Friday, May 30, 2008

Some Matters to Discuss

The Emma-nator
I love my Emma very, very, very, very, very, very… much. When I threatened Emma (see May 29th post below) we had just had a very long discussion that I tried to cut short several times because we were already running late for the bus (we barely made it). You see, my sweet Miss Daisie has a tendency to be vaguely unhappy towards everything. It’s a talent that she always has possessed. Anyone who knew her from infancy understands that she came screaming into this world and she’s made her voice heard ever since.
Moreover, it’s a talent that she’s proud of, and if I have to be completely honest, I’m proud of it too. I would never have wanted a YesGirl as a daughter. I think I deserve a worthy adversary, someone who can put her confused,
never-been-a-mother-of-an-eight-year-old, and slightly controlling mom into place.
She uses her critical eye to detect injustices in the world, sometimes on her behalf, but more often then not, for others. And despite the atmosphere of discontent that she sometimes emanates, what she really wants is for everyone to be happy and life to be fair. If there is someone out there who can bring justice to humankind, it is my relentless Emma.
As for my harsh comment, I know I need to tone it down. I tend to use cartoon violence expressions with my children when I get overly frustrated. I don’t yell my threats; they’re said in a soft, exasperated tone. For example, after 10 or so requests, I’ll cheerfully explain to my boy, “Taran you either need to get those shoes on or I’m gonna cut your feet off.” It’s a way for me to vent. My children ignore it as easily as they ignore calls to clear their dinner plates. Or, in Emma’s case, they dispute it. Like when I threatened to leave Enoch at Target so some other mother could buy him. Emma quickly jumped in, “Moommm, you never would leave us!” Yes. She is worthy of her mother.

As for the “Martin Baby #5,” I have outed myself on the possibility of another baby. The truth was never very secret.
For me, there doesn’t seem to be a reason of waiting the traditional three months before telling. I make a horrible pregnant person. I’m sick as soon I know I’m pregnant. I’m also exhausted (Did I ever tell you about the time I was pregnant and I fell asleep on a park bench while watching my young children play? Did I ever tell you I did it twice?). I look terrible. People either need to know I’m gestating or they start to think I’m dieing.
Another reason we’ve never waited to tell, is that I get pregnant VERY quickly. I only need to be off contraceptives for a few short hours and then BAM! Baby. Once, even that was too long. With Enoch, we learned that he was conceived a few days before my IUD was removed.
So, to me, it only seems fair that I alert people that I’m going to be out of commission for a few (9-18) months.
But things aren’t working as they always have. I’ve been IUD free since February and still no baby. Not that I’m complaining. It’s nice to declare that the spirit is willing without feeling that the flesh is weak. But I have begun to wonder why. What’s coming next?

Could this be Number Five? With his daddy's eyebrows and her mommy's nose, it's a possibility.

Thursday, May 29, 2008

I'm Going to Be a Better Mother, I Promise

So I just had a fight with Emma where I issued the statement, “I really love you Emma, but sometimes I just wanna take your cute little head and throw it in the street.” Harsh?
I’m really not cut out for this motherhood thing. Maybe that’s why I’m not getting pregnant with Martin Baby #5. Heavenly Father has given me four children and finally realized, “Oh.”
Yep, it’s gotta stop.
I love you Emma my Dilemma. And Martin Baby #5, if you’re up there fretting, I love you too.

Wednesday, May 28, 2008

A Revelation

Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with Cocoa Crispies. Yum!
Just spread your peanut butter and jelly like always but sprinkle some Cocoa Crispies on a slice before smushing them together.
Crunchy chocolate sweetness with good ol' PB&J.

Sunday, May 25, 2008

2, 4, 6, 8, Martins Got to Celebrate!

Calvin and Enoch turned 2 and 4 years old this month. Now, because Emma is 8 and Taran is 6, we're a cheer.

We celebrated Calvin's birthday with brownies.

A couple of days before his birthday, I taught him to say "I'm 2!" and Happy Birthday to ME!" You can hear it in the video.

Then after Calvin's birthday, but before Enoch's, we held an informal friends-on-the-block birthday party. Emma and Taran broke out the streamers and decorated. When friends arrived, we played yard games and ate goodies.

Here's Calvin with our friend Alex trying for a basket.

Enoch with Emma and the rest of the girls.

We ate watermelon.

And cupcakes. (That's our neighbor Sugar Mama, she's as adorable as her nickname.)

A few days later we formally celebrated Enoch's birthday with cake and candles...

...and "Heavy, Heavy Hangs", the traditional Richardson/Hasleton/now Martin way of gift giving.


Another Random Outburst

I Dreamed a Dream
by Lisa M.

