Quiet+ Happy+ Kids+ Out of Mom's Sight= TROUBLE

I'm not sure when I will learn that quiet children playing upstairs does not mean that I can accomplish something in the rest of the house.  A while back, it was too quiet upstairs, and Nolan was nowhere to be found.  I looked and looked, and suddenly I heard a sound like a little mouse in Daniel's toy bin.  This is what I found:

No big deal, just kinda cute, but trapped in a baseball toy bin.  

But there have been times when poop is involved and gets quietly smeared on as many surfaces as possible, even on surfaces I never knew were possible poop-receiving surfaces.  Sneaky quiet poop smearing is the worst.  Makes for an angry mama.

Yesterday, I hear giggling and giggling and giggling.  I think the boys are just being silly in Daniel's room, and I run downstairs to throw a load of laundry in the washer.  Then I hear a thud and more giggles.  And a bigger crash and more giggles.  And finally, as I'm calmly walking upstairs to see what mess these boys have caused, I hear Daniel yelling "Waaa Whooooa, Help us.... giggle giggle."  

So I open up the bathroom door, take a step inside, slide completely across the bathroom floor waving my arms around in circles like I'm in a cartoon and fall flat on my butt.  I look at the boys, and we all just about die laughing.  We are laughing so hard no one can successfully stand, and the expectation I had of being completely ticked off by the mess I was going to have to clean up was erased in about a millisecond because of the hilarity of the three of us on this soap-covered floor.  Here is some of the chaos:

I was super grateful that all we had to clean up was soap!  

But... it reaffirmed my suspicions that Daniel will never be able to get away with anything.  He will pay fully for every mistake he makes, every mess he creates, and he will continue to be a perfectionist because of it.  There may have been a few times that he was too cute to punish-- like the time Jeff and my dad were installing new light fixtures in our kitchen, and they set the old round white one on a box on the floor.  Daniel took one look at it, ran over to it, yelled, "Ball!!!" He had a huge grin on his face when he lifted it up over his head and threw it onto the kitchen floor.  Shards of glass everywhere.  He had been so proud of that "ball."  But this is definitely not the norm for him.

Nolan, on the other hand, hardly ever gets into trouble because the darned kid just makes me laugh.  Just like Uncle Kenny has always done.  Especially when he's getting himself into trouble.  Nolan is cute when he throws a fit. It is hilarious.  He just pouts, and his whole body goes completely limp, and he flops on the floor.  Or he smacks himself in the face repeatedly, which is just hilarious.  And when he doesn't do what I'm asking him to do, it's usually because he's doing something cute like this:

Or this:

I don't know if I'll ever learn that quiet kids are "getting into trouble kids," but I have already learned that sometimes making a huge mess is just too much fun to be a punishable offence.

And... if you've never tried pouring an entire bottle of liquid soap on your bathroom floor.  It's a hoot.  You can borrow my toddler to dump it on your floor sometime.

Happy bubbling;)

Fall Family Fun...

Fall is my favorite time of year.  Every time I say something about how I love Fall, Jeff starts whining about how much better Summer is, and how Fall sucks.  And it's just not true.  Fall is wonderful, and I think I feel this way because my family was always more of a family in the Fall than any other time of year.

1.  Football.  Right now, Jeff is laying on the couch downstairs watching football on Sunday afternoon.  Is there really any other thing that a man should be doing on a Sunday afternoon?  There is something so very very homey and wonderful about a home in the fall on a weekend with a football game on tv.  It just soothes my soul.

2.  Apples, Apple Orchards, Pumpkin Patches, Family Fall Fun Day...  I remember going to Keeney Apple Orchard with the Pittmans when I was a kid to pick apples.  All of my brothers would whine about it, and I would too, but it was the best.  Apple Cider and Doughnuts.  Climbing trees and wearing hooded sweatshirts.    My brothers bombing each other from their own respective trees with rotten apples...

So, even when I was in college, I knew that I wanted to have Fall traditions, so I would make my roommates go on Fall Fun Day Adventures with me.  We would go pick apples at an orchard, hike through the ravines on GV's campus, and then we would bake.  Apple crisp, apple cake, apple pie, apple pancakes...

And now, the Coloradohoos (Colorado Donehoos... get it?) are continuing with the Fall Family Fun by taking a Fall weekend getaway to the other side of the state.  Last year, we went to an Apple Festival with our friends from Grand Junction.  This year, it was a fun trip to Glenwood Springs for some cabin camping and Hot Springs soaking.  Here are some pics:

Top Bunk!!!

 

I never knew Doc Holliday died in Glenwood Springs, but it turns out he wanted some mountain gear and died while shopping for it.

Awe.

My "boss" demanded planking pics, so I one-upped and gave her an owling as well.

