The Things Our Kids Say.

You may recall that when we parted last week, I left you with a sweet story of our youngest yelling out that he hated someone in our ward during the middle of the Sacrament.

Oh, those were sweet times. When I was still young and innocent.

My kids have said crazier things than that since last week.

Here is sweet Harris after he and Dan made their first, very simple model plane together. Harris is a middle child and also loves to tinker. In an effort to give him some more attention, Dan has decided to take him to Hobby Blobby once a month or so to pick out a new plane to build together. Look at that cute face with the finished product.

That sweet face also uttered these precious words to me one morning this week-

"Mom, I went pee in the potty, and then my glasses dropped into the toilet."

The grossest part about this is that I wasn't super duper fazed by this predicament. I am well-versed in grossness by now, and I don't think much of putting my hand in a plastic grocery bag and digging out a pair of expensive glasses.

I guess that's good that I don't let something that gross ruin my day, but also it means that my standards are rather low. Someone please step in if I stop using the plastic grocery bag when I go to retrieve things from the toilet in the future.

We went roller skating for the first time ever this week. There is always that one guy at every skating rink who you know is there every Friday night and every Saturday night and the all-day Sunday skate and does the limbo like he was born to, whizzes right past you skating backwards so close to you that you almost topple over, and taunts you with his powers to come to a sudden stop.

Even though my kids were struggling for the most part and Harris gave up after doing one single turn of the rink (even though the rink owner had actually stopped his wheels so that Harris was only walking), there was some real progress made too. Gwen had the hang of it by the end, and June, though moving slowly, entered the relay race and finished.

I take my job as a parent and educator seriously. This means teaching my kids about all of the fine composers. We listen to Dvorak and Vivaldi and others quite a bit. And Queen. This week, I introduced my kids to "Bohemian Rhapsody" and sang along every single word of the entire song to them, using all of the different voices and creating my own unique choreography as I went along. June teared up at the beginning, distraught by the storyline of a young man being tried for killing another man. I reassured her--don't worry, it's a fun song! You'll like it. Like it, she did not. She bawled through the whole thing. Another huge win for Mom.

Speaking of dark themes in songs, my kids memorize history sentences set to music every week to help them learn the history of the world. This week they learned an upbeat song about the French revolution that had the actual lyrics of "the aristocrats' heads were removed by the guillotine". Removed? It makes it sound like the aristocrats were getting rid of a pesky mole or something.

And maybe one more dark theme. We went to a book club meeting with Forest School this week. The book up for discussion this month was Mr. Popper's Penguins. I signed myself up to make a penguin-themed treat because I guess even knowing myself for 38 years isn't long enough to know that I don't make crafty things.

The Pinterest version of some Magical Penguin Cookies:

Heather's Scary Possessed Penguin-like Cookie-ish Creations:

There was chocolate everywhere--all over the eyeballs and beaks and feet. I told the kids we would have to relay to the book group that we had accidentally read the Halloween version of the book, the one where all of the penguins were massacred in the end.

See that cute Beck? The primary music leader in our ward recently told me that a cute little primary girl told the group that her dad sings church songs to her every night to help her fall asleep. Beck raised his hand, was called on, and then volunteered, "My dad doesn't like kids."

Here we are with our dear friend Sister Mellow, to whom our family ministers once a month or so. And yes, Harris is still wearing a tie over his t-shirts half of the time. 

The End.

We're moving at a slower pace.

December went at a pretty frantic pace. Grandma Sandy came into town for the girls' choir concert, and we did a bunch of Christmas-y things in Philly. 

We hosted four different large parties: a 30th birthday party for a girlfriend of mine, a progressive dinner with three other families, a homeschool Christmas party with 60 kids and 20 parents (not a typo--80 people at our house) and our annual Christmas Eve party with 41 people. It was all so much fun. I hope to do it all again next year.

I begged this perfectly delightful childhood photo of my friend Rachel and had 40 copies of it made in order to decorate for her birthday party.

We made over 100 cookies for kids to decorate at the homeschool Christmas party.

These pictures do not really paint the picture of how busy the house was during the party. It was CRAZY. But also incredibly fun.

