Fact...

Banana popsicles are good.

But your big sister's banana popsicle is better.

My bag of tricks

(Jacob, you have a little something on your face.)

Oh that? That's just a little avocado-chocolate pudding.

No, it's not gross. It's high in heart-healthy fats, calories, and it's a great source of fiber, potassium and various vitamins. And it's all cleverly disguised behind a cocoa flavor and mixed with some fresh honey from Nana and Granddaddy's beehive.

Don't feel sorry for my picky little eater. If he'd eat well on his own, I wouldn't have to sneak avocados into his desserts. We do what we have to around here.

Avocado Chocolate Pudding
Makes about 1/2 cup

2 ripe avocados, peeled and chopped
1/3 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
1/2 cup whole milk
1/4 cup honey
1 1/2 tsp vanilla extract

Blend all ingredients in a blender or food processor until smooth. Serve chilled. And don't, under any circumstances, tell them what's in it.

They're all play clothes

It hadn't rained in a while, so I thought we'd be okay.

I thought wrong.

The dirt was dry enough, but I underestimated my kids' ability to find the slightest bit of water remaining from who-knows-what in the back of the little blue car and turn it into unbelievable quantities of mud.

I give up trying to dress them appropriately for the day's activities. As of this moment, everything we have falls into the category of Play Clothes.

What a girl wants

This year, I got exactly what I wanted for Mother's Day.

I didn't want breakfast in bed. I'm too pregnant for eating in my bed to be comfy anyway.

I didn't want a fancy brunch. I have a 4-year-old, a 3-year-old, and an 18-month old. "Fancy brunch" sounds like "disaster waiting to happen."

I wanted to hang out with my family. They're the reason I get to have Mother's Day, after all. I wanted to achieve a slightly higher-than-usual level of peace and harmony among the siblings, just for grins. I wanted pizza for dinner, because the kids love that.

I know the saying goes "If momma ain't happy, ain't nobody happy," but that just isn't right. If the kids aren't happy, momma ain't happy. True story. So taking them out for their favorite dinner means a really good eating out experience for me.

As a bonus, I love Mellow Mushroom, and it's apparently not anybody else's idea of Mother's Day fine dining, so there was no wait. And my thoughtful husband called ahead and placed our order so that our pizza was already cooled off when we got there and I didn't have to listen to the kids whine about it being too hot.

And I wanted pretty art for my laundry room makeover (which so far exists only in my head, but that's a start) and I wanted my kids to make it for me so it would mean something. So with the help of an online tutorial and a hubby to keep the youngest one out of the paint and away from our canvases, this very un-artistic mom managed to help two young kids create some pretty fantastic works of art to brighten the walls of the room I spend the most time in.

It was a very pleasant Mother's Day indeed. I'm so blessed to have these kids to call me Mommy.

Field of dreams

A fun time was had by all, as usual, at our homeschool field day.

Including this guy, who mostly strutted around being cute all day and trying to steal water balloons.

And this guy, who preferred watching the field day shenanigans and eating all my snacks to actually taking part in the mayhem.

And this girl, who proved that two clumsies do not a graceful pair make when it comes to the three-legged race, and who later surprised me with her natural abilities at hula hooping.

In her element

My daughter is a perfectionist. At four years old, she demands way too much of herself. She wants to do big girl things, and she wants to do them properly, and with ease, and on the first try. She drives herself (and her mom) crazy with these great expectations of hers. Our days are filled with frustrations, with tears, with disappointments, all stemming from self-imposed standards that are, in my opinion, simply too high.

But for reasons I have yet to figure out, the stress of being a four-year-old perfectionist flies out the window when she's dancing. It's not that she's a particularly gifted dancer, or that she shows signs of being some sort of ballet prodigy. Her piqués and sautées look just as awkward as those of the other four and five year olds in her class. She knows all the steps to her routine, but sometimes does them just a beat behind. Sometimes she forgets a cue or stops too early, causing quite a train wreck behind her when she's leading the line of tiny ballerinas in circles around the stage. She's not bad at it, as far as I can tell. For her age and level of experience, she's pretty good, actually. We're just not saving up for Julliard anytime soon.

And what is most impressive about Abby on stage in her bright purple tutu is just that. She's not great at it.

She is good at it, to be certain. But the greatness she expects of herself when it comes to reading, or riding a bike, or any other skill for that matter, isn't there yet. And she doesn't seem to mind.

She is totally in her element in her dance class and up on the big stage at her recital. She smiles that rare I-really-mean-it smile because she is truly enjoying herself. She misses a beat, or forgets a step, and she shrugs it off and keeps right on twirling, skipping, dancing, with a great big grin on her face that tells me she is loving every minute of it.

Maybe one day she'll be a world-class ballerina. She talks often of the day when she can audition for The Nutcracker. We tell her to keep working hard and paying attention, and when she's old enough we'll take her to try out for the coveted role of Sugar Plum Fairy.

