Poop Stinks

We didn't go to the park today. It was a gorgeous, warm day. We didn't need jackets. The kids were in t-shirts--no layers. We didn't go to the park.

This time, it wasn't because I was too lazy or too tired to go. This time, it was because of a tantrum. It was a tantrum like none I have ever seen before. It wasn't the magnitude of the tantrum that amazed me, but the subject matter:

"Mommy put the poopoo back in my butt!"

How do you even begin to reason with that? Here's what happened. We were getting ready to leave for the park when Ellie sauntered into the kitchen and announced that she poopooed. I asked here where. She said in her pants.

Ellie and I have a deal. When she is properly potty trained, she gets to have a party at Chuckie Cheese (bad, I know!) with her friends. Today, I informed her that she also has to make a poopoo in the potty in order to get her party.

Apparently, she got super motivated at that point and decided that she needed to make a poopoo in the potty right then and there. She told me to put the poopoo back in her butt so she could put it in the potty herself. I told her I really couldn't do that, especially since I had just flushed it down the toilet.

We didn't go to the park today.

Did I mention that she was having her tantrum sans clothing below the waist? About 3/4 of the way through, she demanded pants--I think it might have gotten a little bit cold and uncomfortable.

Other poop-related issues:

1. Why does one of my kids always poop just as we're heading out the door?

2. Why does Ellie want to look at poop--especially her own, but not limited to her own?

3. I think my son poops out more than he eats. That bothers me a little bit.

4. I have become indifferent to poop at the same time that I have really really come to hate it. In other words, I don't freak out any more when I inadvertently touch the poop, but I still resent it.

5. Jake still holds his breath when he changes the kids' diapers, but not so much when he takes out the trash.

Of Mice and Men

I was browsing the photos on my computer and came across some choice pics of my brother. I was also thinking about New Year's resolutions and thought about how a year ago, Maki was living with us here in Denver. I also remembered something that occurred to me shortly after Jake and I got married: Maki and Jake have a lot in common. (Just so you know, Maki is a 35-year-old man with Down Syndrome and Jake is my attorney-husband.)

Neither of them can ever find anything. If you send Maki into a room that only has one item, he will not be able to find that item. Jake is pretty much the same. When we were first married and living in different states, he would often call me asking where various items were, such as spaghetti sauce, chicken, and forks, to name a few. Mind you, it was a one-bedroom apartment that I only lived in every other weekend. I recall actually walking Jake through the apartment over the phone to find these items.

Here's another one. They both love music and they both love to sing. One of them is completely tone deaf and the other is only slightly better. I won't tell you which is which. Here's Jake rockin' out in Tokyo.
Here is Maki rockin' out on stage. He is also an incredible dancer. Backstreet Boys have nothing on my brother.

They both make me laugh. Good thing I have a sense of humor. Since my birthday last month, I keep thinking of a date Jake and I went on when we were in law school. Here's how the conversation went:

Jake: You're the oldest girl that I've ever gone out with.

Me: Uh....I'm younger than you are.

Jake: Yeah, but you're still kind of old for me.

After 4 1/2 years of marriage, the comedy has not died.

My brother is just as graceful. When I was in college and sporting half blonde-half brunette hair, he called me a skunk. When I was single, his favorite thing to do was ask about former boyfriends in front of my new boyfriend. Also, you should ask Jake about the first time he stayed at my parents' house before we were married. It involves a shower and an event that I will always deny happened.

I came across this picture and nearly fell over laughing. This is Maki with chocolate fondue all over his face and a Curious George bandaid on his hand. My sister had given me a fondue set for my birthday and we were trying it out. Maki got a little bit overzealous, and in his attempt to stab a strawberry onto the metal skewer, he stabbed right through the strawberry and skewered his palm. After we cleaned him up and bandaged his hand, this is what he had to say:

"I'm Jesus. See, my hand!"

Thanks, guys, for making me laugh!

On Partridges and Pear Trees

In a previous posting, I think I mentioned being a bit irked at the crazy commercial-ness of Christmas in Japan. I tend to make a point of having our Christmas cards say "Merry Christmas" instead of "Happy Holidays." (I've told Jake on occasion that P.C. is for...uh...wimps.) I suppose that my point is that I don't know about everyone else, but I'm celebrating Christmas, which is to say, I am celebrating the birth of Jesus Christ.

