Diapers

One of the unfortunate disadvantages of having so many bundles of joy bouncing around our lives, is that occasionally a detail or two will go unnoticed. One of those details, overlooked somewhere between the potential peanut butter face paint for snack and the narrowly averted toilet eruption by an over zealous wiper, was Daniel's post snack attire, but, for the sack of five pounds of Greek Meatballs in which I was invested up to my elbows, this detail seemed hardly significant. That is, until Daniel realized the absent shirt and shorts were, until now, the only thing standing between him and a whole new experience of freedom beneath those two funny Velcro tabs.

Hoping his diaper ditching might be the first signs of a newly developing appreciation for the tiny tot pot, periodically presented with dramatic ooo's and ahhh's over that last few months, I began showering his exploits with praises for my big boy going to use that wonderful new potty, but unable to deceive myself beyond the devious grin spread across his little face, I, as any reasonable mother with a fist full of raw meat and a father surely in ear shot would, bellowed, as my little nudest bolted from the room, "you better not put any pee in my house, Mister!"

By the time I caught up with him, he was standing on the front porch, grinning ear to ear, by an exceptionally large puddle for such a sunny day, obviously pleased with himself for listening so well.

Ta DAAAA!!!

Presenting the newest model of pearly whites to arrive on the market!!!
Made of only the finest materials, these twin chompers are the result of the combined effort of nine months exhaustive preparation and eight months of carefully directed engineering! They are capable of slicing, dicing, gnawing and mashing anything from ripe bananas to cooked carrots!

Side effects from the use of this product may include, but are not limited to, drool spots, toy chewing, food aversions, sibling finger gnawing, sleepless nights, sore mommies, cranky daddies, and the occasional yelp of pain. Should any of these symptoms persist for more than 6 years, the dissatisfied parties my apply for an upgraded version. Upon receipt of the merchandise, the owner assumes all liability for the use of this product. The manufacture is in no way responsible for bites, bruises, yelps, drawn blood and other injuries that may be suffered by its misuse.

Kneelers

There are some days when I question the generally accepted wisdom of so many parenting books that line every newly pregnant mother's book shelves. Not because I have found universally unsettling tactics employed by many, nor is it due to theories incompatible with, if not flawless, at least practical parenting. Rather, it is their seemingly general disregard for one of the fundamental aspects of successful parenting, that of herding children. A method of survival necessary for any mother visiting such places as the grocery store, the post office and of course, mass.

Therefore, supplied with inadequate mental preparation for my tasks, and unwilling to employ the tactics presented in the sheep dog book, I have been forced to rely on my own motherly instinct, assisted entirely by our guardian angels.

Our little row, usually tucked in a discreet corner, begins preparations for the procession forward much sooner than others, as we must allow for mommy to tell the children to raise the kneelers with, of course, only two of the three hearing her, leaving the third, if he is smaller than the two more audibly inclined children, to be tumulted to the ground. He will find it necessary to defend himself against such an attack by slamming the kneeler back to the ground amidst squeals of "Dat not be nice! I not yike dat!" It will then require enough time to bandage the pride of all wounded, and raise both children and kneelers to their upright positions, that we will now barely make the end of the line. A position we appreciate greatly, as a large amount of space is needed for the children to circle their mother as we process down the isle, each in search of a position, first or last, none are exactly sure of, simply that their own is unsatisfactory. By the time the priest gives his blessing to each, it is desperately needed, not only in its salvific abilities, but also because it signifies the end of the race, and with that, an end to the circling.

Recently, having successfully directed my children out the pew, down the isle and back around towards our sanctuary of seclusion, with very little distraction to those praying around us, I felt myself to be very accomplished in the task of child herding. So accomplished that I failed to remember the most important aspect of the homestretch, the straggling two year old. And as I walked slowly toward our pew, reflecting on the marvels of our Lord made flesh, I realized the growing commotion behind me was most likely because of my straggling tail.

