Carter – The UnderToad

Avery, Carter, Confessions, Eliott, Isaiah

Life with Eliott and Carter, 2015

This post may contain affiliate links. Read my full disclosure here.

I have been mostly out of the blogosphere for several weeks now and getting back into it is a lot like deciding to go to the gym after weeks of physical inactivity. Nothing is comfortable. My work-out pants don’t look right, I can’t figure out what to do or where to start, and at the end of the day I’m left wondering if I should have just skipped it after all.

But this post has been long in coming. Contrary to popular belief, I don’t just sit around trying to get my kids to say funny things. And when I’m not on my A-game, I actually forget to write down plenty of what comes out of their never-silent mouths. Also, I keep waiting for the day that Eliott outgrows this list, and I’m starting to wonder if maybe that is completely impossible.

The following memories are things I jotted down directly after their original occurrence or utterance by one of my children. All statuses are cut and pasted directly from my Facebook feed. At this point, Eliott is 7, almost 8, and in 2nd grade at Calvary Baptist Day School and then 3rd grade at Clemmons Elementary School. Carter is 5, turning 6, and in 1st grade, also at Calvary, then 2nd grade in public school. Isaiah has just turned 2 and Avery turns 1 in August.

January 20, 2015
A little Tuesday afternoon visual for you: Isaiah, his cherub chub in all its naked glory. A bubble bath. Water mostly all over the bathroom floor, walls, mirror… At the top of his lungs, singing on repeat, “Let it go, let it go-oh…”
You’re welcome.

April 8, 2015
Today I told the girls about a friend (of our family) who is pregnant with her 5th child. Their responses:
Eliott: What?! Mommy she’s winning! You gotta catch up.
Carter: Oh no, Eliott. Mommy is NOT having any more babies. She wants no more little terrorist-es.

April 13, 2015

May 13, 2015
2nd grade “Author’s Day” is Tuesday. The name of Eliott’s story is “Lalaloopsy Missionaries” and I am so proud, for all the wrong reasons.

June 26, 2015
Segment of recent discussion with Eliott, about the neighbor’s escaped dog:
“…then me and Anna, like a dog and a farmer moving the cows over to the next field, just led Buddy over to the porch and had to haul him in there…”

July 7, 2015
Overheard from the playroom, decibel level exactly what you’d expect:
“ISAIAH! Argh! THIS is why I’m never having children! Not even a girl. And DEFINITELY NOT A BOY!!!!”
Happy birthday Carter Wait. May all your dreams come true.

July 30, 2015
So I’m officially done problem solving for my bickering daughters. Today’s moment of clarity comes after a physical (slap) fight where both girls are mad at each other and neither has apologized.
Me: Fine. Carter. What do you want? What do you want from Eliott right now that would make this all better?
Carter: Her money.
The birth of the American justice system right there, people.

August 13, 2015
Eliott in the backseat, doing “cootie-picker” fortunes with Carter: Three? Uno, dose, trace…. okay. Roe-joe? You will be rich when you grow up.
Me: Roe-joe?
Eliott: Yes. Mom. It means “red” in Spanish.

September 2, 2015

September 4, 2015
Isaiah: Mommy. Where’s my toast?
Me: I haven’t made breakfast yet. It’s not even 8 o’clock. Do you want a bagel?
Isaiah: Yes. I want tater tots, and ketchup, and strawberries. And blueberries or something.
*Or something.*

October 6, 2015
A glimpse into Eliott’s transition from Baptist school to public school:
Me: No, it isn’t Spirit Week, it’s a thing for ‘Say No to Drugs.’
Eliott: Say no to drugs?! Like we’re going to eat drugs?
Me: Do you even know what drugs are, Eliott?
Eliott: No. Not really.

November 15, 2015
Standard, contextually irrelevant conversations with Eliott:
E: Mommy. What are cappuccinos?
M: Coffee. Like the kind of coffee you get at Starbucks but without any milk.
E: Is there another kind of cappuccino? Like, parents or grownups or something?
M: Chaperones?
E: No. It started with a ‘ch-‘
M: Chaperones?
E: It was c-h- … cappuccinos.
M: Eliott where did you read this? Was it like, chaperoning a dance or something?
E: Diary of a Wimpy Kid. They were cappuccinos for a lock-in.
M: Chaperones.

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December 15, 2015
When an older woman pointed out baby Jesus in the manger-scene table decoration at a Christmas party last weekend, Isaiah rolled his eyes and very calmly replied: “No. That is not baby Jesus. That is Avery.”

December 18, 2015
Quote of the night: “I’m a first-grader! How am I supposed to know all this stuff?!”
Touche.

December 27, 2015
Eliott’s dinner table discussion about how she’s basically the only white girl in her class who is friends with these two specific black girls ends with, “Well it makes sense because I’m pretty much black. I mean, when we put our arms together they are practically the same.”
#somuchtruth

There’s More Where This Came From

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Carter, Confessions, Eliott

Life with Eliott and Carter, 2014

This post may contain affiliate links. Read my full disclosure here.

Now that I’m a full ten years into this motherhood gig, and my fourth child is 3, I’ve spent a little time around more kids than just mine. I have definitely discovered some truths.

First, my kids are not normal.

Second, not all children are naturally weird and inadvertently hilarious. Isaiah. For example.

For several years there I had been compiling the best of my Facebook status updates (some which I had published only to myself) and releasing a year-end review blog post. These have become my Life with Eliott & Carter series, and are some of my most loved posts of all time.

It turns out, I haven’t had as much substance for these posts because as my older girls moved out of the truly bizarre mental ages of 2-4 years old, the next kid to take their places has a perception of reality that is, more often than not, pretty accurate, a fact I cannot speak to for either of his big sisters at the same age (or even now, for that matter).

So, I’m three years behind on this post.

I think I probably need to give some context before you continue reading.

The following memories are things I jotted down directly after their original occurrence or utterance by one of my children. All statuses are cut and pasted directly from my Facebook feed and nothing has been altered, including typo’s. At this point, Eliott is 6, turning 7, and in 1st or 2nd grade at Calvary Baptist Day School. Carter is 4, turning 5, and in her final year of preschool and then 1st grade, also at Calvary. Isaiah is 1.

Halfway through these posts, Avery is born in August. Enjoy.

January 4, 2014

Carter: Who was the Mom when I was 1?
Me: Who is the Mommy now?
C: Well, you are. But there was a different Mommy when I was 1. You were still a high schooler. I remember.

Possibly a compliment.

February 25, 2014

“Eliott, if you were pink lemonade, I would totally choose to be in the same mouth as you.”
Sisterly love or a twisted Valentine’s Day card?

April 3, 2014

Me: Carter, why were you being so annoying to your sister this morning?
Carter: Because I’m a brat.
M: Well, do you like being a brat?
C: No.
M: Then why don’t you just be sweet?
C: I don’t even know what being sweet means.

More truth has possibly never been spoken.

April 6, 2014

Gardening lesson #137: teaching Eliott about decomposition and compost, and how everything “living” can die and eventually become food for plants.
Eliott’s response: “So that means humans can also be plant food…we should put some dead baby fingers in the garden and see what happens.”

May 20, 2014

When Carter heard Isaiah wake up this morning at 9 she started chanting, “He is risen! He is risen!”

June 23, 2014

Our goodnight message to daddy (who can’t get phone calls):
Eliott says: i love you, goodnight, I miss you.
Carter says: Daddy, I’m very sad and it looks like you are dead and we just have a mom and night-night and I love you so much that I can go over there.
Isaiah says: (nothing, he just licked me goodnight and said “mama” a whole bunch.)

September 11, 2014

Me: Carter, say your memory verse.
Carter: What’s my memory verse?
M: Haven’t you been practicing it?
C: “And he was short.” That’s my memory verse.
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September 29, 2014

Dinner table discussion on the difference between Catholics and Baptists:
Me: Well, Catholics and Baptists are pretty much opposites.
Eliott: Like how?
Me: Hm. Well. Baptists generally think that drinking drinky-drinks is like one of the WORST sins. And Catholics drink drinky-drinks IN CHURCH.
E: Well, this is pretty obvious. Catholics win that one.

October 17, 2014

While letting the girls watch cartoons (I’m feeding Avery) this, from Eliott: “Oh it’s Curious George next. Mommy ooze through it. Ooze through. Go with the flow.”
Girl knows my most hated cartoons.

November 7, 2014

Things that do not surprise me at all:

Leaving the book fair today…
Me: So Carter, what are you going to write in your diary?
Carter: I’m probably going to write a whole bunch of bathroom words.

November 13, 2014

A very (I repeat very) old lady offered to help me get my stuff to the car when she saw me with all my children at CVS today. I smiled and said, “Oh, it isn’t as chaotic as it looks, I promise.”
She replied, “Well you are doing it so gracefully, God bless your beautiful family.”
As I felt my heart and head filling with that kind of kick-ass-mom pride that I only get once in a while, my bubble was immediately burst with the image of my 5 year old – pelvic thrusting the automatic door and flexing her cartoonishly evil eyebrows.

November 22, 2014

Totally precious or totally weird, the reality of this morning is that Isaiah is breastfeeding a pink baby doll in the basement right now

November 26, 2014

The five year old just just approached me with: “Mommy. I think I would like to have a pull-up.” I asked if she wet the bed last night and she replied, “Oh no – not at night. During the day. I just hate walking all the way to the bathroom.”

There’s More Where This Came From:

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Avery, Carter, Confessions, Eliott

Easter Shenanigans

When I was a kid, Easter morning was almost as good as Christmas. We all had a (small) basket filled with candy–my dad’s favorites–Mars minis, M&M’s, old fashioned jelly beans, and malted milk balls in the shape of Easter eggs. (Never had a Peep in my life. Didn’t even know what they were until I had kids. Same goes for Cadbury Cream eggs, which I knew about from the commercials but just assumed they must be gross.)

The Easter Bunny hid our baskets of candy and always one toy, something crafty or educational, and seemingly far cooler than whatever we got for Christmas. One year I got a beading loom. Another year it was rocket making kits. Another year (2nd grade, the year I spent my Spring Break in the ICU for a life threatening asthma attack) we all got Walkman’s and various Contemporary Christian tapes. No lie, that was when I first fell in love with Carman, and I can’t say I regret his serenading me through that hospital stay one little bit.

Amazingly enough, ~~my parents~~ the Easter Bunny was pretty good about not repeating hiding spots of the baskets through the years. It probably helped that we lived in a new house for most of my life on about a three year cycle, but even so, the usual spots (dryer, dishwasher, refrigerator, microwave, top of a grandfather clock) were rarely, if ever, repeated, though we always went to them immediately suspecting the Easter Bunny wasn’t terribly clever. I want to say we all found our baskets fairly quickly, with the exception of the year that they were all under our own beds. I’m sure there were some tears for the last person to find his or hers, especially if that person was my sister Laura. She’s number three, which makes her the most irrationally sensitive anyway, but combine that with the fact that she was also a middle child and uncharacteristically competitive for a Paulus, and if her basket’s spot was a toughy, well, I’m sure there were tears.

Eliott has the same problem in our house.

So I have to admit, I have largely done Easter the same way with my own kids for the last decade. One exception is that my kids don’t have baskets, but big plastic Easter buckets which I found for a quarter on clearance and had the wherewithal to buy 4, even though I probably only had 2 kids at the time. Also, I tend to skip the damn Easter grass because, obviously. And I’m sure there were a few very young years where baskets were hiding in plain sight on the couch. Admittedly, the toy surprises have never been purchased from a Childcraft catalogue, but usually my kids act like the day is as good or better than Christmas.

Our Easter Bunny is cheap. The candy selection is limited to whatever is free (or mostly free) at the drug stores in the weeks leading up to Easter (which always includes Cadbury Eggs, for the win) and there are usually extras in the cabinet for weeks because the best deals always require buying multiple bags.

Add to this Easter parties at school and one or two Easter egg hunts around town, and we’ve basically got Halloween #2 on our hands.

Why has every holiday on Earth been injected with steroids?

I don’t know what got into me this year, but I drank the Pinterest Kool-aid, and despite a whirlwind Spring Break (with absolutely no extra time to myself) I managed to pull off a completely new Easter tradition that I fear just might stick.

I did scavenger hunts, you guys.

Four of them.

Fill in the blank and find your next clue.

I started with the plastic eggs, and figured I needed to keep things color coded or my genius children would very quickly be fighting. It turns out we had enough pink, yellow, orange, and purple to give each kid 10 clues.

I started with Eliott, and a very lofty goal of Easter limericks.

Within half an hour, things were quickly going about this well:

I bet you thought that was easy,
Then give your brain a little squeasy.
Because the next treat is hidden
In a place that’s sometimes forbidden,
Think of snacks that are not sweet, but ____________.

John made some serious bets that she would not be able to solve most (if any) of them. (The answer for the above if you still haven’t got it is “cheesy,” and the egg was hidden in a box of Cheese-Its, and this clue took her almost 20 minutes. Not exaggerating.)

I abandoned project Eliott for a few minutes and decided to gank clues for Carter’s eggs from someone else, via Pinterest. What I found was this very cute and pretty simple Free Printable Christ-Centered Easter Morning Scavenger Hunt Cards.

Let’s just say the juxtaposition of the Jesus-clues to the Easter-Bunny-up-late-with-an-entire-bottle-of-champaign-clues was maybe a bit of a mixed message. And I’m not sure the right kid got the Jesus-clues, in the end.

But whatever. There’s always next year.

Easter morning was fun. Isaiah’s clues were just pictures, telling him where to find his next egg, and he even solved some of Eliott’s riddles because, obviously.

Avery’s eggs were just hidden in various places downstairs without clues, and she didn’t find any of them. In hindsight, it would have been smarter to just scatter them around the carpet, all in the same place. Again, whatever. Isaiah found her 10th egg on Monday and I rewarded him by letting him eat the candy inside.

Easter. The gift that keeps on giving.

If you want to read (and try to solve) all my limericks, click here.

Carter, Confessions

Childhood Graduation

So many things to celebrate (or cry about, depending on the day and the kid).

Today was Carter’s last day of Kindergarten. I can respect a school that refuses to call it a “graduation” and avoids the caps and gowns. I’m going to note here, however, that Calvary does include the awkward simultaneous handshake/handoff of a rolled up blank piece of paper.

So you know. Don’t call it a graduation.

We know what it is.

Her kindergarten teacher gives all the kids “Character Awards” at the end of the year. Note 2: Christian School. “Character” = actual character traits, typically some variation of the Fruit of the Spirit; this is not some strange adaptation of books we read or Disney or even a somewhat cute re-enactment of the entire year.

If it means anything, I cannot for the life of me remember what Character Award Eliott was given in Kindergarten. I’m sure it was spot on and totally a prediction of her future self. I probably should have caught it on video, or saved that paper for the baby book I still haven’t made.

Carter’s character trait: Boldness.

(Her teacher then went on to suggest she may have received such a trait from her mother. I shudder.)

I used to be a teacher and before that, I worked at a summer camp where we really tried to empower kids to become the best version of themselves. I’m pretty good at verbal affirmations, no matter how far reaching they may be.

I know what “boldness” really means.

When Carter is praised for “speaking her mind,” it can be otherwise translated as “doesn’t give two shits what anyone thinks, ever, and will tell you what she’s thinking whether you want to hear it or not.”

(And here I submit that this trait is a genetic generation skipper and comes directly from her maternal grandfather, Greg Paulus.)

Example A: Weeks ago, Eliott is crying at dinner. Another story of kids being mean to her at school. Carter interrupts with, “Eliott. If kids are being mean to you in your class, you should send them down to my classroom. NOBODY is mean to me in my class. Ever.”

Truth.

Later, today, in Harris Teeter, Carter announces that she wants me to pull her loose tooth out. “I’m just so tired of it, I need it out right now.”

I tell her I’ll do it when we get home (despite the fact that it is only a little bit loose).

She tells me to take “one of those papers [from the cookie samples] and pull it out with that.”

I tell her there will be too much blood for the grocery store. Wait until we get home and I’ll pull it out.

She does.

I do.

Nobody cries.

Last day of Kindergarten, first lost tooth. My baby is practically a grown up.

And finally, this:

My dinner conversation with a very grown up Carter (NMN) Wait:

When we were practicing, Palmer and Leah said they’re going to say my middle name, and I was freaking out. I was freaking out so bad I just had to fall on the floor.

Why? What’s your middle name?

Tiny Monster. But then they didn’t say it.

Carter Tiny Monster Wait. But that’s just your nickname. You know you don’t actually have a middle name.

Yes I do. I gave myself one.

Hm. (Not weird, I did the same thing in high school and carried it all the way through college until the day I was married.) So what is it, “Tiny Monster?”

Selina.

Oh, right. Selina. Of course.

But…I want to pick the best name. So actually I’m thinking about Kitty Cat. Or maybe just Cat.

Carter Kitty Cat Wait. That sounds good.

Or Lisa. I just don’t want something ugly. Like Dinosaur. I mean, I’m kind of like a dinosaur, but that’s a boy name. Dino-saur. It’s not pretty.

Stick with Kitty Cat, Tiny Monster. I think you found your winner.

Avery, Carter, Confessions, Eliott, Isaiah

The Wait Family Christmas Card, love John

I was just cc’ed on an email from John to an old friend – a general life update, if you will. I realized I haven’t done one of these in a while and the email is so lovely that I’m reposting it here and considering using it as the letter that accompanies the Christmas cards we never send.

photo-35 — Carter (5yo), Eliott (7yo), Isaiah(2yo), Avery (2 months old)

[Dear family and friends,] *I added this.

[Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. We sure have a lot to celebrate this year.] *I also added this because the email seemed to start in the middle of a conversation that might have otherwise seemed confusing to someone on the outside. Everything from here on out is all John.

Eliott and Carter are both playing soccer now and are clearly the best on their respective teams. I think they have both scored all the goals for their teams this season. I coach Carter’s team, the Pink Sparkly Unicorns. Carter named the team. Their uniforms are orange. I’m not sure if they really like soccer or if they just like the attention that comes with being superior. Probably the latter knowing their parents. The boy is nothing like me or Claire. He’s more like my dad and my brother, very smiley and usually happy. There’s not much brooding or darkness in him. That’s bound to change since he only has sisters though, so we’re enjoying it while we can.

Avery is an annoying, crying infant. I have no hope for her yet. Claire is the only one who likes her on any sort of regular basis. However, to be fair, she’s only been alive for 8 weeks. I’m trying to keep an open mind when I’m not walking around half asleep. When she cries, it sounds like a mangy, angry cat. Very raspy, contemptuous, and demanding. She does smile on occasion to remind us not to chuck her out a second story window or a moving car.

We still call Carter the “Tiny Monster.” She is tall, thin, and weighs only 32 pounds. Isaiah is like a cinder block at over half Carter’s height and weighing 28 pounds. He likes to wrestle, and he does so often with Carter who is closest to his weight division and age. *Me again. Just want to note that Avery is actually closer to Isaiah’s age-division but John doesn’t currently count her in the kid line up yet because he is still undecided on whether to keep her.

Eliott is a bit of a space cadet most of the time. She often gets this far away, blank stare when we tell her to do something. She uses these times to enter “LaLa-Land” where she is an only child, a princess, and has no responsibility whatsoever. LaLa-Land is aptly named after Claire’s sister, Laura, who also frequents LaLa-Land. I’m not sure if Eliott communes with her aunt there or not. I prefer not to know the details.

Eliott, Carter, and Isaiah all love books. Eliott reads chapter books whenever we are not yelling at her or making her clean up one of her siblings’ messes. Carter is learning to read this year, and so she is still mostly into picture books. Isaiah likes to have books read to him as he repeats selective words back to the reader at a very loud decibel. I think he believes that words can only be spoken by yelling, which is probably my fault.

[We hope this letter finds you warm, well-fed, and Ebola free. Here’s to a great 2015!

Love, The Waits] It seemed like it needed a better ending. Man-to-man communication is so strange and free of the expected cordiality.

Carter, Confessions, Eliott

Parenting Joy

This August, John and I will hit the decade milestone for how long we’ve known each other. We will also celebrate our 9th marriage anniversary. (Wedding anniversary? How do you say that?)

It is a weird and wonderful comfort that exists in living with the same person for so long. I obviously haven’t had it since childhood. And I didn’t get to choose those people.

As we plug through the seemingly endless list of things-to-do to make a new house feel more livable, John and I have had our moments of dorky old-people-style evenings of nostalgia. Perhaps it started with unpacking a CD case that neither of us had opened in years, and reacquainting ourselves with albums from college and the year we dated. If I ever develop dementia in old age, forget about reading me my life story from a notebook every night. Just play some Pearl Jam or Ben Folds and I feel confident I’ll be able to recall the way my 2004 Hyundai Elantra smelled when it was brand new.

