What's in a name?

All little kids go through stages where they want you to call them something other than their own name. You know, that name you spent hours pouring over books to find, and intimidated the nurse in the recovery room with as you glared over her shoulder to make sure she spelled it right? The name you cooed as you rubbed their chubby legs with lotion, and sang them lullabies. That name will sudden mean less to them then the candy wrappers they cleverly disposed of by hiding them between the seats of your couch cushions.

Sometimes the name they chose is from a favorite television show or movie character. On occasion it is that of their best friend or an idolized family member. I went through this stage for an exceptionally long period of time (there is some debate as to whether I am out of it yet - and I probably would be if I could ever conclusively decide on something else) and most of my choices came from favored books.

Sophie has now entered this stage. She started off by being rather inconsistent as to what name she wanted to be called each day. On extreme days it could even vary by the hour. One of the best parts of this game is that she refuses to tell you straight off what to call her. Instead she makes you guess, and doesn't respond or acknowledge your presence until you hit the right one. There is quite the lengthy list to choose from, and considering that she often requires combinations such as "Princess Ladybug" or "Her royal queen Sophie Christine" this can be very time consuming. I swear she didn't answer me the other day until I called her "Your royal highness grand supreme dictator of the ultimate and unlimited dominion."

The name she seems to have stabilized on the most consistently though as of late is, ironically enough "Abby." I could blame the adorable pink muppet with magical powers, or the fact that she spends enough time at the doctor's office that they could add a new wing through her bills, and all "official" forms have her as "Abigail." I could blame my six year old, who has never fully accepted calling her Sophie. But I can't blame Chris, who out of respect for me, or perhaps fear of the now perfected glare of doom, refers to her only as "Ladybug."

She insists that her name is Sophie Abigail, and that we must call her "Abby." To her father, she recently retorted that she was not a bug, and not to call her one. Surprisingly, I am okay with this recent development. More so than I thought I would be. It could be because Abigail is actually a rather pretty name, just not the name I wanted. Or it could be that Sophie is a force of nature not to reckoned with, and far more stubborn than I am.

I have thought about dropping her middle name, and just having her be Abigail Sophia Stewart, but that leads to rather unfortunate initials. It seems hyphenating it may be my best option at this point - Abigail-Sophia Christine Stewart. Quite a mouthful really, but a name that befits a royal princess - which she believes she is. I tried "Sophiegail" but that was quickly squashed.

Amazingly enough this sort of disorderly conduct when it comes to names is fairly common. My home teacher, when I was relaying this ordeal, said that his brother went through something similar. His mom always called him by the first name, and the dad called him by the middle name - and now his brother switches between the names dependent on the situation (one is more professional sounding than the other)

I, out of habit, still refer to her as Sophie despite her requests. Which could be why she did not stop coloring on her brother when I politely asked "Sophie" to stop, why she continued to play with her brother's GI Joe that she commandeered to go with her Barbies at bedtime, and why she continued to drive his toy truck filled with LGM's despite his pleas and my insistence that she let him play with his toys. That, or it could be an inherent natural desire to torture her younger sibling merely because he is last in line in the birth order.

Reasoning not withstanding, basically feel free to call her whatever you choose. When she is old enough, she will probably choose something entirely different from what any of us call her anyway, merely because she can.

One, two, switcharoo

So, with our family already being in an unconventional circumstances, we add in some massive role reversal just for kicks.

Chris babysits the babies, or rather terrible twosome tyrannical toddlers, everyday while I am at work. He helps Melodie and Chloe get off to school, and picks up Chloe at the end of her school day. He kisses boo boos, dries tears, cooks dinner, and often has helpers in the kitchen baking up treats like cupcakes or brownies - something verboten in our house generally. He is soft spoken, easy going, and yet somehow manages to try make sure bed times get obeyed and prayers are offered before too many bites of the meal gets eaten.

I work, somewhat begrudgingly depending on the day, as a hardware store drone. That being said, it keeps the bills paid, food on the table, and a roof over our heads. I am boisterous and loud, with some of my favorite phrases being "Shake it off," "Tough it out" or "Suck it up soldier." (Bet you can't tell I was raised as a military brat! ) I wrestle with the kids extensively, which is why our coffee table, meant for quieter entertainment, like board games and coloring, spends more time pushed out of the way in the bathroom then in the living room where it belongs. Though spending time as additional towel rack/clothes closet doesn't seem to be damaging it much, I am beginning to wonder the wisdom behind that investment to begin with.

I leave tools precariously about. My father can vouch for this, as he more than once wondered exactly why the hammer was being stored in the nursery. (I had been hanging up shelving). I take pride in being "handy" and fixing things, and as of late have seemed to imagine myself being some type of carpenter as that our minimal valuable storage space is being taken up with wood for my "projects."