Perhaps in response to his pre-procession tumble, or a disordered need to possess something of his very own, my two year old son was struggling up the isle, dragging behind him a portable, cushioned kneeler, weighing half his weight and two thirds his size. And with each heaving breath and exaggerated heave of his shoulders, he was whispering to the grinning onlookers, with a look that was as much questioning his own authority as commanding it, "I need DISS!"

Pretending

My little girl just came in from playing outside. "Mom," she stated, "we're pretending its winter outside."

An odd thing to need to do in February.

Mass-In-Sanity

Recently Jeremiah and I have decided to make attending daily mass a higher priority in our lives, knowing we could both benefit from the sacramental graces, especially as the children's reasoning skills become more fine tuned.

But, simply walking into daily mass with four young children is a commotion in itself, before ever braving the dreaded monotonous homily or the solemn silences of the consecration with a two year old whose attention span is fitting of his age and a five year old who is certain his command carries the force of a king, or at least enough to dictate every action of his distracted little brother. And then there is Luci, with whom the slightest glance from the grandmothers behind us excites squeals, jumps and echoing growls. Which in turn, enraptures big sister to the point of awkwardly dragging both baby and mom to the ground in an embrace that is as desperate as it is clumsy.

Therefore, fully aware of our potential notoriety, and perhaps because of our fixation on its possibility, we entered mass the other day with our mission firmly in our minds, to get in, restrain arms, legs and mouths and get out. As we made our way past the Holy Water fount, we realized our eldest two were headed for the pivotal front row, a row given to the saints, those who are declared such by all observers because their children behaved so well during mass or those who are pushed into sanctity by the extreme humility required to gather one's pride along with the children after they have drawn the attention of an entire church. Either way, this day we felt our sanctification could come through less public means, and so a tip-toed chase down the isle began.

Only moments later, having safely secured a pew in the back, we realized, due to the serene atmosphere around us, the absence of our two year old. Retracing our steps, he was found in the place we so hastily left him, by the Holy Water fount, and in typical two year old form, was eager to continue the activity which had captivated him for the past two minutes, having discovered the hand in the form of a cup, is much more effective for blessing oneself with Holy Water than only a few daintily dipped fingers.

With renewed vigor and an awareness of the battle yet to come, I suppressed my laughter and escorted our son, holy water still rolling off his saturated bangs, to our pew discreetly tucked in the corner.

Confident that the theory of leading by example is true, and hopeful in the effects produced by large quantities of holy water, Jeremiah and I stationed ourselves between children and stared actively at the priest as he processed down the isle, when a sudden echoing thud caused us to turn in bewilderment towards our oldest daughter. We watched in amazement as she held on to the pew in front of us, leaned back until her arms were fully extended then slammed herself, with great determination, back into the pew. Fearing the entire church would soon notice our four year old's convulsions, we flattened her into her seat in a hope to discern what had possessed her to act in such a way, and if the explanation were not that simple, then to at least discern what she might have been thinking. Upon investigation, we realized she had gently propped her book up on the back of the pew in front of us, and was proceeding to conduct an experiment to determine the exact velocity her body needed to reach in order to dislodge the book and send it flying.

Refusing to be bested by childhood curiosities, we are continuing in our pursuit of sanctifying grace, and the humility necessary to make the best use of it, and so, you, Our Larger Lot, can expect more installments of Mass-In-Sanity.

Good Will, Good Buy

Every year, after Christmas, I carefully itemize my want list, allotting value to each item according to function, design and length of desire, then I meticulously interpret the not always so clear value system, arriving ultimately with the most desirable object in my life on which to spend my Christmas money. This year, due to a particularly frugal fall, and perhaps, the lack of a before mentioned list, I had managed to retain all of my birthday money, which, added to a very generous Christmas, had given rise to the hopes of a thrift acquisition of possibly the four most desirable objects in my life.

With this hope swelling in my heart, I raced to the nearby Thrift Store focused on the possibility of cute serving platters, retro mixing bowls or even the elusive storage unit to organize my life. But never did I dream of finding my third most desirable object, and for only a dollar!

And to make my dreams even sweeter, it requires no electricity and is perfectly kid friendly.


