Driving Home From Church

I pulled over twice on the way home from church to break up fighting in the backseat. The first time, I made them say something nice about each other. 

Luke: Pete's smart.

Pete: Nu-uh, Luke's the one that's smart! (smaht)

Carrie: (sing-song voice) You're both smart. That's wonderful!

Pete: (impatiently) Nooooo, Luke's da one that's smahter. 

Carrie: (not in a sing-song voice) Okay, say something else nice about Pete, Luke.

Luke: (not smiling at all, bored) He's funny.

Carrie: He IS funny. Okay, Petey, Luke is smart, now say one more good thing about him.

Pete: He has really long hair. (He has weally lond hay-uh.)

Carrie: Great! Let's get going.

Four blocks later, we pulled over again. This time I just made them apologize.

Metaphorically Speaking

This is an OLD post that I never posted. You can guess why. But, today I want to post it. 

 I visited the Pioneer Woman today, where I saw this sign.

"Scrape shit from your boots before entering."

I like it. It reminds me of my hometown and working at VIP. Furthermore, I wish people in my life would follow its counsel. This afternoon little dirty boys tracked mud through the house across the just-barely-swept floor and into the just-cleaned bathroom.  The pristine bar of soap is now brown and the counters are smudged. I swept again.

Metaphorically, too, I'd like this gritty bit of wisdom to hold water. But, I think maybe it doesn't. I definitely want admittance even with all my metaphorical shit. Maybe the true love sign would say, "Come on in, you'll get cleaned up eventually."


....
I'm not sure if this is my blogging rebirth. But, here's an update: In November, Luke turned 7. He's lost several teeth. Currently he's completely missing the top middle two and one on the bottom. On his 3rd or 4th tooth, he wanted money for his tooth, but he also wanted to keep the tooth. I made him write a letter to the tooth fairy. He wrote: To the Tooth Fairy. Hi I am Luke. "PLEES LEEF MY TOOCH. P.S. I DOTE BELEEF IN YOU."

The week before Christmas I told the boys that I hadn't done any shopping for their Christmas presents. Petey, age 3, said, "Tanta bings my peasants." Luke said, "There's no such thing as Santa." Pete replied, "Ya-huh. I taw him in da pawade."


One of the things Brandon gave me for Christmas was a bouquet of flowers. The card said, "I think 2012 is going to be a great year for us." I cried when I read it. I knew he was talking about his job search. 

Happy New Year. 


And Pete is finally, finally, finally potty trained. 
2012 will be a great year indeed.

verse with blurry photos of boys

Little boys with hair of gold
Love me even when I'm old.
Love me when my hair is gray
Come and kiss me anyway.
Bring me colas, lemonade to drink
Come and see me week by week.
Bring your children, let them run
And I'll remember when their dads were young.
-Carrie to Luke & Pete

Pete

Luke

Luke, Pete, aluminum foil belts, wrist bands, and hats

Pete

In the photo above, Luke and I are in the background. I'm making dinner and Luke is keeping me company.

Lately Luke likes to sit cross-legged on the counter while listening to various cds to see which ones he likes.

Boys and Broomsticks

Today, I pretended to be a witch and carried the boys on my broom (Literally. And it wasn't easy.) to my gingerbread house where I wanted to fatten them up. "What can I tempt you with, my pretty? Will you eat icecream, chocolate chip cookies, a juicy steak?" It didn't matter what I said, Luke said, "No." He understood that I was trying to make him plump for eating. But each time Luke said, "No" or "Uh-uh," Pete quietly and resolutely said, "Yes."

(I'm feeling my first rush of excitement that Christmas is coming!)

Click on the pictures for sources.

He's still alive.

And it's a miracle.

Pete surrounded by a least a dozen broken eggs. The mess was all over him, all over the floor, inside the refrigerator, under the refrigerator. I cleaned it up all by myself. It's official; I'm an adult.

And just to seal the deal, later that day:

same kitchen, different boy.

Mud:

Why every boy needs a backyard and a beningly negligent parent.

Mama, snap out of it!

I do not handle most stress well. I am a delightful person when it's easy. But when it's hard, and especially when surrounded by those who should be able to trust me the most, I fall to pieces. I make what's hard harder for everybody. I forget that I set the tone of our home and that I am responsible for more than just myself. So, I've been like that a lot lately.  And today after being a truly terrible mother, it dawned on me: I'm responsible for this. I can choose to get it together and be happy and not out of control. Even if...certain small boys did what they did.

So after a disastrous morning, we left the house and headed for Idalou to the Apple Orchard. It was like the scales peeled away as we passed cows and hay bales. It was sunny and you could see and see and see.

Pete had a walking stick. Oh, Pete. You are the most adorable, kissable thing in this green and blue world. You walked with your stick, avoiding fire ants and cooing at butterflies until you got tired. And then I carried your sweaty body and you were heavy and needy and it was good. And Luke. Luke, we followed you hither and yon, up and down orchard rows and on the tractor rutted road. You and I discussed the best places to build anthills (if we were ants) and how the King Ant has wings. (You corrected your own self about that one--queen ants...) We ate watermelon and cantaloupe, and apple salad, and corn chips and pinto beans. And while we ate, we watched mud martins swoop in to their nests under the eaves of the covered patio. Mr. Cal remembered you, Luke, from the last time you followed him around came home with the trophies of walking sticks made of apple tree branches. I think he remembered you because you were interested in everything he had to say. You still remembered about how he doesn't kill the ants because he likes horn toads and horn toads need the ants for food.