As mild mannered and easy going as Chris is, I come with a warning label "Caution : extremely volatile. Does not live well or play well with others."

He shakes his head and laughs at my own somewhat harebrained antics. Asserts that because of me, Melodie is never going to have a proper teenage rebellion. Blue hair? Sure honey - if you add white highlights it would be super cute. Skulls and black? Look at the cutest shirt I just found! The skulls are shiny and even have wings! Nose ring? When you save up enough money dear, and I even found a stud that's a butterfly. Due to the recent conversation on tattoos, Chris's new mantra is "Your body is a temple."

Let it be said that I am not trying to be Melodie's best friend on these issues. I just feel that there are bigger issues to worry about in life than hair color and fashion choices. Perhaps teaching 8th grade in Flint and watching children just a little bit older than her sell drugs and prostitute themselves out made me feel this way. Or perhaps the knowledge that when she knows she isn't going to shock me, it won't seem as cool and she will moves on from whatever stage into the next one and one day revert back to being something a little more shelf stable, preferably human like.

All in all, having Chris back in our lives has been beneficial. Financially, it is saving me money and allowing me to consider other options in terms of employment and education. Having him around allows me more quality time on a one and one basis with each of the children, especially Melodie. He gets some of my errands done for me while I am at work, which allows me to come home and actually be with my kids, instead of running around like a crazed chicken until everyone is overtired and hungry. Church attendance for our family has drastically improved, as that he can help corral, cajole, and corner whichever children are healthy enough to go.

Everyone has already learned to ask him first for permission. He is beginning to learn to ask me before answering, and once he does, I am sure he will be able to return that flame retardant suit to the nice men down at the local station.

Because because because

I have developed an unusual relationship with the father of my children. Some may think it unreasonable that I even talk to the man whom fathered three children with me. Our relationship before he left was tumultuous on the best of days. When Eminem raps about a "tornado meets a volcano" he pretty much had us pegged.

The circumstances of of his leaving our family three years ago were grievous. The recovery afterwards was costly - emotionally and financially. So why on earth would I let him back into our lives?

*Because after weighing the lawyer costs and court fees in order to hold off the inevitable, I decided that the best financial option was to work out an arrangement between ourselves.

*Because I needed help and a break. After being on my knees so much that I have permanent carpet indentations asking for some kind of assistance or relief, this option was offered to me.

*Because my babysitter makes almost five hundred more a month that I do to watch just Zachary and Sophie.

*Because my oldest daughter needs the opportunity to be a kid and not the surrogate parent that is an inherent part of being in our situation.

*Because to one very special little girl, her daddy remains her superhero - complete with cape and the ability to leap large buildings in a single bound.

*Because people make mistakes. Sometimes these mistakes are rather large and hurt those around them. But people also can learn from their mistakes, changing and becoming a better person afterwards.

*Because all are forgiven in Christ.

*Because sometimes when you are outnumbered, it is nice to have an ally.

*Because if not for any other reason, I receive a certain amount of maniacal comic relief as I am regaled with tales of typical two year old antics that are normal fare for me, but totally new to him. Add in a moody cynical teenager and a six year old prima donna, and I get a deranged satisfaction out of a) being right about things 97% of the time, especially when he insists on trying things his way first and b) not telling him the right way first and watching him figure it out.

Pincushion empathy

I have discovered a new shared identification with anything that gets routinely poked, such as a pincushion, or is full of holes, such as a colander. In fact, this identification is the whole reason I now have the time and ability to update the blog that most feared I had abandoned.

Recently as I edge closer and closer to thirty, I decided to take a better look at my over all health. Truthfully I spend so much time taking my children to the doctor's office that I have spent more time in waiting rooms than I care to. I even have my own personally embossed chair. There is a whole list of things that need to get done, and that I would rather get done, such as alphabetizing my food storage, than sit in a waiting room when it was not made mandatory by such fun things as strep throat, ear infections, and what one child still claims was a vagrant strand of a the mathallergonic plague.

But if you use the analogy that the human body is like a car - mine was long overdue for a routine oil change and tune up. It took me years to figure out regular vehicle maintenance schedules for my actual vehicle, so it makes sense that it took even longer for me to figure out such things for myself.

Just like I would like my van to last at least another 100,000 or so more miles, I would like my body to last another 60 years. So I begrudgingly went in to both the doctor's office and the dentist - I am smart enough to know that good oral health helps maintain good overall health. Plus I still had that lingering wisdom tooth issue.

End result? The removal of two suspicious looking moles from my shoulder. They turned out to be nothing of concern, though it would have been nice to have been told that green is normal in the healing process when they use silver nitrate. My cholesterol is a little high, so I have a prescription for that - but other than that things are looking swell.