In fact, so kid friendly that Peter could hardly contain his excitement to process every edible object in our kitchen, beginning with the cheese for our nachos that evening.



Peter, after two minutes of grating...



After five minutes of grating, trying another angle...



Perhaps it needs the lid, after seven minutes of grating...


Isabelle helping, after ten minutes of grating...




Isabelle has given up, after twelve minutes of grating...



Daniel wondering if we will ever get to eat, after fifteen minutes of grating...


Daniel, wondering "Seriously, how long is this going to take?" After seventeen minutes of grating...


If you too were hoping for a thrifty food processing Christmas list relief, you should check the Thrift Store near us, I think they will have one soon.

Knives Cut...

Recently Daniel was helping me unload the dishwasher, a morning chore he insists upon assisting me with, rapidly increasing the dish removal process, if only to a higher place on the counter, when his tiny hands laid hold of a knife before the foresight of mommy and siblings had caught up. The ensuing uproar from everyone so impressed upon his little mind the severity of knife grabbing that it could only be eased by a litany of all those who could also be injured by such actions.

"Knive cut Daniel." "Yes, Daniel." "Knive cut A-belle." "Yes Daniel, knives cut Isabelle." "Knive cut Peeee!" "Yes Daniel!" And so the morning went, through one side of the family and the other, friends, neighbors and priests, they could all be cut by knives. "Even Uncle Matty!" declared Isabelle with a note of finality.

Occasionally now the litany must be revived, I assume to squash any temptations developing in the back of Daniel's little mind. These revivals seem to have caused Peter to need to distinguish himself from the crowds of defenseless knife victims, which resulted in the following conversation.

Daniel: (with grave intensity) "Knive cut Pee"
Mommy: (with mirrored grave intensity) "Yes, Daniel, knives can cut Peter."
Peter: (matter-of-factually) "No, Daniel, a knife would not cut me because I wouldn't touch it."
Mommy: (trying to maintain the original point) "Yes, Peter, BUT if you did touch it..." (with returned gravity) "a knife would cut Peter."
Peter: (indifferent to our gravity) "No, a knife wouldn't cut me because I would only touch the handle."
Mommy: "Yes, Peter, BUT..." (turning to Daniel) "A knife could cut Peter."
Peter: (now frustrated by my obvious ignorance) "But it wouldn't cut me because I would only touch the blade very gently."

Perhaps I should have reacted more intensely when Peter touched his first knife.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Please join us, for a moment or two,
for a Thanksgiving tale we would share with you.



Twas the night before Turkey, and all through the house,

the wine flowed freely and the cooks were all soused.

Four pies in the oven, handmade, each with care.

Fifteen pounds of potatoes should get us all there.

The Turkey and stuffing all snug in their ovenly bed,

While visions of gluttonous indulgence danced in our heads,


When in the Kitchen Aid there arose such a clatter,

that all were in fear of splatter from batter.

To the bottom drawer, we flew like a flash,

to find aprons, towels and napkins delicately stashed.



The effects of our wine, now beginning to show,

made the lining of a basket seem simply not so.

When what to our wondering eyes should appear,

but three fashionable pieces of ladies' head gear.


With reason still fleeting, but sobriety coming quick,

The shock of our festive attire played a comical trick.

Soon all of the family had apparel to join in the game,

With not as much wine, but style quite the same.

Come vermin and rodents, a few coon skins will do.


On aprons and bonnets, and proud grandparents, too.


Sorry Paul Thomas, for what you have seen,

But the glasses won't help how funny we seem.


With the feast all but ready, and the comedy quite clear,

The best thing to do is, "Smile for the camera, my dear!"


To the table we sprang, at the sound of Mom's whistle,

And away went our food like the shot of a pistol.

For the wine and the fashion had made things just right,

And so, to the Turkeys remaining, "Have an excellent flight!"



We hope you've enjoyed our Thanksgiving tale!

Tylonal or Benadryl?

The kids have all passed around a little bug recently, thankfully the symptoms are only a fever and total exhaustion.

