Calvin playing with Everett:

This little piggy played inside
This little piggy had time out
This little piggy played outside
AND THIS LITTLE PIGGY RIDES FOUR WHEELERS!!!!!!!!

6:22 am . . . really? REALLY? REALLY?

Walk in from working out. Come around the corner to catch Cal doing this.

Kissy kissy bye bye hubby.

Baby Sunshine comes down, wild haired. Carry her back upstairs, pour breakfast for her and her brother.

Make the bottle for Everett. Go in to greet him.

He stinks. Blow out. Awesome.

Nakie baby and I take a shower.

Kids are done with breakfast. Time to change bums. One, two, three.

Time to get dressed.

Wrestle Calvin into his selected outfit (why are you wearing that winter jacket again?) – while holding baby Everett on my lap. He’s suddenly turned clingy.

Clothes on, shoes on, walk down the hall. Suddenly, Calvin is wailing!!

He wet himself (in the misadventures of potty training). He does not like the wet.

This time I put Everett down with another bottle, back down the hall to Cal’s room, strip him, dress him again.

Everett must have finished the Bah. He’s crying, and crawling, down the hall towards me.

“Olivia, go get the hair brush.” I eye her tangled locks.

I pick up Everett. Olivia has already begun to whine about having her hair brushed.

French braid/pony tail thing is not so neat or so cute. Raise my eyebrows in defeat.

Pick up Everett (still crying) again, down the hall. Now we’re really on our way.

Everett regurgitates all over himself and ME!

No way we’re getting changed. Spit up is a fashion accessory in my life.

Wipe us down as best I can. Outside.

Dig out bikes, helmets, and wagon. Ready for a walk.

Round the corner to Kellie’s, not home. We play in her abandoned back yard, alone.

Home again, into the car. Gotta run some errands. Bank, Credit Union, in-laws for Calvin’s long lost – not urinated on – shoes. A visit to Daddy’s office.

The sight of him makes all the children wail. They want to play with daddy. Maybe an afternoon visit was not such a good idea. Home again.

Lunch. Bananas? All gone. Remember this morning?

Corn dogs? Sure. With ketchup please.

Fold the laundry. Change the laundry. Curse the laundry.

Dinner? Oh yeah. Sigh with over whelming underwhelmedness.

Dinner, Baths, Bedtime. Please bedtime.

TV, computer, ready to start again?

I took pictures of the littles in the Provo Orchard. I do think they are lovelies.

Awww . . .

I really like this one. I think it’s magical.

That red stuff: nailpolish. For as much as is on his leg, there was just as much on the carpet. Text to Wyatt read: “What ever you think you’re going to do to Calvin, I’ve already done it. Just remember, this is why we chose the cheap carpet!”

We went to Manti over memorial day weekend for some VERY MUCH needed R&R. We went on “be-ventures” in the field, Cal needed to be carried of course.

Olivia looked for treasure.

And with every treasure she found, suggested with great enthusiasm that we call the museum.

I spy with my little eye . . .

Even Everett got into the spirit of it! (Of course, he wanted to put all the treasures in his mouth).

We painted in my sketchbook.

Then Cal decided to paint Bret.

And Olivia and Cal went shooting.

I went to St. George for a day to help my sister with her wedding plans. I returned with bird houses for the kids to paint.

We had a summer treat night under our tree . . .  the light positively GLOWED as a storm threatened for hours over head. Finally it exploded upon us, complete with lightening and theatricals. We moved to the porch where more treats and conversation were consumed beneath the drama.

Photo of lightning bold by Rick Smith

And rainbows were given as the final desert of the evening.

How do you describe the panic that you feel? How do you convey the physical shaking you feel as your mind tries to reason in a cloud of despair? How do you explain that it is as bad as it seems, even when everyone reassures you that it’s not. It was as if that mask that I feel I constantly wear – the mother mask – the one that is supposed to know what she’s doing, what is best, what is wise, what is good, what is reasonable, what is perfect in love and example . . . that mask that I feel is just that – a facade – it was stripped off today for all to see what I really am . . . incompetent, uncapable, and not even sorta confident.

It all happened so fast. I was just getting Olivia ready for her dance rehersal. We were in her room as I helped her get her hair done, her costume on. Calvin was there with us. He tried to sit on me as I worked on Olivia. I pushed him off. “I need some personal space” I told him. Seriously: what mother needs personal space? Worse yet, what mother actually says that! I was frustrated, time was short, we were going to be late. Cal got up, he walked away. I didn’t pay attention. I should have paid attention.

Ten-fifteen minutes later we were ready. I started to walk Olivia out. The front door was wide open. I called for Cal. No answer. No sound of toys clanking or dirt being thrown. I called again. Dead silence. I walked around the driveway, to look through the back. No sign of him anywhere. The back gates were all closed tight. I went back in the house, calling: CAL-VIN! CAAAL-VIN! I walked through every room. With each room empty I hurried a little faster to the next. Where was he? I jogged back outside. I circled the yard, opening the heavy gates with latches too high and even circled through the back – just in case. He was no where.

I told Olivia (who has been following me, echoing each “CALVIN!”) to wait on the bench. I jogged up to the Smiths. I barely even waited for them to answer the door. “Have you seen Calvin? Is he here?” That look in Marsha’s eyes: alarm. “No. He’s not here.”