The dentist office on the other hand was not as cheerful. I had the top two wisdom teeth removed at the end of July. Not the most comfortable procedure, but necessary in that it helped reaffirm my loathing of jello and inconvenient inability to tolerate pain killers stronger than infant tylenol. Determined to get in touch with my inner masochist, two weeks later I went in for a cleaning and exam. I dragged not only myself through this, but all four of my children in back to back bright and early appointments.

My children had beautiful teeth, but I failed miserably with five cavities of my own. Whether sticking in the Shepard's hook repeatedly causing me to have cartoon like spasms and my eyeballs to pop out and stick to the ceiling was required to determine this in under debate. As that the dentist I saw for cleaning was a different partner in the practice than the one who had originally removed my upper wisdom teeth, he claimed he was up to the rather cumbersome challenge of removing my bottom wisdom teeth - a simple procedure of shaving off a chunk of the jawbone and surrounding teeth and completely avoiding the entwined nerves.

I was privileged enough to participate in this joyful experience yesterday. Sparing too many details of the event, other than it took an hour and a half to remove one of the two teeth, and I was not numbed again for the second one, I now have two more expensive holes in my mouth for my greater good.

Okay I can't resist sharing a few more details, and later I can just claim I was under the influence of some very strong Tylenol 3's. The only medication of the various options that dentist presented that I was willing to take.

It hurt. A lot. At one point my tooth shattered, sending shards impaling the interior of my mouth and also clogging their vacuum suction thingie.

The tools they use look archaic and vaguely representative of those I saw in my western civilization class when we studied medieval torture methods. I resent having a tool referred to as a cow-horn - think small shoehorn - used to remove my teeth.

I don't like nitrous being used - the mask on my face makes me claustrophobic, and I am such a control freak that I would rather endure the pain than feel the slightly fuzzy feeling - which I managed to relay to the dentist while he was using a bite block and had four fingers in my mouth.

I spent much of the time mentally trying to invent new tools and techniques that would make the whole thing more humane, especially since I know for certain there is no way that Sophie would be able to tolerate it. Doing so allowed me to remain distracted from the reflective image in the dentist's safety glasses, or that my blood was spattered on his forehead, and glasses, and face mask and and and. It was harder to ignore when he got up mid procedure to cleanse and change.

I choked at least four separate times on my own saliva and blood. This experience reminded me that it is actually possible to drown from two tablespoons of water. I was determined to survive however, as that dying by choking on your own blood without a good drug addiction seems wrong somehow.

It is never comforting to hear your dentist say "I met my match with this one."

Bloggy bites

It has been almost four months since I posted my last entry. I have meant to post. I truly have. This lengthy time span has no real justification. I have not been exceedingly busy, or at least no more so than the average single mom of four children spanning teenage and toddler years. School let out for the summer and is now back in session. We did not go camping like we had planned, and after experiencing almost two and a half months of 96-99 degree weather straight, other fun trips that were planned were put off until the chances of frying to a crisp lessoned. We celebrated Zachary's second birthday - giving me the pleasure of having two two year old children, for at least a brief period of time.

Not being exceedingly busy does not mean that we haven't had anything happen though. In an effort not to overload anyone with information, I am going to attempt to post everything in little bite size pieces. I make no guarantees about consecutive order or coherency - both being affected by the reason for my ability to catch up on the posts at last.

And we are back on air

I recently just went a week without at home internet access. The withdrawl symptoms have ebbed somewhat, but I am grateful to be able to yet again indulge. There have been events and moments to blog about, emails to send, bank accounts to manage, and facebook postings to update. More importantly I missed my friends. I have so many friends that are awesome and busy moms like me - and it is nice to be able to send a quick im to catch up while I am getting the 10,000 other things that need to be accomplished done.

This past week has been one of ups and downs, like most weeks. Tender moments where Sophie asked to go to the library, or Zackie helped me make banana bran muffins (mainly because he peeled an entire bunch of bananas - letting him mash them afterwards probably is not going to serve as a deterrent for this kind of behavior in the future) Funny moments when Sophie announces to the entire DI that we have find the potty so she can go pee pee - an act she refuses to do outside of the public restroom environment, or Zackie insisting on getting kisses with every snip of the scissors while getting his hair cut. Trips to the park and terrible two times two tantrums.

As the seasons open a new chapter and spring turns into summer (that is if you are lucky enough to get spring; we are still getting the occasional snowfall) my tiny little brood and I are also opening new chapters. Chloe and Melodie both move up a grade in school, and Melodie is already busy with the young women at church. Sophie should be starting preschool in the fall, and for the first time, Zackie and Sophie will be separated during the day. There are many changes happening for us over the new few months.

