Camera Shy

As I was downloading the past eight or so months of pictures from my camera to my computer the other day, I realized that besides the obligatory birthday and holiday photos, I've taken about six pictures of my kids total in the past few months.  Busy I suppose.  I have wasted a little time on Instagram though, and have 600 semi-crappy pictures on my phone.  Mental note to self.  Anyway:

On Skiing and Talking

Porter and Molly are both taking skiing lessons every weekend right now.  Molly is still in the beginning stages of her skiing career, and a lot of it centers around hot chocolate and snow angels.  She does like the actual skiing part, a lot, until all of a sudden she totally doesn't.  And it's all over in a puddle of tears.  It's like this though with little ones, and she's having fun.

Porter however, has made giant strides, I think just in the past couple of months.  He skis a lot with Bryce, and the two of them like to challenge themselves.  Something I'm a little more leery to do.  Porter and I also get a bit of time to go skiing together on occasion, and last Saturday morning was one of those times.  I decided to let him take me on a run, as he knows parts of the mountain better than I do.  And I realized about halfway down that at seven years old, he is definitely better than me.  Before he may have just been more courageous, but now he officially surpasses me in ability too.  I have a feeling that some day, the four other members of my family will be tearing it up together while Mom is enjoying her leisurely ride down the mountain.  But I'm okay with that.

I've also noticed that Porter is way more excited about the whole thing this year.  He always wants to go, barely sits through lunch in the lodge, and begs for one more run at the end of the day.  It's neat to see him so involved in something, and I remarked to Bryce the other day about it.  Then I mentioned that it's also really nice that we both get quality one on one time with Porter too now.  And he said that's probably part of the reason he likes it so much.  Win, win, all around.

On another note, Cedar has finally started talking to us.  Her favorite word is fish.  Often dead fish.  You just never know what they will pick up on.  She also follows me around all day with various articles of clothing (bathing suits, my underwear, dirty socks) demanding dressed, dressed, dressed.  I think my two girls are going to get along famously one day.

Futility

For weeks now, possibly months, Porter has been coming downstairs in the mornings, wearing white athletic socks.  Without exception they have been threadbare, black on the bottom, and containing at least one toe exposing hole.  I ask him if those were the best he could do, and he looks at me like it's my fault.  Then when it came time for skiing, he would come down with this pair of Smart Wool socks he has seriously had since he was 4, also containing a hole, and moan about how those were the only ones he could find.  And I kept washing all of those dang socks and throwing them back in his drawer.  And I kept hoping he didn't have to take his shoes off at school, because it's kind of embarrassing.

Finally, today, I was at Costco, and I remembered.  And found just what we needed.  A 10-pack of boys white athletic socks for eight dollars.  They were beautiful and unsullied, and Molly happily helped me to match them up.  We took them up to Porter's room, with plans to throw out all the gross socks, and I thought about how he would be happy to see this development.

And to my slight shock, I found no less than twelve pairs of perfectly good, clean, non-holey socks.  Some of which looked as if they might never have been worn.  And five, FIVE pairs of expensive skiing socks, one of which I know has never been worn.  I only found four pairs of yucky socks to throw out.  And it's not like they were all hiding somewhere or unmatched or invisible or something.  They were all right there, in the drawer.  And I've been washing those four pairs of awful socks forever. 

Kids.  That is all.

And just for fun, here is Molly after we took out her Mexican corn rows:

Anger Management

On Tuesday, I took Molly to preschool, her first day back after winter break.  Our preschool is a wonderful place, full of friends and fun, and Molly loves going there.  She missed it over the break, and was excited the night before.  That morning, Bryce took Cedar to work with him, I left with Molly, and I was going to squeeze in a run in the woods before I had to pick Cedar up.  Then we actually arrived at preschool, and for some entirely confusing (to me anyway) reason, Molly flat out refused to go.  She had a white knuckle death grip on my arm, wouldn't talk to or look at anyone, and cried every time I tried to move towards the door.  I tried being patient, tried getting her interested in an activity.  The teachers and other moms tried very nicely to draw her out.  But she was done.  DONE.  I started getting frustrated as my narrow window of time to myself was quickly running out, and I led her into the classroom with plans to make a fast exit.  And she promptly threw herself down on the floor toddler style, kicking and screaming.  Sigh.  It's one thing to leave a sad, crying kid at school.  It happens.  But this just wasn't fair to the teachers with 19 other kids to help, and it's not like she was getting anything out of it.  Plus, at that point, there was no way I was going on a run, and I really had to get Cedar.  So I picked her up, threw her over my shoulder, and took her out to the car.  And I got really, really mad.  I probably said some stuff I shouldn't have.

In truth, she is four years old.  And she didn't want me to leave her alone.  Her behavior was not great, but mine was likely worse.  Because I wasn't going to get something I wanted that morning, I lost all patience and made an annoying situation a huge blow out.  We talked about it at home, and everything is fine now, including Thursday preschool drop off.  But I still feel kind of badly about it.

Fast forward to this morning.  Molly got up first, and came downstairs to sit by the monitor heater.  This is a coveted morning spot in our house, and the early bird gets the worm.  Porter came down next, and just lost his mind.  There was yelling and punching and general ridiculous sibling fighting.  It went on forever, despite my efforts at remediation.  Finally Bryce came down and made them both stand in the corner, old schoolhouse style.  I'm pretty sure all siblings uselessly bicker, but it has been particularly bad here lately.  The arguing and wrestling and tattling, argh!  It drives me nuts.  And there is no amount of ignoring or refereeing that seems to make a difference.

I was thinking this morning, watching them stand in their corners, that I need some sort of a plan.  And then I thought about Tuesday.  And it feels contradictory to reprimand my children for dealing with frustration by getting angry when I do the exact same thing!  I see other parents deal with their crazy kids so patiently and thoughtfully, and I wonder how they do it.  Or if it's all a public front.  If there is really a way to tame myself, and maybe make my kids a little nicer to each other.  Or if it's just futile all around.  I really, really just don't know.

The End

Of winter break that is.  And today I am really, really sad about it.  Despite the few days of birthday and Christmas craziness, it was a quiet and mellow two weeks.  The kids slept in every single day (sometimes until 9 or later), we didn't leave the house much except to go skiing, and we just honestly relaxed. 

It wasn't that long ago that Porter was starting kindergarten, and I was gratefully looking forward to how much easier my life would be when one of my children was at school for a big part of the day.  And it is still easier in some ways when he isn't at home.  But waking up before the dawn and dealing with lunches and homework and driving everyone around to their sports and social lives, that's exhausting too.  A few weeks at home with my family and not much to do was just perfect.  Maybe minus the part where we got a babysitter, and Porter threw up all over the floor.

I think it also means we are approaching the end of the baby years.  The years of pregnancy and no sleep and little ones of constant need.  I am seeing the future.  And it looks pretty damn sweet.

Cheers.