Potty Training Methods

Alright dear friends, you've asked what I did with Drake:

I pulled out our little potty and had it visible and ready to be used. It sat in common places, and on occasion we would ask Drake if he needed to go potty, or sit him on it and encourage him to use it. Really, we were just testing the water and seeing how receptive he was to the process. When he seemed ready (more interested, in the potty, less resistant to sitting on it, we stripped him from the waist down. As long as he was naked, there were no accidents. He seemed to recognize, there was nothing to catch the mess and he had to go in the potty. We would try to take him potty every half hour or more. We only had one accident and it was the second day when I put underwear on him which confused him, and he peed in them. After a couple more days of baring it all, we tried pull-ups. He stayed dry, and then we moved on to underwear. Of course there were treats, incentives, celebrations, etc. Really, I don't presume to know much about potty training, I'm just thrilled I don't have to change Drake anymore :)

Do YOU know what a missionary does?

Dave: "Carson, do you know what missionaries do?
Carson: "They go on missions."
Dave: "Well what do they do on their missions?
Carson: "They eat dinner."

--No one can accuse me of not feeding the missionaries :)

Steak Patricks Day

Friday afternoon Dave pointed out that the boys and I were all (by chance) wearing green.
"Looks like you guys are ready for Saint Patrick's Day" he exclaimed.
Immediately Carson's interest was piqued. After all, he is the holiday chair at our house. "What is that?" he asked.
After a brief explanation, Carson was fixated. His last words as he went to bed that night were, "I am so excited for Steak Patrick's Day tomorrow."
With no other choice but to enjoy the day with my enthused little leprechauns, we celebrated as best we could:

First off, some nasty little leprechaun took a most unflattering picture of each of us.

Then we had a breakfast of:
Green Eggs
Green pancakes
and Green Applesauce

Lunch was:
Ants on a log
Green Grapes
Broccoli

Dinner was:
Split Pea Soup
Roasted Asparagus
Kiwi
I thought we got a picture of it, but it turns out I was wrong - bless my dear little brain for remembering to snap two out of the three meals!

I am a good person

I have come to the conclusion that I am a good person. Like most people, I am my own worst critic and can be harder on myself than I should be. Lately though, I have come to realize that I am surrounded by incredible people which means, I can't be all that bad.
My Husband:
My husband is the best person I know - seriously. So while I might have fooled him a bit, and he got the short end of the stick, we are still VERY happily married which means something. If I was a total troll, there is no way we would be this ooey gooey head-over-heels- one of a kind in love and utterly happy.
My Friends:
I have the kind of friends that are always helping other people out. Kind to everyone. Committed to the church, their families, and good causes. They are truly wonderful people. I have a few really close friends, and while I don't live by all of them anymore, they still affect me. I couldn't dream up better friends. I want to be around my friends because I am drawn to their goodness. Bad people don't want to hang out with good people and vice versa - right?
My kids:
My three boys are really special little spirits. It's a testament Heavenly Father must really love me.
My parents:
You will never meet two people who try harder to be superb parents. I grew up in a wonderful home full of the spirit. My parents undoubtedly loved me, each other, and most importantly, the Lord. They taught me well. Through their example, and parenting they instilled goodness in me.

As big and bad as I like to say I am - it's hard to question the quality of people I am surrounded by. Thank you, dear friends and family.

Drake is potty trained!

And these are his first official "big boy underwear".

A walk down memory lane

A couple of weekends back, a good friend and former teammate of mine came into town to coach her team in a big volleyball tournament. Jillian and I played together for quite a few seasons. Walking into the convention center to see hundreds upon hundreds of teams playing the sport I love and DEARLY miss flooded me with a wide variety of deep emotions. Maybe someday I will write in detail about my knee. Some of you know what I am talking about others don't. Suffice it to say, it has shaped who I am as much as any other event in my life; marriage and kids included. 'Nuff about that.
I stole this picture from Jillians blog - I am so glad she snapped a picture!
Besides getting to hang out with Jills, one of the highlights of the tournament was the woman that took a liking to Drake during one of the matches we (me and my little men) were watching. Drake and Carson were wild little animals by this point and despite the lunch I packed decided the food from the floor, random duffel bags, and complete strangers was preferable.
"You want some?" I hear a voice say. And before I know it, I snap my head around to find a gruff, yet friendly woman feeding my child Philly Cheese Steak from her very own fork, glistening with animal fat. I was immediately freaked out but it was too late, the germy exchange had already been made. The match went on as well as the feeding frenzy at the zoo.
"What a great little guy he is; can I take him home with me?" she joked at the end of the match.
"You bet!" Was my response, and at that point - I was mostly serious.
"Oh good!" she exclaimed turning to Drake, "my wife would just LOVE you!"
At that point, I decided to take him home with me :).
*I wanted to share this funny story, but don't want to risk sounding judgmental or self-righteous. The woman was truly a kind, kind soul and really helped me out in a couple of tight spots while I was trying to feed the baby and the boys were going crazy. She was a delight to talk to and was very thoughtful. I just know the importance of a mother and a father :).

