My kitchen walls have been a work-in-progress for, uh, two years? Well, thanks to a much needed kick in the rear to get finished I now have only a little painting left to do (that's after stripping, priming, and texturing. Darn that bright springy floral wallpaper!).
So, I've been painting- with all the kids home- and awake. It's exciting!
I early on in my motherhood career learned that if I am to expect my children to be willing workers I have to, well, allow them to work. This tends to take a tremendous amount of patience on my part as I often cringe at the words "mom, can I help?" as they most frequently come when the work to be done has the potential for a mess. The bigger the mess potential, the more zealous the volunteers.
The kids were upstairs playing. I was painting. Quietly. Very quietly. Bailey needed a snack. My secret was out. She pleaded and promised to be SO careful. I gave her a small brush and told her exactly where she could paint. Then Trey needed a snack. He pleaded but wisely did not promise to be SO careful as he is fully aware that he and paint have yet to combine in a neat and orderly fashion. Again, if I always say "no" when they ask to help they will eventually just stop asking. Paint away, my little ones...
Top 10 things overheard during Ricker kitchen painting
10. "Mom, can I have a napkin?"
9. "Will you be mad if a little bit spills?"
8. "Oh, there's a little spot on the floor. Well, 1, 2, 345, 6..."
7. "Look! A smiley face!"
6. "Mom, can I have a rag?"
5. "People are going to think this looks SO nice when they look at the wall over there."
4. "How do you spell 'Welcome to our kitchen?'"
3. "Wow! The floor looks good this color too!"
2. "Mom, can I have the mop?"
and finally...
1. "No! Mom doesn't want the plug thing painted!"
I'm told I will miss "opportunities" like this in 20 years.
7.25.2010
6.18.2010
6.08.2010
Rotten Banana
I've decided that I just love kindergarten. Why? Because it's just so darn amusing. I love how after spending just a few minutes having lunch with Trey's class I know the happenings of every child's family, who has the most checks by their name, and how many times they had to put their heads down. Nowhere else can so much information be obtained at such lightening quick speed. They are bold and bright and completely lacking any quantitative amount of verbal filtering.
A story...
A few weeks back I ventured outside my normal spectrum of t-shirt colors and showed up in Trey's class wearing a bright yellow shirt. It was cute. Bright, I admit, but it's summer.
"Mom, next time you wear that shirt you should wear yellow pants so then you'll look like a banana!"
"Ya Mrs. Ricker! You could be a banana!"
"Well Mrs. Ricker, you look like half a banana now!"
Darling.
Fun in the sun day was the last week of school. Each grade was assigned a color to wear. Kindergarten wore yellow.
I showed up in Trey's class wearing a brown top and denim skirt- no yellow on me.
"Ha! You all look like a bunch of bananas! A whole class full of bananas!"
18 voices nearly in unison as if they all had been waiting for an excuse to mock me:
"You look like a rotten banana!"
My comeback?
"I can make good banana bread. I'm allergic to all of you!"
And the win goes to the unruly 5 year olds.
Watch it wee ones or no summer play dates at the Ricker house for you!
A story...
A few weeks back I ventured outside my normal spectrum of t-shirt colors and showed up in Trey's class wearing a bright yellow shirt. It was cute. Bright, I admit, but it's summer.
"Mom, next time you wear that shirt you should wear yellow pants so then you'll look like a banana!"
"Ya Mrs. Ricker! You could be a banana!"
"Well Mrs. Ricker, you look like half a banana now!"
Darling.
Fun in the sun day was the last week of school. Each grade was assigned a color to wear. Kindergarten wore yellow.
I showed up in Trey's class wearing a brown top and denim skirt- no yellow on me.
"Ha! You all look like a bunch of bananas! A whole class full of bananas!"
18 voices nearly in unison as if they all had been waiting for an excuse to mock me:
"You look like a rotten banana!"
My comeback?
"I can make good banana bread. I'm allergic to all of you!"
And the win goes to the unruly 5 year olds.
Watch it wee ones or no summer play dates at the Ricker house for you!
6.01.2010
What Could Have Been
The last few weeks of school are always crazy.
We've had music programs, award ceremonies, pack meetings, class parties, and cameos on the morning announcements. It's nuts. Wonderfully chaotic, but nuts.
With everything going on with our 3rd grader and kindergartner, it's made it even more evident that we are missing our little 2nd grader.