Daniel was especially pathetic, wanting to be held basically every moment. Finally I was forced to put him down and run around the house to get a few things done. The whole time I could hear the weepy drone of "hoooolllld" trailing behind me, in and out of rooms. But the best part was when I realized this sweet sick baby was gathering up any item remotely significant to him as we went. In this picture he has two "night-nights," his blanket, his dog and what every sick kid needs, a Sonic toy flashlight.

Finally I put him on the couch while I folded laundry, where he, with all his comfort items, fell asleep.

Peter also suffered a visit from the bug (on pumpkin carving day, which, consequently, made the day much easier). Since having been allowed excessive comforting and midnight cuddles, he is determined every ache and pain constitutes another near fatal illness. Last night he discovered a mild cough and I think, secretly, an attack of the "I don't want to sleep" bug, for which he was certain some medicine, "like maybe Tylenol or benadryl" was necessary. Feeling especially sensitive to the ailing, after our current run of disease in the house, I decided to humor him and even considered accepting his request if he could conjure up a suitable affliction. But after rejecting his suggestion to use benadryl for his aching foot, and Tylenol for his watery eyes, he was forced in desperation to declare, in a very matter of fact voice, "mommy, there is something somewhere in my body that is hurting and I need that medicine in the cabinet." With a stifled laugh, I told him that wasn't good enough, and he was left to deal with his afflictions using the tried and true home remedies of dark, quiet and intimidating parental threats.

Happy Birthday

Last night I went outside to rescue Daniel from his big brother. Apparently Daniel was "saying his YEAH too loud! And Isabelle couldn't even hear Peter talking to her." So I brought him inside to find that he was singing Happy Birthday with a leaf attached to a stick, and cheering profusely afterwards.

Please ignore the messy house (we suffered a baby doll explosion earlier), but enjoy the video.

Good bye Old Friend

1999 Chevrolet "Roomy-Lummy" Lumina became scrap metal Saturday, October 5th, 2008

A silent vigil was held Saturday afternoon in the family's front yard with Sammy of "Sammy's Towing" presiding over the ceremony. Roomy-Lummy will be laid to rest in the junk yard of highest bidding.

Roomy-Lummy was born in 1999 but did not join the Hoelscher family until 2001. He was a good and faithful friend to Tim, carrying him where ever work required until Family Dollar no longer desired his services and he was allowed to remain with the Hoelscher family, now as a faithful escort to Kim. When she no longer required his service, Roomy-Lummy was eager to assist Julia while she was in Amarillo, and even had the privilege of joining Matthew at UD for two years. Fearing the Midwest winters, he chose to remain a Texan, and joined the Ellis family when Matthew moved to IL.

Although he suffered much as he transitioned from family member to family member, never knowing with whom he would ride from year to year, he seldomly complained except to spit water on an unwitting passengers feet with every right turn. Though he lacked the sparkle and appeal of the newer models, Roomy-Lummy was never ashamed of his balding tires, chipped paint and door dings.

Last April Roomy-Lummy narrowly survived an encounter with a tree limb, only to meet his end at the hands of a faulty water pump. The lack of water was simply more than his weathered engine could bare and the stress blew a head gasket. He was never able to recover, nor was the family's pocket book, and he was allowed to die in peace in the family's driveway.

Roomy-Lummy is survived by Honda Odyssey and Mazda 626.

In lieu of flowers, memorials can be sent to the "Preserve the remaining Ellis Vehicles" Fund in the form of checks, gas cards and oil change credits.

Musical Beds

Isabelle is absolutely delighted with her little sister, not that the boys don't love her as well, but there seems to be a special connection for Isabelle with her sister. Therefor, we, especially Isabelle, decided it was time to establish a "girl's room" and a "boy's room." So all day we talked about the big move and all parties were excited as we (Jer) took apart Daniel's crib/toddler bed and put up Luci's future crib. Three little sets of hands helped daddy move various pieces of Daniel's bed to the "boy room," drag the mattress through the hallway, screw rails, walls, toys and each other together, and finally lean the mattress against the bunk-beds for a far too exciting indoor slide, before the change was complete.

