Preggo in the Park

After the boys had their hour sweatin' under their bike helmets on the SK8TR KDZ park, we headed over to the playground so Sabrina had something fun to do besides push her baby in the stroller and eat all the snacks. I'm 26 weeks preggo here. I seem to have a beer gut baby in there. So sad. We won't mention I've already gained 33 pounds. Woops.








The billy goat's gruff hill. She of course wanted to climb the rock wall.







Yay! I still could fit down the slide! Amazing!

SK8R KDZ

Fantabulous skate park in Lacey, Washington very close to where we used to live. (Yes, one of 50,000,000 houses we have occupied in our short lives.) Sure beats that drive way we paid to have cemented in Banda just to get about 12 feet of good board room, eh?






Kyle



Zach.



Jared defies gravity!

Keeping It In the Family

So my husband was out 'in the field' so to speak and stopped by one of the several villages he is in charge of rebuilding in Banda Aceh, Indonesia. One of several tasks of each of these NGOs who is over there constructing after the 2004 tsunami is to painstakingly go over beneficiary lists; see who really gets a brand spankin' new house and who is in it for the take.

Hubby had heard some strange things about this particular beneficiary and wanted to meet him personally to discuss the problem. He knocked on the door, but there was no answer. He knocked again, and, well, the picture tells the rest of the story.

Max, Max, Max of the Jungle,...

Okay, so my mom the mad scrapper thought up the title. Here is what every Rescue Dog Mission in America prays you WON'T do with the newly adopted dog. Fall in love with it and move it to some crazy foreign country.

We got Max from Coastal German Shepherd Rescue in Southern California two weeks before I was due with the B, the fourth child. How deranged is that? Actually, I had done the research on finding a new dog (we had to get rid of our last German Shepherd right before Christmas and this of course broke the hearts of all the boys in the family, hubby most of all) so I agreed to go LOOK at the dogs. The boys loaded up the truck, I grabbed my purse and when I walked out and saw the water bowl and a gallon jug of water being loaded next to the dog kennel in the back of the pick up, I knew it was over. We would not be coming home without a dog. Never mind I was 36 weeks pregnant and had to drive two hours in a pick up truck to go see these doggies. Argh.

Well, that is what these rescues do so well - they really care about the dog and match them up best they can with the right person or family. Our contact knew right away that 'Bruno' would be going home with us, too. Coastal was awesome to work with, not crazy like some rescues where you have to send in neighbor references, photos of the house and write an essay about how much you love dogs. I was actually terrified to get out of the truck and have the staff see I was so pregnant, thinking they would not let us adopt a dog so close to a major milestone in our lives. Thankfully, they weren't crazy and we went home with that stupid dog.

Little did we know that four months later we would accept a position doing tsunami relief work in Sumatra, Indonesia. So, we did the necessary vet visits, lots of shots, chip installed in the doggie, crazy phone calls to every major airline and airport trying to figure out how the heck to get a German Shepherd to Banda Aceh. I think flying a cat to the moon would have been easier. In the end, after the kennel flopped off the airport cart and they had to drill even MORE airholes in the kennel 'just to be sure', we found pet expediters in both Singapore and Jakarta who made our lives easier and Max made his doggie way to Banda.

I think Max is the biggest dog many Acehnese people have ever seen. Little did we know when we moved there what a stigma a dog is to most very religious Muslims. Dogs, monkeys and pigs are seen as unclean in Islam. The truely devote Muslims in Aceh aren't allowed to touch Max. I had to find my live- in nanny from Medan. Although she is Muslim, she is used to the way of us 'unclean' Christian foreigners and doesn't touch Max, she doesn't freak out by cleaning his hair off the floor, feeding him or having him hang around. I had to give my housekeeper hazard pay. We can't host parties for hubby's local staff because many will refuse to enter a home where a dog has been unless it has been thouroughly cleaned both physically and by the Imam (Muslim 'priest'). Kind of an exorcism, I guess.

So, jogging with the dog on the local streets always draws quite a crowd. That or the fact that my husband said "(#$)&* it" and all 6'6" of him would dress in a tank top and jogging shorts (I on the other hand, had to wear long pants and long sleeve top. I bought a treadmill.) to go jogging with said large animal.

The most this dog will do is shed on you or lick you to death, but he certainly is a great deterrent from any unwelcome visitors trying to make their way into our gated yard.