I'm so glad I could capture one kid choking another in this photo.

But since the last party wrapped up, I went into a social coma. We have been just doing the basics, but doing them well, and it feels really good. I'm sure things will pick up soon, but as of right now we have been enjoying more quiet evenings at home.

We did enjoy a nature hike with Forest School this past Friday. We made bird feeders from pine cones and peanut butter afterward, but ours mysteriously disappeared (Dan threw them away).

Gwen up a tree. The branches were flimsy, and everything kept shaking. But I know my Gwen. She has to climb. She has to!
 

And the usual church photo:

Today at church, Beck chose a spectacularly quiet moment to shout out, "I don't like Sister So-And-So!!", who of course was sitting right in front of us. I clapped my hand over his mouth until he was good and quiet. But every time I took my hand off, he would scream it again. So I lugged him out of the chapel, and we ran into some good friends in the hallway. Hoping to redirect Beck's attention away from his latest pronouncements of hatred, I said, "Look Beck! The Cramers! Your friends! You love the Cramers!" And he really, truly does. They have lots of fun boys in their family. But of course Beck said, "They are not my friends! I do NOT like them!"

He is a treasure.

The End.

You Could Be a Farmer in Those Clothes.

Jolley Family, Sunday Morning, Winter-style.

As I write this post, June is wearing her favorite dog-onesie pajamas whilst also sporting her new dragon wings we bought from Goodwill and arguing with me about whether animals and snowmen should get baptized. "Animals are intelligent, MOM!" she yells in my ear as I try to type about really important things like our family heritage and legacy and also what we wore to church today.

Now she's talking about her latest reading of the Fudge series by Judy Blume. Gwen just asked me, "Mom, what can I do?" Harris is wearing his pajamas with his Sunday tie on top. He likes to wear a tie whenever he can, though he still claims to hate Sundays and church and primary. Beck is wreaking havoc in the toy room, but at least he's in the toy room and not IN. HERE.

We went to the farm show yesterday. The Farm Show is a Big Deal here in Pennsylvania. The first weekend we moved here, the Farm Show was going on and people at the hotel we were staying at thought we were in town from New Jersey for the Farm Show. Alas, we were not. I ventured to the show last year with a friend. But it was pretty tricky to do without Dan. So we waited for a Saturday trip to the Farm Show this year, and Dan came. It was cold, and we had to park far away and take a shuttle to the Farm Show Complex. 

(June and Gwen just marched into my room to let me know that they want to borrow their baby blessing dresses for a fake wedding they are planning between Beck and a toddler girl at church they want him to marry.)

The farm show was pretty fun. The kids loved the exhibits and the animals, and we bought the famous PA Dairymen's Association milkshakes. June cried that we made it to the calving corner too late and all of the calves had already been birthed.

I like living in a rural place. I'm not a really rural person, but I appreciate the people and their skills. I feel like a huge wimp around them.

We belong to a hiking group through one of our homeschooling co-ops. It's called "Forest School". During one of our recent romps through the woods, the Forest School leader asked if we would like to take a longer way back. I love walking and said sure. We walked for quite a long time, and I was happy to know that we were almost done because Beck had been more than done for quite awhile. We hit the 3-mile marker, and the leader let us know that we were halfway done.

Halfway? Wut.

The entire hike ended up being close to 7 miles. 7 miles is a lot for a three-year-old, and I had to lug him quite a bit at the end. Luckily, another mom named Jill decided to stay at the end with me and help me. I hardly even know Jill, but she was my angel that day. Just when I thought Beck couldn't possibly go any farther, we saw an old train caboose car. Beck found new energy and ran to the car and played and was able to finish the hike.

Speaking of trains, our neighbors Donna and Dave have invited us to come see their Christmas village train set-up three years in a row. It's a fabulous Christmas tradition for us.

Part of the tradition is having a big talk on the way over to their house about how we aren't going to touch anything while we are there, and the other big tradition is leaving early because one of the kids did, in fact, touch something. Donna and Dave are always nice about it, but it stresses me out because their train set is REALLY nice and takes them hours to set up every year.

