When one bath just isn't enough. . .

Saturday nights can be a bit hectic.  I never really have a great plan for Saturday dinner, and I'm always trying to simultaneously toss four kids in the bathtub and throw something together in the kitchen.  Olivia and Naomi are both working on their certification* for washing the two younger girls, and last Saturday they had washed Maddie, Bella, and themselves, and gotten out.  I dried and dressed Maddie in her pajamas and went back to the kitchen.  

Then I heard a splash.

 It seems when Mads realized her idolized Bella was not yet out of the tub and into her jammies she decided that she was in the wrong place.  Back into the tub she slipped until they both got out together.

I really should know better by now. 

*Have I discussed John's policy on certification here on the blog?  John determined years ago that in order to qualify to do a task (such as pouring milk, brushing their own teeth, watering the plants), a child must successfully perform the task four times under supervision.  If the child then subsequently makes two mistakes performing the task, they lose their certification and must repeat the process to recertify.  It's genius.  The two older girls, especially, know what they are certified and not certified to do, and they follow the lines pretty obediently.  Bella. . . . . well. . . . Bella knows what she is and isn't supposed to do but does what she wants regardless of whether or not she is certified.

Grapes of Wrath

Most of our furniture has been with us since we got married.  I call the look "med-school chic", and for the most part I am very happy to repaint, refurbish, restyle, and just live with it.  However, when my lovely sister-in-law Lauren informed me that her very stylish sister was selling all her furniture and moving to China (wouldn't that be exciting?), I immediately grabbed the opportunity to update my old living room look with some of her used furniture.  ("It's new to us" is my mantra.)

However, when I purchased the items, we were in John's little Sentra and two hours from Roosevelt.  Considering we are the only people in the Uintah Basin who do not own an enormous truck, I was afraid we'd have to rent a U-Haul to get my newfound furniture finds to my house.  And then I remembered my dad and his trusty pickup, Old Whitey.

 This truck has nearly 300,000 miles on it.  The make and model are listed, officially, in the Consumer Reports Auto Buying Guide as a "Do Not Buy."  However, my dad and Old Whitey are determined to prove Consumer Reports wrong.

 Can you imagine the looks my dad was getting, as he drove through Provo Canyon and over the passes of Wasatch and Duchesne county with an eight-foot sofa, a large club chair, a big Expedit bookcase, and eight baskets (plus two boxes of fabric from my mom) in the bed of this little truck?  I don't think you can tell, but he had to buckle the spare tire into the front passenger seat so everything could fit.

He, my sister, and Kathryn loaded everything by themselves*, and when I called to see how it had gone, he asked me, "Have you ever seen The Grapes of Wrath?  That's what it looks like."

I agree.  It's awesome.

*The original plan involved my dad and I loading the furniture--I didn't plan to shirk my furniture-lifting duty--but then the schedule changed and it worked out this way.  Awesome and easy, but a little guilt-ridden, for me.

Babies!

This is my newest niece, Caroline.



She's Dave and Lauren's darling new baby, and we're so excited to have her.  Plus, in true Anderson-brother form, Mike and Kelly had their baby the very next week (one week apart--best cousins ever!), and Rob and Kasey should have their baby any time now.

Because of the miracle of Facetime on John's phone, we got to see that baby "live" when she was just two days old.  I called for me; I thought I was the most excited to see that tiny baby and watch her do that new baby squirm.  However, I found my enthusiasm completely overshadowed by this girl.



Thirty minutes (but only a couple minutes are shown here).  She kept cupping her hands and saying "Beebee hands" because she wanted to hold that tiny baby in her little hands.



I'm not kidding.



And she could have gone all day.  And all night.  And then she did it again when Baby Wendy was born.  And now that Dave has put up some videos of Caroline on the interwebs, I just have to push replay over and over again while I work on the dishes.  She never gets sick of talking about the baby.  Ever.  Plus, she thinks all of us should be every bit as excited as she is, for as long as she is.  That's a girl with an obsession.

Mini Marathon

Olivia and recently completed her elementary school's mini marathon!  It's a little shorter than a marathon (26.2 miles--my sister's running one this weekend), of course.  It's even a little shorter than the Indianapolis Mini Marathon (at 13.1 miles).  However, it's still a tremendous 2.0 miles, and we are very proud of ourselves for finishing, along with these other runners from Mrs. Heiner's class.

 I had my stroller, with two little girl passengers, and my agreement with Olivia was that we would run five minutes and then walk two minutes.  (She's never run two miles at once before).  She kept meticulous track on her watch, counting down the minutes until we could walk, and then watching every second before we'd have to run again.

 Her friend, Tayri, (in the blue) ran with us the whole way and these two finished as the 5th and 6th place girls from the whole third grade.  I was pretty darn proud of them.  (I was also proud of me--coming in first in the "moms-with-strollers" category, although my competition was not particularly fierce.)

Keep Out (but thanks for coming!)

We've had an extra two-year-old (our niece) for 9 days, and she's wonderful, but Olivia was feeling a little overwhelmed with little kids in her room.  Her solution:

 A cardboard bedroom door gate, complete with rules and warnings.
My favorite:  "Children under 3 may not come in without a human being 3 or older."  (She said later that she wished she had realized that meant Bella could bring the two younger ones trooping in, and she would have changed it to "4 or older".)

 The gate was easily opened, but she made it clear she wanted it replaced when you were safely inside.

 And here's the other side.  As you leave, you find yourself told "Come back soon!  We loved having you!"  (I'm sorry I can't orient this picture correctly.  Every so often I find myself with a stubbon picture that thinks it should be turned one way when I want it turned the other.)

So there you go--don't come in, but if you do, we're happy to have you.

High Tea

I have discovered a no-fail recipe for making girls (ages 2 to 92) happy.  Tea Parties--fabulous tea parties-- that include:

*beautifully dressed friends

*crowns

*making bracelets out of gorgeous, plastic, animal-shaped beads

 *tiny food on toothpicks
*delicious hot chocolate "tea"
*cream you can pour for yourself (Or, if you are another little Bella we know, you'll be completely confused, and ask, in astonishment, "Sour Cream?!?! In my cocoa?!?!")

 *little cakes to decorate with loads and loads of frosting and plenty of sprinkles
*a "fancy" PVC pipe tent that makes it actually feel official

*and the surprise hit of the day?  Me.  With a British accent, identifying myself as "Maaahhhhge."  Everytime I'd offer the girls some strawberries or cheese cubes, the girls would giggle themselves silly, and when I'd walk away, they'd whisper to Bella "Your mom talks funny."

So, if any of you out there are looking to make some little girls really happy, just follow my foolproof steps.  And don't forget the British accent.  I'll call you "Aaaahhgatha."

Sisters

My only sister is eleven years younger than I am, so I feel like I grew up in a family of boys (six brothers will give you that impression).  Because of that, I'm new to the sisters dynamic in my house.  So, any of you with sisters, enlighten me if you will:

Did you have a sister whose greatest joy was to either tie you up with the jumprope and call you her trapped elephant or tie the jumprope around her waist and make you lead her around like a dog?

And, if you did have such a sister, was your greatest joy to try to be just like her, even if that meant putting on seven pairs of panties in a misguided attempt at imitation?

And, if both of those were true, did you still feel the need to whack her face every five minutes, just to make sure she didn't get the wrong idea about your adoration?

Because, sometimes--I'm telling you--I just don't get it.