While the family has been back in the U.S., hubby has been taking Max on lots of jungle walks to find tigers and wild boar, as well as walks on the beach. So far just a bunch of monkeys have been found. Max the city slicker dog has gotten over his fear of water and is finally rather enjoying his traipses in the great Sumatran jungle.

Brood Hen

Here is the totally cute little Shaker baby set Grandma Nonnie gave to Sabrina, our resident Brood Hen. I totally believe some traits are just inherent in people. In Sabrina's case she'll either be a pediatrician, school teacher or the old woman who lived in a shoe when she grows up. After having three boys in the house we were a little scarce on anything cute and maternal. Yes, Jared did request a toy BBQ when he was five and subsequently would serve his Grandma beer and a hotdog from it. Then he requested a baby doll for Christmas, but the dog chewed off the toes and fingers and then after seeing it tied by a rope on the back of a bicycle one sunny afternoon in Southern California, we discreetly laid the baby doll to rest.

So, Sabrina has had to manage with Mickey Mouse dressed in drag (in one of her dresses) and wrapping pizza menus up in paper napkins while in Banda Aceh. Now, she is in baby heaven and owns three baby dolls, too many stuffed animals to count, and this, the bada bing of the baby doll set. Thanks Nonnie!!!

"Nigh - nigh"

Come Home Soon Daddy!

I'm growing up fast!

Happy Anniversary!

Happy Anniversary! We had to celibrate without daddy. 14 years - and this is what we have to show for it! Daddy sent two dozen roses and mommy splurged and bought the cake at Costco. Then proceded to leave it in the bottom of the shopping cart, but thank goodness the nice Costco employee stopped her and put it in the front seat of the Suburban before we peeled out of the parking lot.

Let us tell ya, that was some good cake!!!

The Tower of Brothers

Kind of like the Tower of Terror at Disneyland, but the after effects last longer,...

Trip Down Memory Lane

Happy Anniversary! July 2004 on our way to So Cal from Boise, Idaho. This is July 4th at your parents' house. Yes, when Jared was young enough to wear tie-die.




This is the kid who is going to drive me to smoke or drink bourbon. One or the other. Very soon.



Are you ready for another one? Only 13 more weeks,...



See how much Max has grown? Our little rescue pup is now a seasoned world traveller!

I bought a ridiculously HUGE and expensive chocolate cake for hubby and my 14th anniversary that I will share with my boys tonight after the Kindergarten picnic and Jared's football practice. How romantic. : )

Farm Boys

Helping Grandma tear up the backyard so we can put in a deck. (That picture coming soon!) Well, not us, but the amazing Tim-the-Handyman.



Amazing what the dangling of allowance will do. And the chance to drive the tractor. We had every tool we could find out there - hoe, horse pooper scooper, snow shovel.



Even daddy had to help. (cut our time in half having him there actually.)



So Sabrina and did what we Richardson women do very well; supervise. We went for a walk and came back and those lazy boys STILL weren't finished.



Happy with the results. And so was Jo Jo the Clown.

Fear Factor Part II

Oi vey. When we were in Banda Aceh we started what I called 'Fear Factor Aceh Style' to get the poor little kiddies to take their anti-malarial medicine. (This before the baby got it ANYWAY so we stopped that ridiculous killing of our livers,..) I'd cut my pills up and grind them down with spoons and then carefully put them in a small amount of pop (electric melon flavored fanta perhaps.. or sour green apple. Soursop flavor wasn't too big in our house.) We'd have oreo chasers since even THAT couldn't disguise the awful bitter taste of those little pills.

So now here we are in the states and they actually MAKE Fear Factor popsicles. Some are black (see above tongues) and some have gumball eyeballs embedded in them. Fantastic!

Untuk 'Pa

Okay, sorry. Daddy asked for pictures of his brood, so here goes. I am catching up. These are from the six year old' s birthday this past beginning of August. We had a race car theme. We have created a weird little ritual with him where he requests his fav food of the year and I work it in somehow. Last year it was candy corn. This year bean sprouts. Go figure.



Check out that dynomite cake! My mom helped, so she broke my streak of ugliest birthday cakes known to man. I was trying for a Guiness Book record. Maybe next year,..



Now, THAT is a smile that says, this is a GREAT party!



Games! Must of the cuz's came and we played a car race game, pop the balloon with yer butt and find the bubblegum under the whipped cream only using your face. I don't know if the kids had more fun or the adults who got to watch all this silly behavior!