And we are trying to be sporty again. The girls are playing basketball. Gwen is aggressive and gets in a little trouble for it. But she also switches from being aggressive to using the moves she has learned in dance classes to play defense. She will jazz hands that ball right away from you. 

June is the reason we signed up. Due to her small size and some of the challenges she faces, the league agreed to place her in a much younger group. Her coaches are saint-like and follow her around and remind her where to stand and what to do. Both girls are enjoying it.

And Harris is wrestling. Meaning, he attends wrestling practice. He likes learning the moves and being a part of the team. He LOVES wearing the wrestling t shirt and sweatshirt (even despite his intense hatred for long sleeves), but as far as actual wrestling goes, he struggles to apply what he has learned. He's only 5. He will get there. It's pretty funny seeing the much older kids on the team try to tear each other apart, whereas Harris just collapses to the ground the second his opponent comes close to him.

Harris is the third from the right, front row.

And a throwback. I forgot to post this picture of my crew ready for church Christmas morning. Dan had bought me a dreamy golden dress I was wearing for the occasion but alas, I took the photo and wasn't in it. My memoir shall be titled Woe is Me: A Mother Martyr, available wherever books are sold.

 

The End.

The End of An Era.

Last week marked the end of an era, but no, that era was not the end of my blog. It may seem that way from the past two years' lack of consistent writing. Previous to that, I was blogging every single week. But when we started homeschooling and I started serving in a busier role at church, blogging went out the window. That stops now. I am going to keep blogging. Yes, blogs are totally out of fashion now. But so am I. We're a perfect match of skinny jeans and blousy tops. I'm having a hard time jumping on the 90s fashion train.

The actual era to which I was referring was the death of Dan's 2000 Toyota Camry. Yes, you read that right. The year 2000. Things have been breaking on this car for years, and we would just power through it. The sweet nothings that my husband would whisper to me on my way to drive his car evolved to a shout of, "If the car won't start, jiggle the battery wires!" The following things were broken on the car:

Cracked windshield

Bad battery connectors 

Broken inside door handle on the driver side

Broken outside door handle on the passenger side

Cracked muffler that needed to be welded back together. This made the car sound SO LOUD. It was not-so-affectionately-known by our friends and neighbors as "The Hot Rod" because it would wake up the whole hood when Dan left in the morning.

Dan has been saying forever that we need to get a different car, but then car prices went up, and we decided to wait. 

I took a meal to someone on Christmas Eve in sub-zero temperatures. Somehow I was able to get into the car (that outside driver's side door handle was still okay), but when I arrived to the lady's house, I couldn't get out of the car. I went to roll down the window to open the handle from the outside (which I was so used to at that point and never thought about the absurdity anymore), but the window was frozen shut. So I climbed over to the passenger side to open that working handle, but the door was frozen shut.

Would this frozen 23-year old car parked in a dark, random parking lot on Christmas Eve be my demise? I had endured too much to go in such a way. Plus, I had 41 people back at my house waiting for me to come back before the kids would start the Nativity puppet show at the Christmas Eve party I was hosting. I had to bust out of the Hot Rod. 

I kicked and kicked until I got a door open. I delivered the dinner. I made it back home.

Soon thereafter, Dan received notice from a police officer that his car needed to go through inspection. We knew it would not pass and also didn't want to put a lot of money into fixing this car. It was time.

The day Dan went to a dealership to inquire after a car, the Hot Rod died in the middle of the road, only two blocks from our house. It was the alternator. Dan was proud that we had always said that we would drive it until it was dead, and then it died on the way to get a new car.

Oh did I mention that the hubcaps had fallen off? We are a classy bunch!

Dan got a new (not new, but Jolley-new) car. The Hot Rod was still eligible for a 2k trade-in despite its deadness because used cars are in such demand. It was a good day.

Let's not forget the many important events that happened in that car. Harris was almost born in that car. The Hot Rod took Dan took Dan to three different jobs in three different states--Florida, New Jersey, and Pennsylvania. Dan drove that car back and forth to Gainesville for his MBA. Thank you, Hot Rod, for transporting us and keeping us humble at the same time. I wish we still had it!! I honestly didn't care that it wasn't nice. Not-nice cars are kinda my jam.