Jeff introduces Daniel's new friend to horse-manning.

After a soak in the hot springs.

September 24th at 5,800 ft. elevation.

Monsters.

Cookie Monsters Ice Cream face.  Happy.

Happy Fall All!

Adrenaline, Anger, Achievement, Addiction... The 4 A's of My First Triathalon

So, I'm standing in a unitard next to this woman, who is more ripped than Jillian Michaels, and her fiancee, who could make the Incridible Hulk look like a weeney, feeling a little intimidated when I think, Em, this is no big deal.  You really only committed to this so that you would continue to train and make working out a priority for the past 6 months, and you lost 16 pounds in the process.  All this is is the finish.  You will finish.  You don't really care what your time is, you just want to swim as hard as you can, bike as hard as you can, and run as hard as you can.  If you don't give up, you win.  If you hate doing this, you never have to stand in a unitard next to a bunch of skinny people feeling like a unitard ever again.  And, I feel a little better.

Then the paralyzed lady climbs out of the pool after completing her swim... and the guy with one arm and no legs... then the blind guy...  And I'm crying... Standing there in my unitard, watching these incredible people with more mental toughness than anyone I've ever known completely kick my ass in a competition made for swimmers, bikers, and runners... sports that require... I don't know... having legs that work and being able to see...

And I feel like a baby for every time I wimped out of a workout because I didn't feel like it or didn't have time or I ate too much and couldn't get up from the couch... but watching them is way more inspiring than it is condemning, so I capitalize on the last opportunity I'll have to pee before I compete in this weird race thing I never really thought I'd do.

I think I need a few warm-up laps before I start the 'no turning back now' real thing, so I hop in the warm up pool and swim the fastest one length of a pool I've ever swam, gliding through the water on pure adrenaline.  Oh yeah, I forgot about that cool adrenaline gift I have in the face of competition that makes me capable of stuff I can't do in training... maybe this won't be so bad... Never the less, the next warm-up lap is not quite as smooth, and I'm wishing I wouldn't have wasted that sweet first lap on a warm-up.

Regardless, I start swimming, and I can breathe just fine, and I'm catching people and passing them and I'm not dying at all, and suddenly, it's time to get out of the pool.  The first one is over.  Sweet.  Official time?  9 minutes and 18 seconds.

So I run out, dry myself off as much as I can, put on my jacket, because I am soaking wet and it's not warm outside, hop on my bike and pedal as fast as my little legs will go.  And I realize, Uh, Em, you have 13 miles of biking and 3 miles of running yet, and you are breathing super heavy from that sprinting swim you just did.  Remember how adrenaline only really gets you so far?  Finish.  And as I'm thinking about backing off a hair, I round the halfway corner on my first of three 4 1/3 mile loops, and I hear pop...poosh... 


Front bike tire demolished.


Damnit.  Nothing I can do. Even if I happen upon someone with a bike repair kit or something, there's no way a pop like that can be fixed with a little kit. 6 months of training down the tubes cause somebody threw a beer bottle in the street.  Guess I'll start walking.  


And I'm a little angry and sad, but not a lot, which is weird knowing me.  Oh yeah, Roberts have this 'weird clear thinking when everyone else would freak out and freak out when there's no reason to' thing.  So I just start walking, knowing that someone will lend me their bike to finish the race or something.  And I start problem-solving.  Could I borrow Rachel's (Kelly Jones-Wagy's trainer/more ripped than Jillian Michaels) when she gets done?  Could I just go to the transition area and start asking people to borrow a bike when they are finishing?  That sounds like a great idea.  I'll do that.  Someone will feel sorry for me and let me use their bike to finish or they might have a repair kit of some kind.  Or, what about... Kourtney?  Kourtney!  I'll bet Kourtney has a bike that she'd let me borrow, and she's on her way here with the boys, I'll bet she could bring it over.  


Since I just happened to have my phone (because of the ipod I'd need for the running portion), I called Kourtney, she found her friend's mountain bike, and I would be back in the race.  My time would suck, but at least I could finish.  As Kourtney and I were working out the details, Kelly and Jack (my dear trusted friends who roped me into this mess) passed by me with confused looks as I tried to communicate that I had a flat but was getting a new bike in the 5 seconds it took to pass by me. It didn't work out so well since I was on the phone and they were riding by on  their bikes, and they were nice enough to come back to offer Kelly's bike.  By the time they got back, Kourtney had pulled up with my car, and as I opened the hatch to get her wonderful and kind friend's bike, my 3 year old asks, "Who is winning, Mama?  Are you winning?"
Hilarious and defeating all at once.