And of course the loot. Kyle was very happy as he got everything he wished for. It's easy to shop for your kids when all their toys have been left behind in Indonesia. Try it sometime!

You Go, Girl!

A HA! I am NOT ALONE IN THE UNIVERSE! This awesome link brought to my attention from my lovely friend who is about to pop her forth (thanks Teri!) And yes, I'm jealous. I want 100,000 hits on my blog and book publishers calling me. And, yes, Wendy, I am working,.. promise,...

EBay listing a bid for moms everywhere

Diapers No More!

One of the front page articles on Yahoo News talks about 'Parents begin potty training at birth.' This was also practiced in Indonesia for you skeptical parents out there! Yes, I'll admit that I am a little too Americanized to take my babies to a tree in the back yard and make hissing or grunting noises to make my kid go to the bathroom.

Let's be honest; I have enough trouble reminding intelligent potty trained boys that they need to LIFT THE SEAT and AIM PROPERLY. Light saber wars with urine over the toilet, trying to spell with the stream or a basic 'hands off' approach to the whole procedure will warrant mommy finding you with antibacterial Lysol and paper towels in hand.

And I already have trouble reining in the typical boy behavior of peeing in the great outdoors. Hearing the tale of my three and their cousin in the front yard in front of the neighbors peeing on an anthill as a form of war on nature did not sit well with my civilized sensibilities. Maybe because I'm a girl and the whole squat process involves me not thinking about "hmmm,.. what shall I write in the snow today?" but more like "I am NOT going to pee on my shoes this time,.."

And don't get me started about the whole hiking in the woods, digging holes and burning your used toilet paper. GADS. Spa me for goodness sake; isn't this why I had boys? So my husband can go camping in the woods with the kids and leave me alone?

But okay, already. I feel bad that I have a land fill in my name because I've had four babies all using disposable diapers. Yes, shame on me. So, I did purchase the cloth diapers and the diaper cover. I've consulted my college friend Craig, who will always be a better domestic goddess than me.

I've been 'circling the wagons' so to speak for a couple weeks now, not really sure I'm ready to do the whole cloth diaper for eliminating thing. But I opened the package and stuck B into one yesterday and it worked! No leaks! The diaper cover is HUGE however, and if she didn't have my big butt before, boy does 'baby got back' now. Good thing most of her pants are long, as she'll need those couple of inches to cover that nice bustle she has grown with the plastic pants.

I have realized that I need more than one diaper cover. Duh. I've tossed the soiled diaper into the vat of cleaning solution, but have done nothing more than peer at it. I did take the easy way out and put her back into a disposable for night time, but I'll make sure that soiled diaper gets company today if for no other reason I make friends for it so I can clean it in the washing machine without too much guilt. Typical of me to go from personal landfill to excessive wasting of water to clean the one soiled diaper I can muster per day. Why isn't anything just EASY?

So the more I think about it,.. this house does have five acres.... and an awful lot of trees.

Conversations with Long Lost Husband

Okay, we are pretty pathetic. Rob and I talk every day, sometimes twice a day. Unlike most techies (which I guess I'm not) I hate Skype. So, instead of being disconnected 20 times during a conversation, we usually use the traditional phone and calling from Banda Aceh, Indonesia to Olympia, Washington, boy do we have the phone bill to prove it. You'd think we were love struck teen agers instead of old married farts celebrating 14 years this coming Tuesday. (This is your last hint, hubby!)

It takes me back to our engaged years when, for one and a half years, I lived in Washington and he lived in California. We bought SouthWest airline tickets in bulk, drove to meet each other in Oregon, used lots of stamps, and had enourmous phone bills. Rob took on a second job as a personal trainer at a gym and scraped his pennies together to eat at Del Taco. I stopped in whatever locale he was living in at the moment on my way to and from sales jobs and trade shows in the contiguous U.S. Nothing like having my luggage lost on my way from St. Louis in January where it was 30 degrees, to in Sacremento where it was 90 degrees and I had to wear a sweater and jeans.

And for the many times we've been apart like this when living over in Egypt, we have this same silly behavior. Which is good, because it is hard to hold onto a marriage if you don't communicate. We've gotten good at this, but it's never very fun. On my end, it's a little less taxing because the kids are bigger and don't require super human attention all the time any longer, and I can rely on them for help. That has been the biggest change this time around. It' s amazing the power an allowance wields in this house. It's gotten little boys to change diapers, dress the baby, take out the garbage and the recycling, make beds, put clothes away, dust, vaccuum, pick up outside toys and get the mail. Although the last time the six year old got the mail, we found it scatter over five acres of lawn for the next few days.

