Girls, girls, girls

Sometimes they drive me nuts.
Sometimes they're the cutest little creatures I've ever seen.

Hazel's latest excuse when I ask her to do something she doesn't want to do is, "I'm too cold." Sometimes she'll say, "I'm too full!"


Some of Charlotte's first steps happened with Hazel holding her hands and pulling her along.



David brought these tulips home for us girls one day out of the blue. This picture was taken right before Hazel tried to hit Charlotte over the head with them.


It's amazing to me the places that Charlotte can climb into. Here she is in the laundry basket with Nacho. why not?


The DVD drawer. She couldn't get herself out of this one without help.

Charlotte is walking and the other day we were in the car with my mom and she said, "All done." After that she said, "here," clear as day. She signs "baby" by pretending to rock a baby in her arms; she signs "juice," "more," "mom," and "all done." She sleeps longer than all of us (only b/c David has work and I have Hazel).

Hazel can count to 20 (although 13 and 14 are a little shady). She LOVES hide and seek but when you count, she doesn't really hide; she just runs into the next room and watches you until you look up and see her. Then she screams and runs.
She told me the other day that Daddy isn't her prince; that her prince was someone else. I asked her what he's doing now and she said he was making her princess dresses.

My goodness, I love 'em.

Ice skating

February 27, 2010

The first time Hazel saw figure skating on t.v., she stopped in her tracks and said, "She's a princess!" I've been looking forward to taking her to the rink ever since. I couldn't believe how tiny her skates looked as we laced up and headed out to the rink. It was a lot of work for David and I, especially since we had to trade off because Charlotte wasn't allowed on the ice. Hazel could stand on her own, but needed a lot of support to move forward. I think she enjoyed herself in the beginning but then her legs got tired (mine too) and she was ready to go. I hope we can go back soon.

Remember in Notting Hill how Hugh Grant says "Whoopsy daisies" when he tries to climb the fence and falls down? Julia Roberts makes fun of him and says that the last people who used that expression were little girls with pigtails from the fifties. Well, I can't help but say it when my kids fall down; it just jumps out of my mouth. And now Hazel says it too whenever someone falls. "Whoopsydaisies!"








Poor little Lottie didn't love the whole experience. She just wanted her mom.

me vs. them

I feel like I'm in constant battle with my dishes. They refuse to stay out of my sink. I don't want to spend my precious nap time hour washing them. I don't want to. So the other day I just decided to stack them all nicely on top of one another, take a picture, and walk away. I showed them.

a quick escape

I really feel bad about being behind on my blog updates. Isn't that silly? I enjoy posting about our little life. Makes me feel like we're important. So the reason I'm behind--well, three reasons--is:

1) my husband is about 4 weeks away from never having to drive down to BYU for school again.

Lots of school=lots of time on the computer=less blogging for Janelle,

2) when I do get a quick moment with the computer, I pull up Photobucket and the internet freezes up.

Makes me want to pull my eyebrows out,

3) this past Monday I decided to run away to Cedar City for a nice week-long visit with my mom, her husband, and my little bro.

A few of the things I love about being at my mom's:

She'll take my crazies at 6:30 am so I can sleep in;

she always has delicious food in her fridge like fresh veggies and chunky blue cheese dressing, eggs straight from the chickens down the road, and a huge block of swiss cheese. bon appetite;

There's family and neighbors nearby that have lots of kids with cool toys that Hazel's never had like a battery-powered Barbie car and a trampoline. happy kids=happy mom

My mom spoils the life out of me and my girls.

We love every second of it;

And her house has the most beautiful cherry hardwood floors I've ever seen. They take my breath away every time I walk in.

So I'm here until Saturday when I will be brave and make the five hour drive back to Ogden where my husband will be waiting anxiously with an available laptop and speedy internet so I can update this blog on our ice- skating escapade, St. Patty's day, Jr. Miss, new neighbors, and Lottie's progress with communication. Such great adventures we've had in the Phipps family home.

Happy March 25th

Isn't it about...time?