So I pump the tunes and set out for the run... which feels awful on rubbery legs with a side cramp because of that stupid swimming too fast adrenaline thing, but I just think, don't walk.  The faster you finish, the faster you're finished.   So I run, with no one in sight in front of me or behind me. And I round the corner, and there is the rec center!  I'm there.  I'm done.  I'm... that's an elementary school.  I am not done.  Guess I'll keep running.


So I keep running and finally, I see the incredible hulk and his fiancee cheering me on to the finish line followed by my kiddos who have been asking, "Why is it taking Mama so long to cross the finish line?  It's right there.  I could cross it by myself right now."

I'm finishing so late, there is but one person there to cut off the timing chip. (Official running time? 30 minutes and 43 seconds.)  The only people in the parking lot are my friends and my kids. (Total official time? 2 hours 4 minutes 13 seconds.)

It kinda feels crappy that I'm one of the last to finish, but at the same time, I have this super cool 'hey, I did it.' feeling of accomplishment, and I'm glad I did it, and I want to do it again.  Only next time, without the blown tire.

Green Goo

Danny started preschool last week.  I thought I’d be all sentimental and crying, thinking about it as such a pivotal moment in his life, sad that he’s growing up…but I’m not.  I don’t know if it’s an “I’m ready for him to go to school” thing or if it’s a “Roberts don’t get emotional about stuff like that” thing and I’m pulling a classic Roberts move of being totally fine with him going to preschool right now and going crazy on Jeff about not putting his shoes away tomorrow when I’m really sad about Danny growing up. 

Regardless, as I do things for his preschool, like buying Dixie cups for the school,  I’m finding myself remembering my own preschool experiences.  The memory that stands out to me?  Disgusting lime jello goo with chunks of something in it.

Don’t tell me that you never had that fabulous surprise in your preschool classroom.  I know you did. 

The teacher said, “It’s time to wash our hands.” 

And I thought to myself, yes!  Snacktime!  I wonder what it is today.  Cookies?  Pretzels?  Goldfish Crackers?

And out come the little Dixie cups filled with green chunky goo.  Bright green jell-o deliciousness demolished by chunks of some nasty unidentifiable sitting on a shelf for a million years fruitishness.  What IS that?  Who ruins perfectly good ground horse-hoof-laden jello with chunks of pretend fruit?

I remember trying so hard to be polite about it like my mama taught me to be, but I know I squirmed and wrinkled my nose at it, pushed it away from me as though being near it would contaminate me.

This was my first experience with ‘jello salad,’ and I must admit I have never acquired a taste for that nastiness.  I’m sure I will never enjoy the chunky goo, and you can bet that I will never ever send that as a snack for Danny and his precious little classmates.  I don’t want to traumatize them like I was.

The funniest thing is that as I was pulling the Dixie cups off of the shelf at Walmart, remembering the nasty green goo traumatizing moment in my own preschoolerhood, I thought to myself, I should blog about the green goo.  But what is the green goo a metaphor for?

And it occurred to me that I can over metaphor things and that there might not be a good metaphor for green goo jello traumatizing small children during their preschool snack.  Sometimes it just is what it is.  Sometimes the moment of the day we usually look forward to is a Dixie cup full of unidentifiable chunky green inedible goo.

Go Blue... and Mattie Moo.

So, today is the big day.  U of M’s home opener against Western. 

The fam is decked out in U of M gear;  the boys went to Home Depot to build me something after eating doughnuts (No Lev’s out here in Colorado) with daddy, and the sounds  of familiar marching band drums, chants, and of course, “Hail to the Victors” fill our home. 

There is something about this time of year that just calms me.  I don’t really know why it is or what it is that makes me feel so happy and inspired and soothed, but U of M football sounds just make me feel…… better.  It’s not like I sit and pine over football in the off-season or anything, and it’s not like I hope for the cold to come back, because I still get sad when summer’s over, but there is just something in me that breathes a sigh of relief when that first college football game is played.

The sounds and the cooler air, the way the wind rustles the leaves outside all bring me back to the best season of my childhood; the season when all of the boys in my family all had the same thing to fight for, when they all spoke the same language and were too busy to torture their baby sister.  Football season. 

Maybe it’s because my mom and I spent more time hanging out baking and cooking together in the kitchen.  Maybe it’s because it was something that everyone was a part of; I remember when I learned the words to Hail to the Victors and my mom made me sing it to my Grandma since she’s the biggest U of M fan I know. 

Anyway, it’s just a cool thing to me that this time of year can bring back such a nostalgic state of peace for me.  And this morning when I saw a beautiful picture of Mattie decked out in U of M gear, I thought about how she’ll grow up with some of those same warm feelings in her now healthy heart.  The fact that she has that healthy heart and that she loves her daddy and Granddaddy leads me to believe that the first thing out of her mouth will be “Go Blue.”

So happy your heart is happy and healthy, Mattie Moo.

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