At the end of our conversations we sign off and I hand the phone to the littlest gal who is 19 months old and loooooves the phone already. She uses everything as a phone; tv remote, building blocks, spoon, you name it. Anyway, we give her the phone and she wanders around the house saying gobbledy gook until Rob hangs up and the phone starts beeping at her because we haven't replaced the receiver yet.

Typical conversation:

Rob: So, on my way out to one of the job sites there was a dead crocodile and a dead goat in the road. A bunch of us went to Sigi's house in the jungle and ate wild boar that a local friend of his shot with a bow and arrow.

Me: Uhm,.. we went to Red Lobster??!

So, when I was recounting this conversation to my mother she must have seen that twinkle in my eye. The one that always yearns to be doing something adventurous (not that raising 4 1/2 kids isn't adventurous; trust me). So, she slammed her hand down on the arm of the chair and said to me, "If you go back over there I swear I will check myself into a mental institution." Okay, mom, I promise to stay put,.. for a while longer anyway. : )

Hormones and the Dentist

I'll blame it on the hormones. But I have an aversion to dentists and haven't been to one since I lived in Boise, which was oh, when my six year old was one. That dentist told me I probably had an extra nerve in my jaw and that might be why no matter what I get zinged and require twice as much pain killer. That and I'm neurotic, and that can surely mess with the pain centers in your brain.

Never mind the fact that I have a receding gum line due to clenching and grinding my teeth (not due to stress, I'm sure!) and the little plaster I had on one fell off the last time I was pregnant (that baby is now 19 months old) and I just pray that nothing gets stuck in that little creepy hole on the side of my tooth.

So today I had a follow up appointment with the kids' dentists here in Olympia, Washington. And let me tell you, if they would only take people who have already attended their prom, I would go to the dentist. The dentists are Psaltis and Rowley and they rock. They are all so kind and gentle and give you bubble gum smelling laughing gas (oh, excuse me, 'magic air') when you sit your little hiney in that chair for a procedure involving 'putting those sugar bugs to sleep.' Sign me up!

So anyway, I'm fine with the whole cleaning thing; a little anxiety here and there, but I can handle it. Who doesn't have their neck hair stand on end when they hear that tooth cleaner buzz away? And the whole trick question of 'so,.. do you help (fill in the blank with your child's name) brush his/her teeth?" What do I say? Do I lie and say, 'yes of course, two times a day and we make flossing together one the ways we spend our quality time?" Or do I tell the hygenist the truth and say, "Well, what do you think? I'm pregnant with my fifth kid, I'm closing in on 40 and my husband is in Indonesia at the moment. I tell them to brush their teeth, but I am too lazy/tired/distracted to actually climb the stairs and help most days. But I do smell their breath when they look truly suspect."

Then, after the answer, (which is always yes, now, isn't it? Don't lie to me.) they give the kid those little pink tablets to chew explaining that after chewing, the pink will stick to any places the kid didn't brush properly. Well, the six year old chewed and gave me the biggest, most fushia smile I have ever seen. If Dracula had been feasting on Barbie, this is what he would have looked like. And then, when the dentist finally came in, all six foot six inches of him looming over the small child in the dentist chair, and pronounced that he had a small sugar bug, I felt as though I had flunked my final exams and needed to attend school all over again. Thank goodness the other two kids had a clean bill of tooth health as my neurotic, competitive self felt as though I had to redeem myself to this educated adult.

So, we go back to the dentist today. I drove the non dentist needing kids to their Grandma's house for some play in the park time. Good thing for me, because as soon as the hygenist hooked that little six year old up to the grape smelling magic air hose and escorted the seven year out to the hallway, my 'I'm the toughest mommy in the world' demeanor broke down. I CRIED. Yes, I CRIED when I told the nice prepubescent dental hygenists that I had a phobia of the dentist. I CRIED when I told them that the kid would be fine, but I wasn't sure about myself. Gads. They were so nice. They told me how brave I was that I had come back to the room, that some parents didn't even do that. They told me I could leave whenever I wanted. They almost reached in their pockets to give me a golden coin so I too, could get a special prize and a sticker for being a good visitor to the dentist.

