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.

Ick. Sick. Again.

A fever yesterday set the evenings tone. Olivia is sick.

Every few hours in the night: Children’s tylenol, cuddles between Wyatt and me. Calvin in, Calvin out. Feed the baby. More tylenol. Check Calvin. Check baby. Check Olivia.

A couch day today. “Just rest.”

But Cal isn’t sick, and the sun was so promising today. So he went out to play. “Mommy, mommy! I found a million ants!” – Sure enough, he has found an ant hill. He sets about to collect them for his tricycle trunk. And then: “Mommy, come see the creature I caught.” Beneath the plastic snow thrower is a big black beetle. Another excellent addition to his trike trunk. Boy. Boy.

And then some drama. Because this would make for a boring post otherwise.

Olivia’s temperature at approximately 3:45: 105.7º  -

that can’t be right. Take it again: 105.3º -

not making me feel any better.

Take it again: 105.5º

Call Dr.

Consult.

Take Baby Sunshine in for a visit.

Temperature has gone down (or thermometer read incorrectly).

“Yep. She has a fever. Make sure she get’s plenty of rest and plenty of fluids. Give her tylenol.”

Later that night Olivia and I are on the couch. Daddy and Cal are outside cleaning the garage. Baby Everett is asleep.

“Tell me a story.”

Okay.

One day Olivia and her best friend ______

-CALVIN!

One day Olivia and her best friend Calvin were walking through the _________

-JUNGLE!

And they walked and walked and walked until they came to a _____________

-RAINBOW!

And they ___________

-WANTED TO SLIDE DOWN THE RAINBOW

So they climbed and climbed and climbed to the top of the Rainbow and then slid down the rainbow into the _____________

-OCEAN!

And in the ocean they swam with _________

-FISH

And they grabbed the backs of the fish and swam all the way across the ocean until they met a __________

CRAB

and they had dinner with the crab in the crab’s house which was__________

A SEASHELL

and the seashell was so beautiful, it was pink and purple and green and yellow striped. And they had dinner with the crab in the crab’s house, and they had their favorite food ___________

FISH

Fish and ____________

BROCCOLI

Fish and broccolli. Yummy! And when they were done they rode the fish all the way back across the sea to the beach. And it was raining _____________

SILVER

and they sat in the lovely silver rain and enjoyed the evening. Finally it was time to go home. And Olivia’s mommy asked: Olivia! Where have you been?

ON A BEEVENTURE!

After our story on the couch, Cal came in. He needed a bath. Boys who clean garages need baths. Calvin literally had streaks from the dirt on his face and hands.

One clean little boy and warm cuddles later and Olivia and Cal are off to bed. Olivia shows me the page she colored while Cal was in the bath. There, written neatly across the top is the word “TREE” – I didn’t tell her how to write it. But I’m pretty sure my child is a genius.

Sweet kids.

Today was the day I’ve been dreaming of for months and months – all winter long, and even last summer when my big belly made it impossible (or at least uncomfortable) to bend over the earth.

My daydream was this: me working in the yard, the warm sun on my back; the kids playing on the playset, calling me to inspect a worm or watch them in a climbing feat, and the baby happy on a blanket, rolling over, this way and that, finally falling asleep in the warm afternoon.

Today that daydream was my reality.

Later, when I had gone inside, the kids still outside happily running from one activity to the next, inside, then outside then inside again, Calvin said to me: “Mom, we’re best friends!”

“What?” I turned from the veggies I was dicing for dinner. I heard what he said, but wanted to hear it again. This time Olivia came around the corner, and putting her arm around Calvin’s shoulders, said:

“We’re best friends.”

Mmm . . . wanna melt a mamma’s heart?! Oh how I hope to hear those same sentiments in twenty years.

Best friends are the best!

Everett was given the green light for solid foods at his checkup last week. It’s a good thing too. Whenever I am eating something, he flails his arms and body, wanting so deperatley to pull it to his mouth. He’s not that way with other things I might be holding. Just food. He’s gluttonous in the most adorable way.

So we gave him smooshed nannas. Mmmm. Nannas.

Loves them. Now for formula

Olivia wanted a pet. She’s wanted a pet for months and months now. At first it was deep sighs and desperate pleadings for a kitty {and why not? Lyssy and ‘Azanah have at least seventeen!) And then it was gentle recollections: “remember when we had a doggie, Mom?” One day a few weeks ago Olivia asked me first thing: “Mom, can we go visit Cowboy today?”

An explanation of why that was not possible was followed with the statement, emphasized with all the feeling of a four year old heart: “I want a pet so bad.”

And so on Monday Wyatt surprised us all, saying: “Tonight for family home evening we will go to the store and get some pet fish.”

That evening, kids in tow, we visited our local PetSmart. We looked at the brightly colored canaries in their cages, we oohed at the bright tree frogs, and awed at the ginormous gilla monsters. Then we looked at the fish: Gold Fish were only 13¢ per. But the Betas: 30x more in cost, were 50x more hearty. So we were told by the acne-prone teenager with his pants cinched too high. I’m partial to Beta’s myself. Our 26¢ excursion turned into $11.79 with food.

As we climbed into the car, balancing plastic tuperwares of fish and water, we asked each elated child: what will you name your fish.

Olivia said emphatically: Cursey. I don’t know where she came up with the name.

And Cal said, as if he had thought over the “coolness” implications long and hard: “Fish, the Dawg!”

This was the week. I felt it. It had to be this week. There were pressing issues.

It started on Monday and didn’t go well. Tuesday and Wednessday didn’t fare any better. When I awoke on Thursday I resolved: This is the day! I must win the battle of the bottle.

A month ago I began my bottle battle with little eJo. I had some tell-tale signs of losing my milk, and decided I had better: 1) Pump to find out just how much the little dude was getting; and 2) Get Ev to take a bottle, just in case.

The day did not go well, I pumped, but then the little guy wouldn’t eat the fresh milk from the bottle, spitting, squirming and screaming instead. All day passed . . . with nary a drop digested.

I have sporatically retried the “bottle thing” over the past month, but last week reality hit hard when I had to go do a photo shoot. Wyatt took Ev down to grandma’s house and an full four and a half hours passed before I saw him again. I made it in the nic of time, but realized such situations were unfair to other care givers.

This weekend I had my sisters wedding, and I knew if I wanted to really enjoy the day, little eJo would have to take a bottle. Plus, I reasoned, with my mom in town to take turns with the tearful babe, the whole process might be easier.

Um, wrong.

Like I said, each day involved screaming, tears and tantrums (and that was just me!) and always ended with a breast to soothe the trouble.

And then Thursday, with time running out, I steeled myself against what I knew would be a miserable day. Ev got a morning breakfast . . . and then no more.

A bottle was offered at each of his regular feeding times, and often inbetween. I cuddled, bounced, patted, and rocked, trying to coo the little guy into giving it a try. He would have none of it.

Finally at five o’clock in the evening, after holding the bottle into his screaming mouth for a few minutes, he finally nuzzled and nursed. And then my belly-full-happy-little-guy returned.

For a few hours.

That night he again refused bottles. All through the night I tried again and again. He went fourteen hours, until seven am the next morning before taking the bottle again.

And then the rest of Friday he did fine.

And Saturday he did well too.

Today (Sunday) he has had a hard time. I actually nursed him last night and this morning, reasoning that it had been enough days – he knew how to take a bottle.

But when I tried to return to the bottle this afternoon, he threw a fit.

I guess we still have a few kinks to work out.

Next battle: Formula.