The excitement was building as all prepared for bed, and the anticipation for a good night's rest was high until big sister realized Luci would not be sleeping in her crib that night, but in the bassinet next to her mother, whom she desperately wants to visit multiple times during the night. We had not realized Luci would "keep Isabelle safe" during the night.

So, Peter, Isabelle and Daniel all lie down in the same room while Joe-joe (the cat) enjoys the nursery by himself. Despite our hopes and pleadings with his guardian angel, Peter can not help but whisper, in tones only audible to Daniel's ears, tauntings to make any big brother proud. Daniel, being an excellent younger sibling, returns these taunts with ear piercing "NOOOOOOO"s!!! Thus, the music begins, and Peter and Isabelle, losing game one, are removed to Mom and Dad's bed, until the tauntings resume, this time by little sister who having now lost game two is exiled to the nursery, yes, without the six week old for protection. But, after some intense protest, all three are asleep and Mom and Dad naively return the older two to their beds, place Luci in the bassinet and settle in for a good night's rest.

At some unknown hour of the night Peter wakes, crying in anguish over a toy theft suffered in his sleep which causes Daddy to fly out of bed, hoping to comfort the victim before the other dreamers are disturbed. Unfortunately, Peter is not quickly comforted and Daniel, waking, realizes his opportunity and threatens mutinous screaming if not taken to bed with Daddy. Luci hearing his cries decides it is time to nurse, and joins Mommy in bed. Daniel's demands are met, and Daniel joins Daddy, Mommy and Luci in bed. After what seems like hours of poking, prodding, kicking and squirming, Mommy and Luci retreat to the nursery bed and Daddy re-negotiates with Daniel. Succeeding, Daddy returns Daniel to his bed, but Peter's toy thieves have returned and Daddy now joins Peter in bed to stand guard. The movement wakes Isabelle, who decides to try her luck in Mom and Dad's bed, but finding no one there, returns to her own. After spending hours on guard, Daddy attempts to return to his own bed, but Daniel, armed with new tactics, cuts him off. Remembering the last negotiation, Daddy heads for the nursery, dumping Daniel in Luci's crib, and Mommy and Luci return to their bed, only to find Isabelle spread over three fourths of it. Leaving Daddy to fight for a spot on the bed, Mommy and Luci now retreat to the recliner. Uncertain as to how Daddy's battle transpired, but longing for a less vertical bed, Mommy and Luci cautiously creep back to their bed to enjoy the final moments of the night before some child rushes in to hold their sleeping sister.

As a testimony to the harm caused by sleep deprivation, we have chosen to continue this and similar routines every night, not because it would be too difficult to take Daniel's bed apart and return it to the nursery, nor because the children all delight in "sleeping" in the same room, but because we have felt our lives lacked a certain level of excitement the past few weeks and this is our cheapest solution.

Teeth

While standing before the bathroom mirror, vigorously attacking the would be cavity causing plaque that insists upon being in my mouth, I became aware of two bright munchkin eyes and one wide little grin that had made their way up the toilet and onto the sink counter and were observing my every aggressive stroke.

Before even meeting his gaze, the munchkin declares his request in such high pitched, delighted terms as to communicate his certainty of already being accepted, "Tee, Tee! Me! Meeeee!"

What mother could resist such eager companionship in the war on plaque? So Daniel, armed with a little yellow tooth brush and more toothpaste than necessary, but less than he attempted to squeeze out, begins to mimic my every assault, carefully watching every move of my toothbrush. As the battle comes to an end, and I fill my mouth with water to wash away the offending plaque, Daniel eagerly scoops some into his mouth. And thinking what fun it is to have this little companion inches from my face, enamored with my every move, I slowly swish the water letting him attempt to repeat my actions and then spit it out. He too, still inches from my face, swishes the water, and, while looking straight at me... spits.

Table Talk

-

While eating dinner the other night, Isabelle made the acute observation...