We brought home local honey and german apple cake. Luke and I ate most of it this afternoon, but saved some for Daddy. We might all be a little sunburnt and mosquito bitten. And I feel a little bit more like myself.

I hope it sticks.

Lately, I've thought, okay at least twice, maybe three times, I've thought this:

I can do it.

This thought is foreign and it comes unbidden. And it's wonderful.

A sampling of my thoughts:

"The kitchen and the bathrooms really need to be cleaned. That's okay. I can do it."

"If I get pregnant again, I might have a baby girl. It'll be okay; I can do it."

"If we stay in Lubbock next year, Brandon will be looking for a job again."

Before I finish this thought, I need to interject. This is our second year looking for a job. He has a job, it's just not permanent, tenure-track, and solidly stable and therefore, we are not settled. I have repeatedly and irreverently expressed to God that we just can't do this anymore. But, maybe instead of letting me have my way right this second, Heavenly Father has given me something else. Because,

"If Brandon is looking for a job again, I'll need to smile through it and make a home anyway and anywhere. And I can do it."

I'm still praying though, but asking, not demanding.

P.S. My children's cheeks KILL me. Tonight, I kissed and kissed and kissed my baby's face before letting him doze off.  He's so precious to me.

P.S.S. A glass lid shattered in the dishwasher and so now the dishwasher doesn't drain completely. Today I realized that it's really stupid to continue using a dishwasher that's not draining completely, so I did all the dishes by hand. It took a long time. But it smelled good. And I scoured the kitchen sink first, which made me feel successful.

I washed all the dishes except for the oatmeal pot.  It's soaking. I didn't dry the dishes and they are leaning hodgepodge against one another across two countertops.

And I only cleaned one bathroom. But, Luke worked alongside me. Which is so great! And I'm an amazing mother for not bribing him and for trusting him with ajax and windex. It was rather fun to kneel side by side and scrub the tub.

And the point is, I thought I could do it. And I couldn't, not exactly. The oatmeal pot is still dirty. The dishes are not put away. The upstairs bathroom is still filthy. But, really, what does it matter when one baby was kissed and kissed and the other was read to and scrubbed a sink all by himself?

I'd love to hear about how you were...enough. But, I'll understand if you don't follow suit and blog all about it. I hope you'll at least go and be successful quietly and then think, "Oh my! I did pretty well today. I wasn't perfect and it doesn't even matter!"

Fall with the Randolph-Seng's

Fall began one wintry day--no truly, it was COLD. We trekked out to Idalou and went to the apple orchard for some hot BBQ and cool german apple cake. We ate lunch, went on a hayride, picked out our pumpkins, and watched green chiles being roasted. I bought raw honey and I really think it's made a difference to my sinuses. Here are the boys sitting across from me on the trailer bed/hayride. It was fun and freezing.

It's soup-time. I've made several different soups, but I only took a picture the night we had pizza. (sigh) But it's goooooood pizza! Roasted red & yellow bell peppers, onions, mushrooms, and grape tomatoes. Mostly whole wheat crust. Lots-a-cheese.

Chilly days are great for staying inside and building forts. Here's Pete crawling through one. Look at his hair.

And Look at HIS hair! Luke's striking a tough pose with his rad mohawk.

But then it kinda fell over.

Still tough. Don't mess with us.

I look like a cross between Bono and the mafia. That's what no shower and no sleep will do to ya.

Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn

Luke didn't finish his dinner the other night. He ate everything except his salad. I didn't make him finish it because he said he was full. But then he wanted a treat. Our conversation went like this:

C: I think you're too full for a treat.

L: No, I'm not.

C: If you're too full for lettuce, you're too full for a treat.

L: But only the lettuce parts of my stomach are full.

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Yesterday I asked Luke to watch Pete and KEEP HIM SAFE while I took a quick shower. I put the baby gate up and got ready for the day. When I came out, both boys were at the kitchen table, heads bent over in concentration. On the table, there was a full cup of milk, with straw, and a 2-Liter bottle of raspberry soda.

Luke stood up with a sharp knife in his hand, and said, "I'm sorry I got this knife out."

Turns out, he had also retrieved a sharp pair of scissors. He wanted to mix the milk and raspberry drink together to see what it would taste like. He wasn't strong enough to unscrew the top, so he had gathered tools to do the job.

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Pete still wacks people on the head and pulls hair and bites and yells and he also screams and pounds on the door of the dressing room when I won't let him out to go walk around Target by himself (making another baby in the dressing room cry.)

As we walked through Target yesterday, Pete was yelling (not crying, just yelling) and everytime Luke would get close enough, Pete would try to pull his hair. Luke was a pretty good sport. He just copied me and kept telling Petey, "You're dangerous."

The other thing we say to Pete is, "Stop hittin' your money-maker!" Because he hits himself in the head to be funny.

Oh yeah, he also has a fake cry that we love. He cries and half-smiles and then looks out of the side of his eyes to see if I'm watching and if it's working. It's not, but it's entertaining.

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This is Luke at swim lessons this summer. He didn't want to jump off the diving board. I knelt down beside him and gave him a stirring peptalk. "I believe in you!" ("@%^&! I was eloquent!" Name that movie for a date with me.)

Anyway, I was eloquent and he was unmoved.

Then I said, "I'll buy you an ice cream cone if you jump off that diving board." He didn't even hesitate or have to think it over.

Me & Luke at the Silent Wings Museum.

Huck Finn--I mean--Pete. After black beans.

I am in love.