Mana from Heaven?

Today, I was standing at our back door talking to Carson, who was a few feet away on the deck. We were having a great father and son moment. All of a sudden, out of nowhere, a pizza crust slams onto the deck right in between Carson and I. Befuddled, Carson picks it up and we both look around for the source. "Where did it come from?" I ask. Carson shrugs his shoulders, "I don't know, maybe one of the birds dropped it." I look up to see three seagulls flying away. "Here," Carson says, handing me the crust, "that's gross."

Sick as a dog

Dave got a bug a while back, maybe two weeks ago. It was a fierce cold that wouldn't go away. I think traces of it are FINALLY gone. I was thinking we were all in the clear when lo and behold about a week after the fact, Drake started in on the same symptoms. We tried to combat it as best we could when ultimately we ended up in the doctors office this past Wednesday. He had a ruptured ear drum and double ear infection. Awesome. Meanwhile, both Carson and Brooks have been battling the sniffles and coughs. Not me though, I was fine.
Thursday night I started feeling like ca-ca. Dave put me to bed early (7:30 ish) and did EVERYTHING around the house and with the kids. Bless my perfect husband! I had an incredibly hard time falling asleep, my brain was trying to burn it's way out the front of my skull. I feel asleep late, and had a fit-filled night. I woke up Friday morning determined to make it all happen; let Dave go to work, take care of kids, house, and everything else on my plate. Not so much. I called Dave at 8:20.
"Please come home", I begged. "I am feeling really sick".
I spent the rest of the day in bed moaning, writhing, and crying (blast those hot, fever tears). I couldn't even get to the bathroom unassisted (Katie, where were you?!) - I thought I was going to pass out.
I had spiked a fever of 103 which felt more like a million degrees. My body ached terribly. Dave came in to see what I needed and rubbed my leg; it make me wince, I was so achy and tender! My throat was sore. But mostly, my brain. Oh, my brain. It was killing me. and Ibuprofen had done nothing.
In the evening I sent Dave to the store for some Aleve; I've heard it works a bit better. It did nothing.
8:30 rolled around and I was starting to worry and get seriously nauseous. Because of the stiffness in my neck, I starting thinking things like; meningitis...aneurism...
Then, I sort of started to freak out, and might or might not have ripped of my clothes...
Dave called our neighbors and good friends to come watch the kids while he took me to the doctor. "Do you think I am ok?" I kept asking between sobs as we drove to the clinic. I hobbled into the urgent care clinic, sat in a chair and moaned and groaned. I was quite the spectacle I am sure. I was writhing; I changed positions about every two seconds - seriously. My hair was out. of. control. I had done it in a bun on the top of my head earlier that day so I could take a bath and then lay down without it messing with my head on my pillow. With all the discomfort, I had developed some great "dreads" on the back of my head. The rest was now flopping around on the top of my noggin. My mascara was smeared down my cheeks from the night before, and the crying. And to top it off I hadn't eaten anything (I tried!) because of the raging fever, and had some horrendous ketosis breath.
Then I barfed, right there in front of everybody.
What seemed like and eternity later, they finally called my name. To make a long story short; I have a nasty case of strep throat which, the doctor explained hits adults a lot harder than little kids, and mine is extreme at that.
So after one thick, gooey shot in the bum, a Zofran under the tongue, numbing throat rinse (which numbs my tongue more than anything), and prescription anti-inflammatory pills for my brain; I still feel like poo. You thought I'd say I felt better, didn't ya? :)
My throat KILLS today - much worse than yesterday. The brain pills help a lot though. When I feel like my cranium is shrinking down around my brain and it's about ready to come exploding through, I take another of those blessed pills. Otherwise, most symptoms are the same except my fever is gone.
Drake is already on antibiotics from the ear infections, but Carson and the baby are at risk. I am praying nobody else gets this. I am being very careful not to share my germs as I am still contagious for the next few hours. Also, I learned at the doctors that children under two are FAR less likely to get strep and the medical world doesn't know why, but that was a little nugget of relief for me. So that leaves Carson. We have a very close eye on him. What a blessing it will be if we don't have to take him in too.
After all this sickness, I suppose I am more grateful than ever for my sweet, little family, especially a worthy priesthood holder who can administer to us when we need it. I guess, all I can say, is mine is a blessed life :).