"Hey, there are one, two, three people wearing clothes (mommy, daddy, Luci) and there are one, two people wearing pajamas, and Daniel, well he actually just looks like he is wearing pajamas, but really he is just wearing skin instead of only blood and bones!"

Having been previously unaware of his clothing options, we all decided we were thankful that Daniel seems so fond of wearing his skin.

This picture was supposed to document our gleeful consumption of homemade strawberry shortcake (that same evening, notice Daniel's skin), with a fork full of sumptuous cake poised before each consumer's mouth. We waited too long, and Peter could not resist consuming, at which Daniel could not resist laughing exaggeratedly, which caused Daddy to forget to pose, and Isabelle, well her cake never made it anywhere near her mouth.

But the cake was still good.

Baby Prep 101

Knowing how important food is for domestic harmony, and how potentially busy our kitchen will be after this newest bundle of joy arrives, I have decided to stock the freezer with all kinds of frozen dinners.

Now, I think I have been pregnant too long, and should begin to seriously examine my decisions in other areas, because the insanity of quadrupling a chicken pot pie recipe (that already normally yields two pot pies), all in one afternoon, never occurred to me. Not as we cooked two whole chickens, nor as we peeled and sliced 2 lbs of carrots, cried through 5 diced onions, or even when we cubed 3 lbs of potatoes... but as Jeremiah rolled his 16th pie crust, I think it had occurred to someone else.

In fact, the insanity seemed to have worn on him quite a bit, because instead of continuing to make pretty little hearts on all of his pies...

Peter talked Daddy into making an elephant on the final pie. At least, that is what he said it was.

BUT, now we have 17 frozen meals in our freezer, unfortunately, the selection is limited to Chicken pot pie, baked ziti and mac'n'cheese... perhaps I should have thought of this also, when quadrupling meals?

Summer Time

So, while bathing the kids last night, we realized they have spent "a bit" of time in the sun recently...

Measurments

After examining the bottle of honey, Peter informed me, "we have about a foot of honey left, see."

He even posed so I could get a picture of exactly what a "foot of honey" looks like, although I am still a little unclear on the details of this measuring system.

He also asked me a few weeks ago, "Are we going to get half a cup of groceries at the store today?"

Things you learn in a fourth pregnancy...

• Compression stockings come in a variety of styles and sizes, none of which include discreet, but all of which require a strong man's assistance to put on, and about fifteen minutes concentrated effort.


• Pill sorting boxes perform a very necessary function when taking more supplements/vitamins/enhancers than my grandmother.


• Varicose veins not only create a lovely design on one's legs, but they also bubble and bulge in ways that fascinate young children.


• A body that is not yet 30 can be remarkable similar to one that is 65...


• There were still crevices in my abdomen which had not previously experienced the wedging of elbows and feet.


• My body seems to actually generate urine ex nihilo so as not to miss it's regular 30 minute appointment with the bathroom, despite all attempts to dehydrate it.

Squirrel

Izzie Rue has always loved animals, and she delights in taking care of them. She found this puppy at the park while visiting my parents recently and was as much in love with it as the dog was with her (but don't worry, she didn't come home with the dog!).

She doesn't even seem to notice if the animal is alive or not, she is equally affectionate to them all!

As a result of this affection, we have been considering getting her a pet of her own in the future (the live version). That was, until our walk yesterday...

We had the good fortune of passing by a squirrel who had obviously lost a recent race across the street to a large automobile. Delicately, I answered Peter's curiosity about blood and missing limbs before pushing past the scene of the accident, thinking this a good introduction to one of the more difficult aspects of life.

It wasn't until half a block later, that I realized Isabelle's complete lack of progress in our walk was not due to her distracted nature, but because of big fat tears blurring her vision. After a little comforting, the best response I could get from her was, "but the squirrel, I'mmmm s..s..ssssad because of da squirrel..." followed by increased tears. Eventually we made it home, through dinner and down to bed, but not without being interrupted every fifteen or twenty minutes by, "oh, the squirrel!!!"

We have decided to seriously investigate the genetic history of any pet she receives, because it better live a really long time!