My heart broke as I watched his wolf den crossover and become bears. The spunky little group of boys who Peyton had so much fun with all stood as still as they could (which was not so still) as their parents put their blue neckerchiefs around their necks. When Peyton began scouts as a tiger he used to always say he couldn't wait to be a bear so he could have a blue neckerchief. He earned his wolf badge just weeks before he passed away. He was ready to move on to Bears. He never did get to wear blue.
I wish he could have walked up and proudly received the certificates he'd earned this year. He loved being recognized for his good work although you'd never guess it by the calm and collected way he would graciously accept the acknowledgement. He'd made the reading team, honor role, and I'm sure would have gotten a Reach Award. He's just that kind of kid.
Although I know it makes him smile, I sure wish he could have played on the fire truck that's been put up in his memory. It's perfect. Every time I see it I think "my Peytie would have loved it".
I'm sad Peyton will never get to have Tyler's teacher. It is in my opinion that every child everywhere should get to have his teacher. She is "practically perfect in every way". It breaks my heart that I should have a child in her class next year but won't.
We're ending this school year with one less child than we started it with. Peyton's good health had let me think for a moment of having 4 kids in the 5 grades of their school.
This has been a tough year for our kids but they have done as well as they have in large part because of love and support they've received from their teachers and friends.
This fall we will once again send 3 little Rickers off to school for what can only be a less eventful year.
First Day of School - August 2009
We've had music programs, award ceremonies, pack meetings, class parties, and cameos on the morning announcements. It's nuts. Wonderfully chaotic, but nuts.
With everything going on with our 3rd grader and kindergartner, it's made it even more evident that we are missing our little 2nd grader.
My heart broke as I watched his wolf den crossover and become bears. The spunky little group of boys who Peyton had so much fun with all stood as still as they could (which was not so still) as their parents put their blue neckerchiefs around their necks. When Peyton began scouts as a tiger he used to always say he couldn't wait to be a bear so he could have a blue neckerchief. He earned his wolf badge just weeks before he passed away. He was ready to move on to Bears. He never did get to wear blue.
I wish he could have walked up and proudly received the certificates he'd earned this year. He loved being recognized for his good work although you'd never guess it by the calm and collected way he would graciously accept the acknowledgement. He'd made the reading team, honor role, and I'm sure would have gotten a Reach Award. He's just that kind of kid.
Although I know it makes him smile, I sure wish he could have played on the fire truck that's been put up in his memory. It's perfect. Every time I see it I think "my Peytie would have loved it".
I'm sad Peyton will never get to have Tyler's teacher. It is in my opinion that every child everywhere should get to have his teacher. She is "practically perfect in every way". It breaks my heart that I should have a child in her class next year but won't.
We're ending this school year with one less child than we started it with. Peyton's good health had let me think for a moment of having 4 kids in the 5 grades of their school.
This has been a tough year for our kids but they have done as well as they have in large part because of love and support they've received from their teachers and friends.
This fall we will once again send 3 little Rickers off to school for what can only be a less eventful year.
First Day of School - August 2009
"Yours is the Earth, and everything that's in it.
And, which is more, you'll be a man my son".
-from "If" by Rudyard Kipling
5.27.2010
We Camp Like Girls...
...oh yes we do!
We recently took the kids on a couple of different camping trips.
Some background:
Robert is an Eagle Scout. He's camped all over the southwest. He grew up camping with his family. He eats bugs for breakfast.
I do have camping experience. One summer, at church girls camp, I camped in an air conditioned cabin with a private bathroom. Hey, it was in the middle of the woods and it had bare concrete floors. Archaic!
So, coming from somewhat opposite camping backgrounds, we both had our separate packing lists.
Robert's included stuff like lighter fluid, big hammers, and a few knifes.
Mine included a water filter for the hose spigot, paper towel holder, and a separate shower tent.
We recently took the kids on a couple of different camping trips.
Some background:
Robert is an Eagle Scout. He's camped all over the southwest. He grew up camping with his family. He eats bugs for breakfast.
I do have camping experience. One summer, at church girls camp, I camped in an air conditioned cabin with a private bathroom. Hey, it was in the middle of the woods and it had bare concrete floors. Archaic!
So, coming from somewhat opposite camping backgrounds, we both had our separate packing lists.
Robert's included stuff like lighter fluid, big hammers, and a few knifes.
Mine included a water filter for the hose spigot, paper towel holder, and a separate shower tent.
Well, our two worlds collided and produced some pretty fun trips (laptops and all)
5.21.2010
5 months...
