when I saw Eleanor scratch her head, the worst possible scenario would be lice. Because indeed, that would be the worst possible scenario. I never ever thought that I would have kids with lice. I never had it growing up. I have known families that got it, and while I never thought it was negligence on their part, I just thought it would never be something I would have to deal with. Their problem, not mine, right?

The next morning we celebrated Valentine's Day. The Valentine's Day fairy had come and turned our milk pink, we ate cinnamon rolls for breakfast, and everyone had a little treat on their breakfast plate. It was a wonderful morning. Matt went to his church meetings and I got the kids ready for church. They were all dressed and all I had to do was fix Eleanor's hair. While I did this, I vaguely remembered my comment the night before about lice and thought I should check her hair. Just to be on the safe side.

I parted her hair and took a close look.

And saw lice.

This is where I exercised all the restraint I had. I did not scream. I think I gasped loudly and jumped back a little, but knew better than scream, which is what I wanted to do.

There were little bugs, crawling all over Eleanor's scalp.

I FREAKED out. Internally. I wasn't going to let the kids see me making a big deal about this. But I totally lost it. My heart started racing, my mind raced, and I wanted to peel my skin off and burn it. I hate bugs. And there were bugs on my daughter's head.

I checked Peter's hair. Lice there, too.

I checked Theodore's hair. He had the WORST CASE EVER. His little adorable head was COVERED with lice and eggs and scaly brown stuff. Oh, it was awful. My baby!

I called Matt on his phone and demanded that he come home immediately. We would not be going to church today. It was time to quarantine ourselves.

As soon as Matt got home, I went to the pharmacy and armed myself. RID shampoo, lice and nit combs, extra shampoo, and a new hairbrush since I was going to throw the old one out.

When I got home, sat the boys down and shaved all their hair off. Peter wasn't to happy about it, but when I very calmly told him he had bugs in his hair, he was willing to let me do it.



(Notice the look of disgust on my face while I buzz Theodore's head.)

Then I shampooed their hair. They were not happy with this, but it had to be done.

After this I realized that EVERY SINGLE SOFT ITEM IN OUR HOUSE NEEDED TO BE CLEANED. We are family that likes to snuggle. With lots of blankets. We had to wash all the bedding, pillows, blankets, towels, coats, hats, gloves, throw pillows, car seats, backpacks, stuffed animals, and any other soft thing in the house. Matt and I went through the house and brought everything that needed to be washed down to the laundry room. It almost filled the entire room. It is now Wednesday, and the laundry is still not done.

But now the lice are gone. The boys are clear, the baby doesn't have any, and Matt and I can't find any on each other. We're still checking, though. I think I'm going to have Matt check my head every day for about a month. Or longer, just to be safe.

Every day, sometimes twice a day, time permitting, I've been combing through Eleanor's hair, section by section, and picking out the eggs. If I miss ONE, the lice will come back. They are tiny, tine little eggs that stick stubbornly to the hair shaft. They will not come off by combing alone; I have to pick them out with my fingers since they practically cement themselves to the hair. I find less every day, but I'm still finding them. In a few days I'll do another RID shampoo and two weeks from Valentine's Day we should be clear.

I now have so much sympathy for anyone who has gone through this. And I am very grateful that I don't have to cut off Eleanor's hair, although I really want to. I also want to cut off all of my hair. I'd look good bald, right?

Almost as cute as these boys.

Only two words are necessary:

Head lice.

This

This is how Viola feels when Eleanor picks out her clothes.

This is how Eleanor feels when she gets to play in the freshly fallen snow.

This is how Peter feels when he falls head-first into the snow.

This is how Theodore feels when he gets hot chocolate after playing in the snow.

This is how the older three kids feel when they're woken up early, shoved into a cold van in -20 degree weather, forced to leave the haven of Grandma and Grandpa's house, and one of the them (the one with the bucket, of course!) starts puking.

This the crepe that Peter made for Mommy. Seriously, he made it ALL BY HIMSELF. From looking up the recipe in my cookbook, all the way to my plate, he did everything with very little supervision. By the way, the crepe is blurry because Mommy was hungry and ready to eat.