* I should mention some funny parts of this story:
Last night Carson and Drake saw me leave and were a bit concerned. Today while talking about it and trying to lighten it up a bit, I told them how I threw up at the clinic.
"You threw up?" Carson was immediately intrigued.
"Yup"
"Cool! What color was it??"....I'll spare you the rest of that conversation.

Also, while at the clinic, the ever-so-enthusiastic (NOT) assistant who checked me in was going through the run-down of symptoms, vitals, family history, etc.
"When was your last period?"
"Two years ago," I said. His head jerked up. I secretly delighted in getting a reaction out of him. Like a good patient though I went on to explain that I had a nursing 9 month old and hadn't had a period since getting pregnant. Melanie =1 Burned out Medical Assistant =0

It's good logic I suppose

Drake was rather upset that we were putting him to bed last night. In his little mind it was rather unjust, "I not go to bed tonight; I went to bed last night!"

I scream, you scream, we all scream...

...but nobody screams as well as Drake screams.

Our little public library has a new children's room and computer lab. It is the neatest place. They have some awesome and educational puzzles, games, places to draw, dress ups, magnets, etc. They also have four computers designated ONLY for children 7 and under. They are on short little tables with adorable tiny chairs for those little bums to sit in. The monitors are HUGE and have a cool, hard plastic covers, so for those not quite skilled enough to use a mouse, they can touch the screen instead.
Carson and Drake were LOVING the cute little computers with their educational games tailored to young kids. To top it all off, there was a Dora feature on them. Since they both have crushes on her, that is where they spent the entirety of the allotted 20 minutes time session...and then it came to an end.
cue D.R.A.M.A.
"Drake, handsome; our time is up on the computer and it is lunch time so we should go home and make something yummy to eat," I whispered in his ear while gently pulling the earphones from off his head.
Strong, little hands shot up stopping the headphone removal. "No! Watch Doh-wuh!" Was the emphatic response I received while he struggled to adjust the headphones back in place.
"No, we need to go see daddy, and then eat lunch," I prompted again.
Carson was quick to respond and close up at his station.
"NO! Watch DOH-WUH!" The decibel level was rising. He now had a death grip on the headphones.
Seeing this was not going to be easy, I braced myself, made sure the baby was secure and comfortable in the sling on my chest, readjusted my purse and bag of books on my arm, squared my shoulders, and advanced on the ornery little booger.
I tried leading him by the hand toward the doorway but as though he was attached to some giant rubber band, he would snap right back to that computer, clawing for the headphones in a hysterical fit screaming for his love.
At this point I had to set my purse and bag down (which Carson promptly picked up for me. My hero!), and grip Drake by the upper arm with one hand while prying the headphones out of his fingers with the other.
Eventually we made it out the doorway but still had the whole library to traverse chuck full of people watching our circus act.
Drake had already pulled the limp as a fish, throw himself on the floor routine, so I had to lug him, sobbing, screaming and hacking (which he does we he gets really worked up) by the upper arms, and waddle over his writhing body between my knees with the baby craned forward off my chest trying to watch the wild animal below him. Carson followed, grunting, sweating, and yanking on the bags he was pulling.
After what seemed like an eternity, we made it out the front door. My forearms were burning from the exertion of hauling 35 pounds of moving craziness, in an awkward position. At least we were outside where screaming was (slightly) more acceptable.
We continued the show when all of the sudden I heard, "Hello, Sister Crockett! How are you?" Hallelujah, I was saved...until I turned and saw the missionaries. The ONLY people from church who can't actually hold a baby or child.
"Oh, I'm wonderful!" I panted.
They all burst out laughing. Rightfully so. We were pretty comical. On they went.
Hoping the missionaries were enough of a distraction, and feeling like making it out of the building was a safe bet to let Drake go, I did just that. It was a deadly mistake indeed. Drake was off like a shot; his stumpy little legs pumping FAST; he flew up the sidewalk, tore through the doors, and ran through the library and all I could do was watch his red shirt fade in the distance along with his screams of torture. I was speechless, and defeated.
"Go get him, mommy," I heard a small voice behind me say. There was sweet Carson.
And so, I followed.
I made it back through the library doors to see a little red bullet fly around the corner.
"Can you catch him??" I desperately begged of a man watching the scene unfold.
He tried, but was a little intimidated by the feral animal now snarling in the computer lab. It was up to me.
I cornered him, slung him up on my hip hoping the baby would forgive me for squishing him, and ran out of the building past all the faces still staring our direction.
It only got worse from there. But eventually we made it home. After the exorbitant amount of boogers being shot from flaring nostrils, angry tears, bloodcurdling screams, and sore muscles, it was done. I guess the only thing to do now is laugh because it's either that or cry, and I am an ugly crier. Besides, it's a funny story; just ask all the people we tormented at the library...