How pathetic is that? The kids saw nary a tear, as the seven year old was lounging in the hallway and the six year old was basically high as a kite. Is it the pregnancy hormones? Is it the stress of life, of having a brother in law with major cancer and my husband gone and getting my kids in yet a new school and worrying about the six year old and his speech impediment and the suspicion that he is dyslexic? Is it the fact that I'm not in my own home and won't be until January and at that time it'll be more of getting kids in yet another new school and worrying about the six year old,.. but with a brand new baby? Am I being tested until I scream 'Uncle!' at the top of my lungs? Some days it feels that way.

At least the dentist is only twice a year, but in my personal pergatory I seem to be living, when you multiply that by five children, that means I have to go ten times. If I actually include myself in that equation, we are talking one dentist visit PER MONTH every year until the kids move out of the house. And that doesn't include sugar bugs, sealants, and I don't even want to consider this,... BRACES.

Third Culture Kids

This from my friend and colleague Lisa; a link to a Wikipedia article on children raised outside of their primary culture. I think it is very true; as an army brat and now having taken my kids to live in Egypt, the Phillipines, Indonesia and Southern California (just kidding on California,.. kind of,..) I can say that I relate to a majority of what the article states. I've always thought of myself as kind of a chameleon and remember consciously thinking about the fact when I hit the states in high school that I had to make an extreme effort to 'fit it' when I got there. That I had a choice to 'sink or swim' and I'd seen a lot of military brats like myself sink if they didn't figure it out quickly.

I was lucky to find someone naive like my hubby who thought moving around the world would be cool and was able to continue doing it. Since we are both over achievers, we have moved a little TOO much,.. (well, and the whole September 11th thing really screwed up the game plan and kind of sent us into a tail spin) and are thinking of settling down,.. for a while. Until we get a majority of the kids booted out the door. (As our friend in Boise smartly told us, "My kids' graduation present from high school is going to be a set of luggage and a one way bus ticket.") Then it's back to dreams of me looking all ethereal and giving loving children vitamin K shots in deepest, darkest Africa. Yuck, yuck. I can dream, right? But seriously, we greatly enjoyed our CRS adventure and hope to do it again, although it's tough to be an adult and say no for the greater good of the family. Two bouts of malaria, two bouts of Dengue fever, me as their teacher, friend, mother, cook, confidante, etc,.. no hot water, not a lot of power, and lots of bugs makes me look forward to unlocking that front door in Yucaipa, California again. But we haven't seen the last of the great big world.

Football Camp 2007

Man oh man. My biggest kid's first overnight camp and I still managed to go up and get a glimpse of him every day to make sure he was smiling, talking to other kids and generally looking happy. Psychotic, I know.

This was Offense Defense Football camp with all sorts of tough guy coaches from highschools, colleges and universities across North America. It was five days of eight hours playing serious wear-your-pads-because-you're-gonna-get-hit-football. I couldn't believe I was letting my baby do it!

I thought I'd gotten over my angst during his first year of football when I complained to his first coach with the Yucaipa Thunderbirds that I've spent the first eight years of this kid's life teaching him to be nice to others and now he's learning to knock people over and steal things like balls. The coach took some extra time and listed out all the pro football players who are either ministers or take up knitting in their spare time. See, nice guys. Really.

So, now my kid's dream is to be captain of the Notre Dame football team. Ugh. Not only does he choose a private school on the wrong coast far, far away from mommy, but it's football. Tennis is a nice sport. So is golf. Not many people get hurt playing golf. (Except my grandpa who, seriously, hit a ball on the fairway and it hit a tree, hit his head and knocked him out cold. We ARE polish, you know.)

So, after a lovely week of eating PLU cafeteria food (hated it), having a room mate who was not a younger brother (loved it), and proudly displaying his raw knees and camp crotch (argh! some things a mother needs a little warning for beside, 'Hey mom, look at this!'), we have these nice photo mementos:



Water break - the only week when it was above 70 degrees here in the northwest (waaaay above 70 degrees) and Jared has to play football in all those clothes.



Hangin' with the big boys.



Uhm,.. guess the cheer section needs a little work....Sabrina, the game's over here,...



Football!



Yikes, all that testosterone in one dorm.

Chuck E. Cheese

Visit to Chuck E. Cheese during Jared's football camp: (While the big brother is away, the mice will play,...)

d

Never too young to play skeeball!



The big game: