The fire alarm went off at the gym

Has anyone ever been in a public place when the fire alarm went off? Where they actually evacuate the building?

I had just dropped the kids in the child care center when the alarm went off. We all looked around like fools. I asked the guy behind the laundry counter, "Is this for real?" "I dunno." So, I turned around and went back into the child care center. They let me in the gate to get my kids, but they wouldn't let me back out. There are procedures, you see. And those procedures are as follows:

All the kids are gathered up into the main play area (the areas are divided by low walls with doors in and out). The main area has doors that open up to an outside play area. Out we go. The outside play area has a gate that opens up to the parking lot. Out we go. We cross the parking lot - it isn't a far distance since it is the side of the building - and get all the kids onto the grass. They didn't let the kids get their shoes and jackets out of the cubbies, so these babies were cold and scared!

We were on the grass for five minutes max when they said we could all go in. So, across the parking lot, into the outside play place, into the main child care play area, and STOP. They wouldn't let anybody out until they counted the kids. Do you know how tricky that is? Buncha little dudes milling about or crying or playing. They tried a couple of times, and then they had us sit down in two long lines at the edge of the room. We passed inspection, and they sprung us from the joint. Off to class late as could be.

You know, I have no idea what happened in the rest of the gym. I do not believe it was evacuated. There were some parents waiting at the child care desk when we came in from the parking lot. And I thought to myself that I was really glad that I was in the child care center (I can't believe how many times I've written child care center when I always call it the playplace when I'm speaking) when the alarm went off. I would've freaked out if I were forced to evac out some other door and not go to my children. I can imagine myself busting loose and hauling it down the halls all action-movie style to rescue my kids from, well, from me being scared, I guess.

At least now I feel very secure in the procedures of the playplace if there were another evacuation. I will just exit the gym and run to the side parking lot.

I don't know why the alarm went off, but if it was a drill, then all I have to say is "Does hell go with no?" I ain't havin' that. All those poor babies! And me!

My name - inspired by Laura

I love to be called Jen. It is great. Call me Jen every day that you know me. Write it on notes and invitations and your calendar (notice how I just became the social object of your lives).

HOWEVER, I have taken issue with using the name Jen in an official capacity. All of a sudden at church, I'm being referred to as Jen as if it were my given name, and, I gotta tell you, I can't stand it! These are the places it has bugged me: In the church directory. In the past, it has always been Jennifer. I actually introduce myself as Jennifer and write my name on almost everything as Jennifer. Ok, and on rolls. Not all of them, I don't think, which is great. And, here's the one that put me over the edge, I was sustained for a new calling as "Jen Ruggles." That just freaked me out. It felt like someone just used a pet name my husband would use, "All who can sustain Babe Ruggles..."

So, I have BECOME THAT LADY. The lady who, this past Sunday, went into the clerk's office and had them go into the computer and change my "preferred name" from Jen to Jennifer. How it became Jen? I don't know. I'm sure it wasn't a big deal when it was typed in. So I feel like a total hag making a big deal about changing it. But, the thing is, I started feeling all panicky that my name would be changed from Jennifer to Jen without my really liking it, and then, in a few years, everyone who has met me in that amount of time would just think I'm "Jen" instead of "Jennifer called Jen". I KNOW! It's so stupid. I also had it changed on the contact information in the Stake Primary Presidency. Ugh, I'm disgusted with myself.

I can't explain it. The only thing I can think of is - you know my husband Andy. His given name is Andrew, but he's never been called that since birth. And my brother David's first name is Stephen, but he's been called by his middle name since birth. Both of these are intentional by their parents. They wanted their sons to be called these names. It would be weird to call them Stephen or Andrew. I don't even call Andy Andrew, even when I'm mad at him! Alright, so I don't think of my name in this category, and I don't feel comfortable with it moving into this category.

I mean, there are tons of people who use their given names on everything and are called a shortened name by everyone who talks to them! Look at Robert DeNiro! Everyone who knows him and talks about him in interviews calls him Bobby, but you sure don't see Bobby in the movie credits! Same with Sandy Bullock, Bobby Downey, Jr., Jen Aniston (ha! another Jen!), Angie Jolie...

(Hey, Laura, did you know that John Denver's given name was Henry John Deutschendorf Jr.?)

Incidentally, I don't even like my name. So, that makes it even weirder and dumber and argh!! I am so embarrassed at myself! But I guess "Jennifer called Jen by those who know me" is my identity, and it is so uncomfortable to have that changed unawares.

So, carry on as usual calling me Jen and talking about me (as I know you do) as Jen and thinking of me as Jen. But, I swear, if my name appears in the church program as "Jen Ruggles" when I give a talk in March, I'll be crazy(er).



Now, if someone calls me Jenny, them's fightin' words!

Tagged by Laura (and Lori)

Here is something very unsettling: I feel like I have nothing to share that y'all don't already know. Am I that shallow? Or that transparent? Huh.

1. I am killed (and die) in my dreams several times a month. It isn't scary anymore. Mostly, I breathe very shallowly (in the dreams) and try to die quickly before I feel any pain. I just realized that I never ever know or care about why I'm being murdered or who is murdering me.

2. I have ZERO belief that exercise works. At all. At ALL.

3. I have kissed over 50 boys. I stopped counting at 50. It's just silly after that ;-)

4. I still think of myself as a blonde. Well, now that's just pitiful.

5. I have never been able to do the splits, and I STILL wish I could do them.

6. I really like people to sit on my feet.

Tags are fully optional, of course, but I'd be interested in knowing 6 things about Rachel (you can email them if you like), Jules, Ash, Chanda, Jon, and Faith.

The bamboozle backfired

My kids were great. Yep, just fine! There was a moment there when I thought I had him:

He called his wife on her cell, and I could hear a child screaming in the background. Turns out, Andy had gotten home and was putting Gabe to bed. Argh.

On the plus side, he'll be more likely to do it again.

Which is good, because I had myself a little IKEA party. I love IKEA. You have no idea. And the doubly great thing about Saturday at IKEA was that normally, I would have put my girls in the play place for an hour. Gabe isn't old enough, so that would've sucked. And then, an hour is so much shorter at IKEA than anywhere else! I kept looking up while I was shopping and saying, "See, I would have to go get my kids now," or "I NEVER get to shop this long without being interrupted!" I mean, we s-l-o-w-l-y browsed the upstairs, spending lots and lots of time in rooms or sections that we wanted. Then, we went to the front of the downstairs and ate a hotdog (an IKEA tradition), and then we went back through the downstairs slowly, looking at everything.

AND I BOUGHT STUFF! Yeah, I did! And not stuff for the family - my very own stuff! Remember the curtain? Well, I bought stuff for the office which is only only my room now! I bought a wall cabinet and a rug. So, I am very very excited. And I think that I might try to have my camera on hand for when I tell my kids they can't come in there anymore.

I bamboozled my brother-in-law!

And, since he doesn't read blogs, he won't find out until it is too late! Mwa-ha-ha-ha!

His wife and I begged him to babysit my children tomorrow so that she and I could have a day out together. I told him over and over how easy it is, how he won't have to do anything!

Anybody who reads this blog knows that's a big whopper. But, he doesn't read it, so...

Not that I anticipate tomorrow being super-horrible or anything. After coloring with markers on the couch, eyeliner on the bathroom counter, throwing a bowl of melted ice cream across the kitchen, and cramming their savings bonds into a dress-up purse on the floor of the kitchen today, I'm sure the kids have gotten all their rottenness out.

How much does he really need to know, anyway? Here are the diapers and wipes (oh yeah, keep pants on Gabe, or he'll fling a poopy diaper); they can eat whatever they want whenever they want, I certainly don't care (but don't eat or drink anything in front of them or they will want some, too); they can watch tv or play on the computer (be sure to bring something to occupy yourself b/c you won't get to watch tv or play on the computer); if they fight, put them in time out - don't even bother with the blame-game b/c you'll never hear the end of it. Oh, and if you yell at my kids and make them cry, I will KILL you. Easy, right?

I can't wait. It is going to be wonderful!

Tag stolen from Liz

(X) gone on a blind date

(X) skipped school (once or twice in high school; every day in college)

( ) watched someone die

( ) been to canada

( ) been to mexico

( ) been to florida

(X) been on a plane

(X) been lost

(X) been on the opposite side of the country

(X) gone to washington, dc

(X ) cried yourself to sleep

(X ) played cops and robbers

(X) recently colored with crayons

(X) sang karaoke

(X) paid for a meal with coins only

(X) done something you told yourself you wouldn't

(X) made prank phone calls

(X) laughed until some kind of beverage came out of your nose (this happens every girl's night out)

(X) caught a snowflake on your tongue

(X) danced in the rain

(X) written a letter to Santa Claus

(X) been kissed under the mistletoe

(X) watched the sunrise with someone you care about

(X) blown bubbles (Do snot bubbles count?)

(X) been skinny-dipping outdoors (This doesn't count the time at Bastrop since I can't remember that exactly, Liz. We might have been in our underwear.)

(X ) gone to the movies alone

Gabe is the UGLIEST girl ever!!!

He begged to wear Claire's princess nightgown because he loves Dora and Boots. He screamed when I pulled it off of him this morning.

5 Things Tag

I am SO mad!

Ok, I know I'm a slob! I know I don't clean and I don't really decorate and there is clutter and toys and clothes strewn willy-nilly (yeah, I said willy-nilly). But there are a couple of things that I like, that are actually nice, grownup things, and my kids just wrecked one.

Do you see this picture? Yeah, that is a curtain bracket halfway pulled out of the wall (I almost wrote puln, like grown). Yeah. I had ONE curtain up. One. I liked it alot. It was from Ikea. I told them and told them to keep away from it. ARGH!

So they sure got a talking to. Along the lines of, "Mommy is really mad. Do you see that? Kids played in my curtain and it got broken. I like to have some nice things in the house, and now one is broken." Claire cried. I said, "I still love you." She ran up to me sobbing and said, "But you made me sad!" "Well," I said, "you made me sad too." Incidentally, Charlotte took it on the chin.

Here's the thing. The thing is that this is the THIRD time they have yanked curtains off this window. They knew that the curtains were taboo! Oh, they KNEW it.

And no defending them. No saying that things like that in a house of little kids is a bad idea or that I can't expect them to not touch the curtains or I should have learned my lesson the first two times. No way. Because I am allowed to have nice things in my house. It isn't a giant playroom. They have TONS AND TONS of things that they can touch and play with. I am not a tight-A about it. They can touch the computer, the tv, the dvd player, the remotes, the lamps, the pantry, the fridge, the dishwasher (in a non-chore capacity) - much much more.

Added evidence that they know better is that they generally leave the off-limits stuff alone - like my bedside table, my bedding, my make-up, jewelry, razors, knives, fire, etc. They are aware and able to obey the curtain rule.¹

Therefore:
The room is becoming off limits. I'm buying a babygate, taking everything off the walls, the extra furniture out, baby-proofing all the office stuff (oh, this is the office), and they will have to get permission to enter it. Which they will despise because that is where the computer is.



¹Alright, there is Gabe. He knows. He doesn't care.

The Stink-Eye

There I was, minding my own business...

...on my way out of the gym with Gabe and Claire in tow. And what should Gabe devise in his evil little mind? Why, to collapse onto the floor and crawl around in circles - giggling, naturally. So, I pull him up by the arm where he dangles like a marionette, refusing to stand on his feet. I, ever so gently as I am trying to be a good mom (thanks for the mom compliments on my last post, by the way), get down on his level like SuperNanny demands, and I say, "Gabe, you need to stand on your feet and walk." He laughs mockingly in my face. You think I'm kidding, but that little stinker can mock. So, I start the 1-2-3 count. There he dangles. So, into time-out he goes.

Let me state here that this occurs pretty much every time we are leaving the gym. Just substitute a bad behavior in place of the crawling marionette. Now, back to the story.

Time-out. One minute for each year of age. The longest, most anguishing two minutes of life. Gabe is screaming and squirming and hollering, "NO! MOMMY! NO!" I am physically restraining him on a bench by the exit door of the gym - perfect positioning for The Stink-eye. I'll explain:

Nearly every person exiting the gym throws me a look of disgust as she exits. Oh I say "she" because the men look straight at the ground and plow past. Like I'm pinching my kid. Like I ought to have control over his behavior. Hello - I can't control his screaming, you idiots! Do you want to give it a shot? I'd love to see you fail. I think they think I should discipline my child elsewhere. Well, guess what? All you non-kid-toting, inconsiderate bleep-bleeps like to take the parking spaces right in front, so I would have to haul him across the entire parking lot. (That's really the gym's fault. They need family parking in front like at Ikea. Ahhh, Ikea!) Plus plus plus, I just.worked.out. I have no strength left in me. I am a wet washcloth. FURTHERMORE, I have tried that method. I get the Stink-Eye anyway! All the way across the parking lot.

Anyway, the point is if you discipline your child in public, you are treated like a bad mom. I recognize that nobody wants to listen to my child screaming. I don't want to listen to him! But I'm not going to willingly raise my child like the Real Housewives of Orange County. So, discipline it will be. And if you don't like it, well, you still don't have to throw the Stink-Eye at me. That's just plain rude.

There are people out there that think children should be seen and not heard. Archaic. There is the group that hates it when moms do all this disciplining in public rather than removing to a more private place like the bathroom or the car. I respect that. If you are one of those, I really do respect that. But I am not going to haul ass (don't say ass - it's a cuss) to a bathroom every time Gabe loses it. I would spend my life in public bathrooms. Plus, I've given it a shot. This is how he interprets it: "Hey, we just left the bathroom! I don't have to behave anymore!" And back to the bathroom we go. Whereas when I plop him into time-out right on the spot, we don't usually have to revisit time-0ut. I'm choosing the path of least resistance-to-good-behavior.

Another point: lots of this fit-throwing or hitting or chucking items at strangers or whatever happens in a checkout lane somewhere. I ABSOLUTELY REFUSE TO LEAVE THAT LINE WHILE CHECKING OUT. THE END.

That's it. Below is a very short video showing examples of the Stink-Eye.

Minnie Malice

It's my mom's birthday (I'd tell you her age, but you'd be shocked. She's either to young to have that many kids or looks too great to be that age.) The title is the nickname her mom called her when she was little - Mary Alice, Minnie Malice.

I'd just like to say that I'm so grateful that I'm her daughter. That is something to be proud of. She is very very brave. She fearlessly lives her beliefs. She laughs and laughs. She calls it how she sees it. She can say she is sorry. She is absolutely truthful at all times. The reason I immediately believe anything my mom says is because she never lies. In fact, I was married before I even considered disagreeing with one of her opinions! Since I mostly agree, though, I don't have to concern myself with debating it with her ;)

I really like my mom's company. I remember once as a teenager when we were arguing (as usual for me then), she said, "It may come as a surprise to you, but moms don't have to like their children. Moms love their children, but they don't necessarily like them. And I sincerely like you." A bunch of hooey I thought at the time. But, she was right (of course). I choose her for my guest list every time. Every party is 10 times more fun if she is there. I sincerely like her.

I feel very complimented when people realize I'm her daughter. I feel like I just rose a step or two in their eyes. When I know someone is my mom's friend, I feel a little inclined to make them my friend, too. That's a big deal for me, by the way, because I really hate making friends.

So, Mom, since you undercover read the blogs, I would like to say again that I love you. Love love love. I sandwich you. I can see so many ways that the hardships and questions in my life are provided for by the Lord giving you to me as my mother. What would I do without you to understand me, understand parenting, understand mental illness, understand the gospel? You make no bones about how hard it is, and you make it clear that it is worth it all, every little part of it. Thank you thank you. I love you.

I sandwich you!

Darling Claire, my 4 year old princess, has begun showing her love via peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

It all began one morning when I was still sleeping in bed. I hear her coming in followed by a "clunk-clunk" sound. I open my eyes. She is holding a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in one hand and pulling a tv table in the other. She tells me she has made me breakfast in bed. Oh, the little sweetie! I was so touched! I ate that sandwich and thanked her and told her that I felt loved. Thus it began.

One day, Charlotte was sweet to Claire over something, and I hear Claire say in a sing-song voice, "I guess someone else gets a sandwich!"

I was welcomed this morning with a sandwich and a glass of juice from both of the girls. In fact, they had made a sandwich and juice for Andy as well. He had already left, so I drank the juice and packed the sandwich in Charlotte's lunch.

THEN, this afternoon, Claire wakes me up from my nap, sandwich in hand, so excited! I'm being smothered in sandwiches, but who can say no to such a loving gesture? Since I was disgustingly full, I asked her to please store it in the fridge for me. I had to eat it later - still not hungry - but the joy on her face was worth cramming it in.

I'm starting to think I am going to be brought a sandwich every time I lie in my bed. On the one hand, I could nap a little less and solve that issue. On the other hand, I'll never be hungry...

Andy's new look

So, Andy was giving himself a haircut, and he looked down in the sink and saw this:
Huh? How'd that clipper-guard get in there?
So, he looked up and saw this:

Yep! He buzzed a stripe on his head! So, his hair is particularly short now, and I really wish he'd keep it that way. He says he's colder.