Now, we just wait for the new car to be christened by vomit from one of the kids. Then it will really feel like our car.

The End.

Jolley Christmas Letter 2022

 

Friday, November 25, 2022

To All the People We Have Loved Before:

I’m stuffed to the gills, I’ve online-shopped to the hilt, I’ve lived life to the fullest, and I’m still in my bathrobe at 9:38 a.m. That’s right—it’s Black Friday/Christmas letter-writing day. I’ve assumed my position at the computer and locked the children out of the office. Let’s rock.

2022 has been a blessed year for the Pennsylvania Jolleys. January will mark three years since our residency began at the Commonwealth, and we enjoy the rural life we live but also our close proximity to many major cities. We still homeschool, and this year has been the best yet due to the wonderful friends we have made. Our kids have been extremely blessed by the association they experience with kids named things like Obadiah and Philemon. We are definitely the rough family in the group, and we are grateful that they put up with us.

June “Goodall” Jolley is 10 and loves animals, books, and science. She still attends horseback riding therapy every week, where she is one with the animals and nature. I’m still the slowest learner there and have resigned myself to be the best pooper scooper around because it’s the only chore I seem to do correctly. June regularly recites obscure facts about animals, to which I must simply nod because I have no idea if she’s correct. During one particularly exciting riding lesson, a fellow rider was attacked by a buzzing insect and started to scream “Bee! Bee!” to which June shouted, “Wasp, not bee! Bees have hairy bodies, and that bug has a shiny body!” The fellow rider found great comfort in that.

Gwen turned 8 this year and was baptized a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. It was the most wonderful day! Even though Dan regularly tries to reduce costs in our budget by offering persuasive arguments for Gwen to quit her dance classes, she has learned to tune out his repeated chants of “No! More! Dance!” and enjoys both ballet and jazz. Ever our resident extrovert, Gwen never wants to leave a party and claims she is bored within two minutes of arriving home. Gwen always seems to be injured (whether by accident or sibling-inflicted), but she gets lot of practice at bouncing back and is very resilient.

Harris is now 5 and was excited to hop on the homeschooling crazy train this year. He is learning to read and loves to do math problems. He and Beck pushed each other down the stairs in a big box one day in August, and Harris’ head met the hard floor and split open. Four staples later, and he’s doing just great. The real triumph of that day was that I remembered to grab the novel I was reading on the way to wait in the ER. Harris is sweet, shy, and a little anxious. Anxiety is the name of my game, but shyness is definitely outside of my wheelhouse, so we are learning how to navigate through it together. He cried through but eventually loved t-ball, and we are currently in the crying-through stage of a new wrestling season. But really, singlets should make everyone cry.

If Harris is anxious like me, Beck (3) throws caution to the wind like Dan. The boy never met a dangerous activity he didn’t like. We finally waved farewell to our baby years because we potty trained Beck earlier this year. I never thought I would be that mom who is sad about the closure of potty training, but I felt my eyes well up a few different times at the thought of being finished with diaper-changing. This is what happens to us once-shiny young moms turned crazy hormonal pooper scoopers. (Update: After not having an accident in months, Beck just peed his pants whilst I was penning this letter. My bittersweet feelings have quickly soured to straight bitter in about 3 seconds flat.)

Dan is the Man. He works, he cleans, he parents, he lawn cares, and he is currently cleaning up the Beck potty accident that just occurred. It is because of acts like these that he finally won our decade-long argument, and we went on a cruise as a family--despite my fear of boats, seasickness, overspending, tiny rooms, and buffets with massive amounts of jello. He loves the Hershey Company, his family, the Lord, and his country. But we won’t ask him to rank those categories here.

I turned 38 this year and celebrated by wearing a hoodie backwards without noticing for several hours of the day. I don’t know how someone doesn’t notice a giant hood protruding from her chin, but I managed. I have been much more proactive about managing my anxiety this year, and everyone in the family (and surrounding areas) has benefited.

We love the Lord Jesus Christ and are so happy to celebrate His birth again this year. He makes everything possible, and for Him we are forever grateful.

Love,

The Jolleys