To really get to the point, I'm trying to say that since my last million blogs have been the 12 blogs of Christmas, at least one of them ought to be about Jesus Christ, right? Well, here goes:

A couple of years ago, my mom was diagnosed with terminal cancer. The news was a major shock to the whole family because less than a year previous, we had been assured that her cancer was in remission and that all her surgeries and subsequent treatments had been successful. I prayed and pleaded with God to make her well, to give us a miracle, or let this news be a mistake. With each test and doctor visit, however, the news became more and more grim. The average survival for what my mom had was only six months. If she underwent more chemotherapy, she might survive from six months to maybe two years.

Eventually, my pleading for a miracle to make my mom well turned into requests for help in setting her affairs in order. We had to sell her house, finalize her divorce, and finally, find adequate health insurance to cover her treatment in Colorado. All three were daunting tasks, and none of them was smooth sailing. The house sale hit every snag imaginable, her divorce turned ugly, and it seemed that no matter where I turned, I couldn't find the information I needed for the health insurance. Sometime during this tumultuous period, Jake and I were asked to give talks in sacrament meeting. The topic: The Power of Patience. Oh, the irony. I don't know if Cliff Eley knew what was going on with us when he assigned the topic, but the timing couldn't have been better.

About seven months later, within about a week's time, the house sale closed, the judge signed the divorce decree, and my mom's new insurance card arrived in the mail. I took a breath of relief and immediately turned my thoughts toward figuring out funeral costs, cemetery plots, and hospice care. It was at that time that my sister came for a visit and I had her take our mom to her chemotherapy. I just needed a break. When they returned, my sister explained to me that the doctor had reviewed all of Mom's latest lab work, x-rays, and such and found that he could find no trace of her cancer. Mom was quickly planning how she was going to get off all of her medications and return to a normal life. I think that at the time, I congratulated her and didn't say or think much else.

As I was returning from dropping my sister off at the airport, it struck me that my mom had survived. It took another month or so to realize also that I had gotten everything for which I had asked. I had received the miracle for which I had pleaded several months before, not to mention all the help along the way to accomplish my list of 3.

Maybe this story doesn't convince you, the reader, of the existence of God or Jesus Christ, but for me, it was an affirmation that Heavenly Father not only exists, but listens and loves us. He sent his Son to ensure that we would have a way to return to Him. Jesus Christ came to Earth as an infant, grew up just like you and me, and then paved the way for us to return home someday. This is why I'm celebrating Christmas.

Merry Christmas!

2

I took Ellie to The Nutcracker today. I blogged about her first ballet experience a couple of months ago. Today was not unlike that experience. Here are the highlights:

1. Matinee performance starts at 1:00 pm, the same time as her nap.

2. Ellie had already filled up on candy by the time the performance began. Two words: behavioral problems

3. The Colorado Ballet's performance was excellent.

4. Ellie decided that all the little girls in the first act were princesses and let everyone know that's what they were. ("Mommy, anothew pwintheth!")

5. Ellie disapproved of the mice and didn't conceal that disapproval.

6. Ellie liked the Chinese dragon. "It's a dwagon, Mommy! It's the Shwek dwagon!"

7. When the performance was just not doing it for her, Ellie pretended to eat candy, offering pretend candy to her Aunt Hannah and me.

8. Spending time with my baby girl and showing her something she's never seen before.

9. Starting a new tradition. (Well, maybe not so new. I dragged Jake to see The Nutcracker in previous years. I just changed dates, I guess. Jake confided, though, that he was disappointed to miss this year's performance. For real.)

3

There is nothing so romantic as purchasing a nice, non-cheap item that you need, like a pair of boots, and your husband saying something like, "Um, can this be your Christmas present?" When asked that particular question, the answer is always NO. I have a new strategy--purchasing what I need to purchase, and then stating firmly, "This is my Christmas gift."

So far this year, I haven't made the purchase. I made a certain purchase at a certain Coach store for my birthday ("This is my birthday present.") and I'm actually thinking that might be good enough. But you never know...

This morning as I was preparing breakfast for Ellie and me, I realized, to my horror, that the dishwasher had stopped working. Honestly, it was more like the @#$%&* dishwasher flat out @#$%&* busted. I even kicked it to make sure it was dead. Dead dead dead.

I guess we're getting a dishwasher for Christmas.

NO, this can't be my Christmas present.

4

Santa Claus: Ellie Part II, Judd Part I

"Santa, I want a candy cane."

"Santa, I will take your beard."

I think this was the real Santa because he was so nice.