Another one bites the dust.
Little yellow bib, you did your best.
You still didn't catch it all,
but at least I wasn't wearing that sucker at the end of the day.

writing

Poster by Shirley Two Feathers

A journal is also a tool for self-discovery, an aid to concentration, a mirror for the soul, a place to generate and capture ideas, a safety valve for the emotions, a training ground for the writer, and a good friend and confidant. -Ron Klug

I've kept a journal since I was eight.
In my first entry I described the way my baptismal jumpsuit was three sizes too big, forcing me to roll the pant legs a few times. As soon as I entered the water, I became a giant water balloon, standing precariously on my tippy toes. When I stepped out, my suit became a suction cup, emptying all the water into my mother's high heeled shoes.

Since I've married and had kids and life has officially "begun"
(isn't this what we've always waited for?),
I've slowed down in my journal writing.
Shouldn't it be the other way around?

I do need to write now more than ever, but not because I have so many adventures on a daily basis (unless you consider racing out the back door with a dripping booster seat while yelling "Remember when I asked you if you needed to go?!" an adventure worth writing about),
but rather because I NEED IT TO BE SANE.
Writing is cathartic.
It really heals me.

When I was young, I thought that the ideal age was seventeen. That's when I'd finally have things figured out, know basically who I was and what I wanted. What?? I guess I'm always figuring out who I am. Writing in my journal helps me do that. It's so familiar and comforting and non-judgemental. When I keep things up in my head too long, I start to tear myself apart and look at every flaw. On paper, it makes more sense. Being human is okay and acceptable. Did you yell at your kids today? Ok. Let's talk about it. Spill the details and once you see them on paper, it'll make you laugh. Then tomorrow you'll remember this entry and maybe you'll see the bigger picture more easily.
(And yes, you need to stop eating so many Cadbury mini eggs.
They make you ornery.)

I finished a journal today. It was the one I started when David and I got engaged. It ended with my marathon. I pulled out my new journal tonight, cracked it open to the first page and let it all out.
Love that.
Cheers to a good journal.
Cheers to Cadbury eggs.
Cheers to the dream of starting p90x again and getting rid of Cadbury egg flabbiness.
goodnight.

hope

Do you ever feel utterly and despondently inadequate?
(I just looked up that word, "despondently." good word for today.)

Lately I've been feeling more and more hopeless when it comes to being a patient person. I really struggle with it. I've always wanted to be a mom of lots of kiddos, surrounded by their noise and happiness. But it's much harder than I expected. And it's those unexpected blow-ups that really get me. When we have to leave the park or somewhere fun, I expect a tantrum and I'm usually prepared to handle it. I expect Hazel to refuse to let me brush her teeth right before bed. I know Charlotte only sleeps for a brief 30-45 minutes for her first nap and then wants back in the action.

But when both girls start screaming at the same time because they see a mini-carousel outside the grocery store and want it so badly they can't breathe, I'm dumbfounded and unnerved. Or when I have to be at the dentist's by 9am so I start getting ready at 7:30 and things go smoothly until 5 minutes before take off and suddenly Hazel refuses to wear anything but her Tinkerbell costume and ladybug boots and doesn't want to go potty or put on a diaper and Charlotte refuses to be put down and suddenly weighs 300 lbs and it feels like 97 degrees in my house and I'm starting to sweat as I fill a bottle and sippy cups and search for missing baby shoes and binkies with one arm...

So I yell. I give my kids the stink eye. I blow up at everything they say and do and don't do. I decide to let out the worst part of myself without any hesitation or restraint.
I really lose it.

And then some time passes and we all start to calm down. Hazel sits on the couch and quietly rubs the edge of her favorite blanket. Charlotte scoots over to the book box and rummages through her favorites, content for once on her own. I eat some protein and wash some of the dishes in my sink and think of what advice I would give myself if I were my wiser, more experienced best friend.

Find the humor. Write it down. Take a picture of the mess. Don't beat yourself up and recognize your own limitations. Fit your expectations to reality. Don't give up. Take a time-out for yourself when you start to lose control. Don't yell unless there's a fire in the house. Be kind. Be constant.
Laugh more.

So I apologize to Hazel who has forgotten she has a psycho mom and just wants me to dance with her to the music of Sleeping Beauty that she sings with her own style. I forget the despair and believe once again that I can actually, maybe, pull this off.