Nothing, I mean nothing, compares to the occasional, split second feeling of forgetting what Peyton looked and felt like.
Nothing, absolutely nothing, compares to being reminded of how perfectly sweet he is.
Words can't describe what I feel when I see this.
Back in August, just 8 months ago, Peyton was asked to sing this song for the district teachers at their back to school conference.
Thank you, Mrs. V., for giving us this memory.
Nothing, absolutely nothing, compares to being reminded of how perfectly sweet he is.
Words can't describe what I feel when I see this.
Back in August, just 8 months ago, Peyton was asked to sing this song for the district teachers at their back to school conference.
Thank you, Mrs. V., for giving us this memory.
5.10.2010
Happy Mother's Day
A week of firsts for me, I sent Jenna my first text ever, downloaded music and finally my first blog post. So at the risk of punishment for hijacking my wife's blog... Happy Mother's Day to the woman I love and cherish deeply and the wonderful mother of my children. I love you!
4.15.2010
A Noble Effort
I make every effort to teach my children manners. They try. They really do.
Occasionally I make the kids something for dinner and then Robert will pick something up for he and I on the way home from a meeting. I use these nights to make the kids something either ridiculously lazy and kid friendly like mac & cheese with weenies, or something that uses leftovers.
On one particular night my raiding of the fridge produced cheese tortellini with a spinach marinara-ish sauce. I'm sure I made a fruit salad or something to balance it out. I don't remember exactly. Whatever it was, it wasn't the issue.
I called my kids to the table.
They'd had a very pleasant afternoon. They'd been very sweet and kind to each other. As much as I enjoy this, I have noticed a trend. This behavior by my children leads to well intended conversations like this.
T: Wow mom. Thank you for this dinner. It looks very, um, interesting.
B: Uh mom, could I please have some ranch please?
t(saying the prayer): Thank you for the dinner mom made. Please help it to not taste bad and please help us to not say bad things about it.
They now begin eating. Again, this is just tortellini. Really, a glorified spaghetti. It's not like I've gone Moroccan on them.
T: Mom, this is actually good.
M: Thanks Ty.
T: I mean, it looks disgusting...
t: Sure does.
T: ... but it tastes actually pretty good.
M: Thanks Ty.
B: Excuse me mom, could I please have some ketchup or something? Please?
Bailey and I now begin discussing the level of nastiness involved in the combining of her dinner with ranch and/or ketchup.
Ty and Trey continue a side conversation on the astounding fact that despite how absolutely repulsive the dinner looked, it was indeed edible, and even more surprising, moderately good.
T(after maybe 5 bites): Mom, this was so delicious I just am so full.
Trey agrees and thanks me for being such a great "cooker" even though I make gross looking stuff.
Bailey manages to have a few ranchless and ketchupless bites. I don't think she thanked me.
She didn't yell, though. I'll take it.
My expectations?
My children should speak kindly. Check.
My children should try new foods. Check.
My children should look for the positive in people and situations. Check.
My new expectations?
My children should sit, eat, and keep their sugar-coated opinions to themselves.
Occasionally I make the kids something for dinner and then Robert will pick something up for he and I on the way home from a meeting. I use these nights to make the kids something either ridiculously lazy and kid friendly like mac & cheese with weenies, or something that uses leftovers.
On one particular night my raiding of the fridge produced cheese tortellini with a spinach marinara-ish sauce. I'm sure I made a fruit salad or something to balance it out. I don't remember exactly. Whatever it was, it wasn't the issue.
I called my kids to the table.
They'd had a very pleasant afternoon. They'd been very sweet and kind to each other. As much as I enjoy this, I have noticed a trend. This behavior by my children leads to well intended conversations like this.
T: Wow mom. Thank you for this dinner. It looks very, um, interesting.
B: Uh mom, could I please have some ranch please?
t(saying the prayer): Thank you for the dinner mom made. Please help it to not taste bad and please help us to not say bad things about it.
They now begin eating. Again, this is just tortellini. Really, a glorified spaghetti. It's not like I've gone Moroccan on them.
T: Mom, this is actually good.
M: Thanks Ty.
T: I mean, it looks disgusting...
t: Sure does.
T: ... but it tastes actually pretty good.
M: Thanks Ty.
B: Excuse me mom, could I please have some ketchup or something? Please?
Bailey and I now begin discussing the level of nastiness involved in the combining of her dinner with ranch and/or ketchup.