“OK” I tried to mask the panic in my voice, but I knew I needed help.

“Do you want us to help you look for him.”

“Yes.”

Everyone gets up. I just turn and go back out, jogging home to look again.

Through the house – under the beds, under the couches, in the rooms and closets that are locked. “CAAAL-VIN!”He was no where.

I started to make a list of those I saw on my street today: The lawn care company up at Drews, Claire and Clara out for a walk, the post man . . . none seemed to likely to kidnap a little boy . . . but could I be sure? Panic was starting to swell as I considered the possibilities. I ran up and down each neighbors house, most were still at work, I let myself into their yards. I’m sure he’s asleep somewhere. It is the magic hour – where if he’s going to fall asleep, he will. But is it really worth it? I dialed 9-1-1. In the meantime neighbors were coming out as the word was spread: Calvin was missing. Natalie and her kids, Jeff, everyone was walking, calling. I banged on the door of Claire and Clara. I strained to hear Cal as Clara tells me of her walk that day. The thought passed: this is the first time I’ve ever met her. I jogged back.

“Look through the house again.” Jeff told me. “Let Natalie go through the house again.”

Marsha, Natalie, Jeff and I all go in. Cabinets are opened, rooms searched again and again. Jeff walked to the back.

He came out. In that way that can’t be described but to say it was so Jeff: “Calvin is in his bed. He’s asleep.”

I couldn’t decide if he was serious. He was so Jeff about it. But I went in to check. There was Calvin . . . asleep, on the bed, under the covers . . . the bed that I had looked under twice now. I scooped him up and carried him outside for all concerned neighbors to see. The police pulled up just as I came out. Relief, embarrassment, relief, embarrassment, relief. Tears, shaking, swallowing that lump that just won’t go away. Deep breaths. Looks from my neighbors, my friends. I know they aren’t judging me. Worse: they pity me. I know I’m projecting, but I can hear their thoughts: Oh, that poor little mother, can’t even keep track of her children. Can’t even keep calm. Has to alarm the whole neighborhood, has to call the police. She’s probably a horrible mother. Her kids will probably be messed up because of her.

Thankfully everyone dissipated as quickly as they had gathered. I spoke to the police just briefly as they took down our names . . . forever to be recorded in the bad-parenting-book-of-Utah. The whole ordeal was probably only twenty minutes start to finish. I took Olivia to her dance rehersal, and afterwards just drove around, kids quiet in the back, as I contemplated my alarming inadequacies. When I got home Wyatt told me he heard about our misadventure from another neighbor – one I didn’t even realize had known. I’m thankful that he had helped search, but was dismayed to find yet another person in on my little drama. Wyatt tried to assure me . . . everyone tried to assure me. But wow, talk about knocking the wind out of your sails: I felt like a failure on so many levels. It was a horrible day.

We ate peanut butter sandwiches with home-made strawberry freezer jam on the faded plastic picnic table – a hand-me-down from the neighbors.

The sun shone so hot on our backs. Even boredom of a backyard played in a billion times couldn’t convince us to go inside.

Olivia swang – up, down, up, down; the blue sky like a never ended dome above her with soft white clouds that couldn’t make up their minds which shape they wanted to be.

Calvin climbed the ladder. Then he climbed down. He played with the garden stakes – swords he said. He shared with Olivia, even when she whined and wanted both. He played on the slide, he inspected the rocks. There was a great deal of interest in them. I lay in the grass, playing with my camera, trying to imagine how to capture perfection . . . in focus.

{Imagine Queen rockin’ as you read this post}

Calvin got a “big boy bike” – even though his trike was nary a year old, and he had just gotten really good at riding it . . .

Wyatt wanted him to ride a big bike. He put him on O’s bike just to see if he could. Of course he could.

So a new, big bike it was.

Complete with helmet {we must not neglect safety matters}.

And don’t you worry, he uses his trike to store tools and snails and rolly polys pollies.

{Now imagine the guitar solo.}

Olivia came to me:

“Mommy, can you get a piece of paper? We need to write a list so we don’t forget anything!’

This is only funny if you know Wyatt and that he is CONSTANTLY making lists.

Upon this request I text Wyatt and asked him: “Is it genetic?”

Later:

When picking up the kids from an afternoon at grandma’s house, Olivia gave me:

A book.

It was her idea, grandma told me, to tie her colored pages up into a book with some yarn.

This is only funny if you know me and that I am always making books (check out the art projects section of this site).

It is definitely genetic.

Calvin was up:

way past his bedtime – so late in fact that when Wyatt and I lay down with him in our bed, I fell promptly asleep.

Cal continued to fight the sleep demons, and played with daddy.

“Knock knock”

“Who’s there?”

“Daddy”

“Daddy who?”

“Daddy I love you.”

Talk about melting daddy’s heart. Wyatt even had to wake me up to relay the story, which I hazily noted for future blogging.

We are now in that knock-knock stage of life. At dinner, on drives, during sacrament meeting: the kids are constantly telling us knock-knock jokes,  you know, the ones that aren’t funny, but are followed by minutes of uproarious laughter. I asked Wyatt how long the knock knock stage lasts. He guessed till the fifth grade. We have many years of knock knock jokes to come.