But if she only ever does it for fun, and for the sparkly costume, and so that, in her words, she can "praise God with her whole body" the way her teacher told her, I will be just as proud a dance mom as ever.

Big little guy

It's true. The more kids you have, the faster time flies. Has it really been eighteen months since Jacob joined our family?

At a year and a half, our littlest guy still feels no need to talk. Why should he, when he communicates so effectively with screaming and flapping and pointing and grunting? And in a pinch, he always has a big brother and sister with a wealth of words at the ready to translate for him. He has sounds for lots of things: "buh" or "ba" or any combination or variation of the two could be baby, belly button, bug, box, ball or belly depending on the situation. "Dada" finally made its way into his vocabulary, along with "Papa," "Nana," "Ah-buh" (Abby) and some weird blah-blah-blah noise he makes by sticking his tongue out for words that start with the letter S, and banana, for some reason. There are plenty of other sounds out there that our immediate family understands, so he actually manages to converse pretty well when we're at home. But I must admit that my heart melts for the "Mommy" that recently replacced "Mama" in his vernacular. The fact that he smiles really big every time he says it just about pushes me over the edge into a big pile of Mommy mush.

What Jacob lacks in language he more than makes up for in fine motor skills. We've had the same toys through all three kids, and I've yet to see one of mine play with train tracks, blocks or cars as well or as effectively as my youngest. He builds intricate train tracks, complete with bridges and bypasses, without any help from the rest of us. Left on his own, he'll construct towers of blocks that rival most of what my 3 and 4 year old are currently building. He has a very detailed and creative mind, and it's fascinating to watch the difference in the way he plays with our "big kid" toys at such a young age. We're attributing this mostly to the fact that we packed away the baby toys much earlier with Jacob than we did with his siblings, and he's been manipulating these big kid toys for quite some time now. That, and he's obviously an engineering genius.

He is way snugglier than any baby yet to emerge from my womb. If I'm sitting (which I'm doing quite often these days), he backs right up into my lap and just sits there with me. Sometimes he'll bring a book, but most often he's content to just snuggle in my lap and help me parent his siblings from the comfort of my chair or the floor. He's more than happy to lounge in his dad's lap each night for a Bible story and a round of "Rock-a-bye Baby," a sight that still catches me off guard, since none of my kids has ever let me rock them and sing them lullabies while they just relaxed in arms.

It's not all sunshine and giggles with this little guy, however. He's got a bit of his sister's independent streak and testy temperament, and we're finding that in a boy, that can be slightly more violent. He's quick to throw a full-body-on-the-floor tantrum when things aren't going his way, or launch a toy across the room when he's provoked, or engage in a full-scale tug-o-war with his brother over a truck that they simply cannot share. In his quieter moments, he's been known to escape to his room or a corner of the dining room with a book or a train to play by himself for a bit just to get away from all the madness. He's perfectly happier--happiest, it sometimes seems--when everyone just leaves him alone to play in peace.

And other times, if the big kids will let him, he's a team player. If Abby and Caleb are building a train track and driving trains around, he wants to be right there with them. If we're reading, he needs a spot on the couch next to us. If we're coloring, I'd best give him something to scribble with and on or I'll never hear the end of it. He's made himself a place among the neighborhood kids, who happily ignore the fact that he's still six months shy of his second birthday and will include him in whatever they're up to, be it coloring a giant whale on the road in front of our house, or blowing bubbles, or riding bikes up and down the street (he chases them in his little blue car). I'm certain he has no idea he's less than half their age. He just likes being included in the fun.

With his big dark eyes and a smile that lights up his whole face, Jacob is a joy to have around. As always, I can't remember what life was like without him. And I'm so glad I don't have to.

Reel fun day, reel good dinner

If you ask Caleb what he did this weekend, the summary goes something like this:

"I went fishing with Daddy and caught trout on my fishing pole. Then Daddy cut their heads off. Then we ate them."

He's shaping up to be a much better story teller than me, really. But what you miss in my three-year-old's brief narrative is the sheer joy he felt at being able to spend the morning on the river with his Daddy and bringing dinner home for the family.

After a quick stop for breakfast, Caleb and Justin headed out for their day of fishing. To ensure maximum success for this kids' fishing event, the Department of Natural Resources arrived early to stock the river full of trout, and the kids and parents helped out by hauling them to the river in five-gallon buckets.

After that, my outdoorsy little guy spent the morning luring them back into his bucket with his very own rod and reel and some power bait.

But not corn. He ate all the bait corn.

When they returned home, the fishermen prepped their catch for dinner. (Caleb brought in four trout in all, but two of them managed to flop back into the water.) Caleb spent a good deal of time "petting" his headless, gutted fish after they went into the fridge. He was pretty stoked that we were finally going to eat something he caught.

Together, Justin and Caleb prepared a delicious lemon-dill trout meal for us. We all thanked my eldest son profusely for providing dinner for the family tonight. He beamed with pride and smiled that great big Caleb smile that I love so much.

"You're welcome!" he replied, each time with growing enthusiasm. "Thanks for eating my fish!"