Ty and Trey continue a side conversation on the astounding fact that despite how absolutely repulsive the dinner looked, it was indeed edible, and even more surprising, moderately good.
T(after maybe 5 bites): Mom, this was so delicious I just am so full.
Trey agrees and thanks me for being such a great "cooker" even though I make gross looking stuff.
Bailey manages to have a few ranchless and ketchupless bites. I don't think she thanked me.
She didn't yell, though. I'll take it.
My expectations?
My children should speak kindly. Check.
My children should try new foods. Check.
My children should look for the positive in people and situations. Check.
My new expectations?
My children should sit, eat, and keep their sugar-coated opinions to themselves.
A Clarification
Well, it appears I have a good deal of dog-loving/owning friends who were a bit caught off guard by my declaration of disdain for the darn animals (see "100" post below).
I was prepared to amend my comment as it perhaps came across a bit harsh (although undoubtedly accurate).
That was until one busy morning I stepped in a humongous, nasty, big dog pile of poo while loading my baby into the car in my driveway. Bad? Yes. Worse, I stepped in it unknowingly and didn't realize the bottom of my shoe was lathered in the stuff until I had gone back through my house checking doors and grabbing a bill to drop in the mail. Yep. Nasty, stinky, stupid dog poo on my grass, my shoe, and on my carpet. I changed my shoes, walked back out to the car and being very careful to not step in the now smeared heap of nastiness got in my seat. As I reached to shut my door I dropped the bill. Need I say where?
So, in closing, I would just like to say that yes, I do indeed loathe dogs.
I was prepared to amend my comment as it perhaps came across a bit harsh (although undoubtedly accurate).
That was until one busy morning I stepped in a humongous, nasty, big dog pile of poo while loading my baby into the car in my driveway. Bad? Yes. Worse, I stepped in it unknowingly and didn't realize the bottom of my shoe was lathered in the stuff until I had gone back through my house checking doors and grabbing a bill to drop in the mail. Yep. Nasty, stinky, stupid dog poo on my grass, my shoe, and on my carpet. I changed my shoes, walked back out to the car and being very careful to not step in the now smeared heap of nastiness got in my seat. As I reached to shut my door I dropped the bill. Need I say where?
So, in closing, I would just like to say that yes, I do indeed loathe dogs.
4.04.2010
I know God lives. I know He loves us, each of us, individually. I know that He knows me. He knows my strengths and weaknesses, my pains and fears, my joys and happiness. I know that I am His child and as such have the potential to be like Him.
I know that Jesus Christ is our Savior. My Savior. I know that he willingly volunteered to atone for our sins so that we may be partakers of the plan designed to gets us back home safely. I know that as my older brother, Christ loves me. He has felt not only the weight of my sins, but all of my sorrows. He sacrificed himself for me. He led a life I hope to, in at least some small way, emulate. I know that as I draw closer to the Savior, my home is blessed, my family strengthened, and that I am able to do things I never thought possible.
I know that the gospel of Jesus Christ is true. I know that it was restored in these latter days by a prophet of God. I know that knowledge of it carries great responsibility and accountability, but that it is the only way we can have eternal families and true happiness.
I know that we have a true and living prophet who, as a mouthpiece of the Lord, leads and guides our church today.
I know that miracles happen every day and that we have all been witnesses to them. I know that our lives are continually blessed and enriched by the good grace of a merciful God who knows we fall far short of perfect and still loves us unconditionally.
I know, without a single tiny bit of doubt, that I will have my Peyton again. Not that I’ll happen to run into him in Heaven, or that we’ll meet as friends or former acquaintances, but that we will one day embrace as a mother and a child who have separated for a bit. Our family has been sealed for time and all eternity. I know his spirit is strong and vibrant and that he is busy doing God’s work on the other side. I know that my children will one day have a joyful reunion. I am grateful for the knowledge I have that Peyton lives now safe from pain and fear and will never have to experience the hardships and temptations that this Earthly probation frequently presents.
I know that translated correctly the Bible is true. I know it testifies of the goodness and greatness of God and the example and teachings of His son, Jesus Christ.
I know that the Book of Mormon is the word of God, written anciently for our day. I know that it stands separate from the Bible, not to add to it, but as another testament of Jesus Christ. I know that its promise is true, that if you read it and ask God in prayer, that you will receive confirmation of its truthfulness. Pretty neat promise.
I know that we will only be truly happy by coming to know Christ as our brother and Savior and being partakers of His marvelous gospel.
Happy Easter.
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