Another recurring conversation of the past few weeks has come in the form of parenting self-evaluations. I’ll arrogantly admit that we speak very highly of our abilities in this arena. Many people mistakenly believe we have been lucky or “blessed” with well-behaved children, which I assume is due to the fact that, in public anyway, we most often seemingly have our shit together.

I would submit however, that it is mostly due to the challenges we face primarily with our first child that the rest are turning out so well.

The other night at dinner (I was gone), Carter told John that her sister locked her in the playhouse that day. It started when the slightly older South Carolina girls from across the street came up with the brilliant idea to bribe Carter into a plastic playhouse that sits in the back corner of our yard. The thing hasn’t been used in over a year and has probably never been cleaned. Right now it houses a bunch of strange broken toys (reminiscent of things you might find in the bedroom and yard of Sid Phillips), various webs and nests, spiders, probably, ants, probably, and God only knows what other nastiness.

Carter enters the small house at the promise of candy, and South Carolina makes Eliott their little henchman in charge of blocking the door. Then, they run away.

Eliott, genius that she is as a seven year old firstborn, proceeds to keep her little sister barricaded in for several minutes, despite Carter’s panic stricken shrieks and cries.

Eliott should certainly know better. But a big huge part of me also entertained thoughts of exactly how to torture South Carolina until they felt as bad or worse as they made my favorite five-year-old feel that day. The sad part is that if we reversed the tables and put Eliott inside the playhouse of doom, her sister would have been biting, scratching, and screaming her way through South Carolina to let her sister out. She probably even would have used some curse words, if I know Carter like I think I do.

Flash forward not even twenty-four hours later. Eliott has since been properly punished by the creativity of her father. We’ve put it behind us. Friday morning I took the kids to church for a community service outreach project where we were making cards and goodie bags to deliver to local fire stations.

Carter spent most of the morning running around with the other kids in her flip flops. When we got in the car to go deliver the stuff, she was complaining of a blister between her toes. My champion mother response: “Suck it up Carter, we’re going to a fire station and you can’t go in there barefoot. I don’t even have a bandaid. And I really don’t want to listen to you whine about it. But I am sorry that it hurts.”

That was the last I heard from her about it. It wasn’t until all of the kids had piled into the back of a fire truck that I noticed Carter was wearing Eliott’s Crocks, and Eliott was schlepping around in Carter’s two-inches-too-short flip flops.

Seemingly out of nowhere, the seven-year-old decides to be a hero for the day.

I almost cried.

Carter, Confessions, Eliott, Isaiah

Life Checklist and a Moment of Positive Creativity

It’s official.

I can die now.

John and I finalized (and signed!) our wills today.

Continue reading “Life Checklist and a Moment of Positive Creativity” →

Carter, Confessions, Eliott

Life With Eliott and Carter, 2013

March 5
Carter: Mommy, where are we going today?
M: I don’t know, where do you want to go?
C: The gym.
M: Good. Then I’m not taking a shower.

15 minutes later….
C: Actually, I want to go to Bible study.
M: Fine, but I’m going in this (wearing gym clothes).
C: What?! Are those your clothes? It’s not pajama day for you.

Continue reading “Life With Eliott and Carter, 2013” →

Carter, Confessions

Friday Coffee Break

It is 8 o’clock in the morning on my favorite day of the week. My son is still asleep and should be for at least another hour. John took the girls to school a half an hour ago, and on Fridays, they stay until 1:30. (This is late for Carter and early for Eliott and if I could lobby for 1:30 all-school pick up every day through at least sixth grade, you better believe I would.) The heat is kicking on in the house, but the weather predicts it should be sixty degrees tomorrow.

Continue reading “Friday Coffee Break” →

Carter, Confessions, Eliott, Isaiah

It’s The Most Wonderful Time….Of The Year

A few nights ago, I noticed that it is finally getting dark out when the girls go to bed.

A helpful bonus in the transition from late nights and sleeping in. It seems I’m the only one left in this house still having a hard time with the before seven wake-up call.

Continue reading “It’s The Most Wonderful Time….Of The Year” →