"Life is change. Growth is optional. Choose wisely." - Anonymous

Conference Calamity

Apparently last week was setting to the tone for how things are going to be for a while...

Today was stake conference - and everyone in my family was incredibly excited because it was being held in the tabernacle. This excitement did not transfer into motivation however, so as usual we were running late to conference, even though I started getting them ready two hours before it began.

We entered the building from the back, which unfortunately is the direction everyone is facing when they are seated inside. We try to scurry as unobtrusively as possible up the stairs to the balcony on the north side - which was packed. The usher decided the best place to put us was right up front, which is indicative that the usher has never personally had small children. As soon as we are seated, after crawling other members, I realize what a terrible plan this is. For starters, we are in view of everyone present, because not only are we up in the first row of the balcony, we are also closest to where the podium is - so people cannot avoid looking at us. Also, right in front of us is the railing - which translates into a giant climbing bar in the hearts and minds of my small children. They immediately grab hold of it, and do everything possible to try to climb over and fall to their dooms. I manage to distract them for about seven minutes with fruit snacks and sippies, as well as the lift the flap books that I had brought along. This calm respite did not last, and soon they were trying to climb again, and arguing profusely at loud volumes with me about restraining them. I dig out the paper and crayons from the diaper bag, which again provides a calming influence, but this time the respite is briefer - Zackie decided the railing would look lovely with a lime green color streak and Sophie sent her crayons catapulting over the edge to land on unsuspecting attendees below.

When the climbing begins again, I direct Melodie to take Sophie down, out, and around the building to sit in the rows below - thinking that she would sit next to one of the families from our ward. Melodie disappears and I am unable to locate her - but never mind because I am still dealing with the willful force that is Zachary. He is content to color, look at books, climb onto the pew behind us, and play footsie with the beautiful young blond girl that was sitting next to us for some time, with only minor issues. His playful singing during the hymns and clapping afterward garnered some amused chuckles. I was even able to make the observation of how beautiful it was to sit in the tabernacle and look out the windows at the snow capped mountains and green trees.

It is shortly after this point that Zackie notices Melodie and Sophie sitting in the balcony on the south side. "Mei Mei I see you! " he yells loudly at a time opportune due to its quietness. He continues to yell for Mei Mei, even after she vacates from the south side balcony in pursuit of Sophie. Deciding the easiest way to get to her would be to fly, he returns to trying to jump from the railing. The squirming in his tantrums kept unbuttoning my shirt - but thankfully Melodie appeared to get something from the diaper bag, and took Zackie with her back to Sophie. Chloe curled up against me, and with twenty minutes left, it looked like we were going to make it through conference in moderately good form, or at least in one piece.

Then I notice movement on the main level up near the podium - sure enough, Zackie, happy, confident, and smiling, was making his way up to talk from the podium - and trapped in the balcony, there was nothing I could do to stop it.

There is a redemptive light though. Behind the podium is where the choir sits, and a friend who is also a sympathetic mom of multiple toddlers retrieved Zachary and was able to meet me at the balcony stairs with him. I told Chloe to stay in our seat, and went off to find Melodie and figure out exactly why and how Zachary was able to escape and make it to the podium. Doing this without causing more interruption required me to exit the building, go around to the front, and re enter. I enjoy the quick walk, with Zachary chattering along in the sunshine and the cool breeze ruffling our hair. As I come back in the building, I glance up in the balcony area to see how Chloe is doing, and find her dangling over the balcony herself. I communicate as best as possible in rapid hand gestures for her to sit back, and go back to trying to find Melodie.

I found her and keeping the babies with me, ask her to get Chloe. Sophie and Zach use this time to try to open every locked door on the lower level below the main seating area. By the time Melodie and Chloe return, only the closing hymn and prayer are left of conference, so we can leave a little early guilt free.

We head out the doors into the sunshine and begin the short trek to the van, which had to be parked across the street, down the road, and over a hill. Feeling that the calamity has come to an end, I even agree to let Sophie and Zach walk on the sidewalk without holding anyone's hand. Zackie is in sock feet, because he loathes anything actually touching his toes, but socks wash and it is a beautiful day. A beautiful day following a blustery one that rained and snowed...which means there are puddles. At this point I am guilty of being an adult, and forgetting that puddles have irresistible gravitational pull - they simply demand that you jump up and down in them. As you can imagine, literally five feet from the van is an enormous puddle and before my ninja reflexes can react, Zackie was gleefully making splashes and ripples.

Which leads me to where I am now. The kids were fed a quick lunch of lemon sautéed cod, herbed rice, and asparagus then sent to bed. Where they hopefully will stay for quite some period of time, because we are having triple chocolate cake and ice cream tonight.