This Saturday morning David and I were able to repel the kids and send them downstairs to eat breakfast (we bribed them with “marshmallow cereal,” you know the one I’m talking about). And it actually worked! they played for an hour. I productively spent that hour sleeping. I had the strangest dream.
I dreamed that I was in an unidentified, random mall with some unidentified, random friends (without kids, this really is a dream). Suddenly we all learned that the mall had been sealed off and shut out from the outside world. There was no way to get out; there was no way to get in!
Everybody in this huge mall was stuck. We didn’t know why and we didn’t know how long. And as the hours ticked by it became clear that it might be days or worse before we were rescued.
What was happening outside? Why couldn’t we see anything? War? Nuclear attack? Everyone forgot we existed?
Panic set in. People began looting and rioting.
Up to this point in my dream, I was detached, a third person viewer. But now it was time to do something. So of course I became a super hero! Suddenly, I had with me my large glass salad bowel that Vickie Sooger gave me. It became my super hero weapon of choice.
When we were rushed by teenage gangstas run amuck, I put it over my fist, where it magically stayed put. I knocked out the ruffians in one blow. Looking down from the second floor, we saw Queen Bees and Wanna Bees plundering chic boutiques. I threw my magic salad bowl at the shrieking, squealing crowd. It zoomed down dispensing justice and breaking up the melee.
Soon I and my super salad bowl had subdued the rampaging crowds. I held it up to my lips and it magnified my voice a thousand times. I used my best mama-in-charge-voice to calm the trapped, terrified multitude. I dispensed wit and wisdom to quiet the masses. “Can’t we all just get along?”
Night fell and we-my unnamed friends, the mall security and some other civic minded citizens-set up a patrol and put the mall to bed. While on my rounds I saw something! a small door the size of a window. Excitedly, I turned the knob, it opened! We were saved! Quietly, I shut the door to inform the others on patrol. We needed to do this delicately and orderly, so panic didn’t start again. I turned and started to walk away. Then the door burst open! And the Chinese communist army began to pour through the little door into the now quiet mall. Not quiet for long…
I woke up.
What happens next? Was my dream behaving like all good comic book stories giving me a cliff hanger ending? Was my dream a good comic book story? Maybe it was time to pull out my trusty salad bowl and teach those Chinese communists a thing or two. Maybe I knew I would never be able to defeat an entire army and I woke myself up.
We’ll never know.
After waking, I laid in bed thinking of my dream. A mall? Chinese communists? An army? But most of all, a large, glass SALAD BOWL? Not a magic lasso, not a super ring, no cape, no laser beam eyes, my sub conscious chose a… serving dish.
What am I trying to tell myself? Do I want to know? Perhaps my id is saying, “Evil meat-eaters beware, here comes the salad bowl of justice!” Or, “Watch out Julia Child, there’s a new girl in town!” Most likely, “You’ve spent way too much time in your house fixing dinners, Lisa, I can’t even dream up a magical power that might belong to you that doesn’t have connotations of domesticity.”
Then Emma screamed in pain and Enoch ran upstairs naked and crying (naked?). Time to get up and face life.
Lehi dreams of trees. Mary Shelley dreams of monsters. Salvador Dali dreams of melting clocks. Stephanie Meyer dreams of Romeo vampires. But Lisa Martin is… Super Ma! with her crystal salad bowl of exactness and decency!
Evil doers and chore dodgers BEWARE.

Tuesday, May 20, 2008

Martin Quote

Enoch [in the car]: Mom can I drive?
Mom: No.
Enoch [with real surprise and disappointment]: Why?

Sunday, May 18, 2008

We the Martins...

When in the course of family events, it becomes necessary for one Saturday to have more activities in it then can be accomplished by Martin-kind they should declare the causes which impel them to work and fun and education!

We started our Saturday with Emma's piano recital. She did wonderfully.

And then went to see one of the original copies of the Declaration of Independence on display in St. Paul. Shockingly, not everybody was as excited to see a 200+ year old piece of paper as their parents were. Here we are holding a copy of the copy.

Then we went on to do two kinds of shopping.

And then planting. (We got our obedience garden in!)

And then a FANTASTIC spaghetti dinner.

And then baths.

Finally, we were in bed by 10 o'clock. (Well, the kids were, I stayed up until the wee hours re-reading Persuasion. Why do I do this to me?!)

I leave you with these stirring words...
"And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes and our sacred Honor."
Lisa Martin (that's my John Hancock, he-he)

Keepin' it Real

I dedicate this post to my homey, Dawn...

I'm generally a tidy housekeeper. My brain is already so cluttered and disorganized, I can't handle to much crap on the floors and counters and tables. That's the ideal anyway. But some days life just happens...

Yes, those are used tissues on the table. Emma has a cold.

There's also unfinished homework there too.

The dishes in the sink don't look as bad as they actually were. Believe me, the mess extended far from the boarders of the picture.

And Calvin lost his pants somewhere. That's not all the unusual, the thing that gets me, is I can't remember why he still has his shoes on.
My best guess, he had blow out but I was too crazed to put pants back on him, so I just stuck his shoes on and sent him outside.

Eat your heart out Martha Stewart!

P.S. Keeping with the "life happens" theme, Happy Birthday Enoch! We'll get to your cake and presents tomorrow...Sorry, but remember, your momma loves you.

Wednesday, May 14, 2008

A Bicycle Built for Three

This Wednesday the weather was so magnificently wonderful, gloriously beautiful, amazingly swell that words fail me.
I had to pull out my loyal little digital camera that Jared gave me (did I ever say THANK YOU!!! Jared?) and document Spring In Minneapolis.

Here Enoch has come to the door and said, "Put these in you hair mom." (I really wish I could convey the gravelly tone he has.)
So I obliged him.

Then I saddled up my trusty ride with it's NEW seat, hand grips, and water bottle holder (Thank you Stephanie! aka. Sister Bro-a-garrrd). Check her out at

And put the boys in the trailer for a trip to the library and then a ride around blooming Minneapolis.

All seemed well on our journey until I heard the strangest grating noise behind me. I pulled to the left thinking, "Oh dangit! A wheel just fell off of the bike trailer!"
I stopped, looked behind me and noticed that while both wheels were still attached to the trailer, it was rolling! Enoch and Calvin pulled up on my right riding solo.
Whoops! In the three or four years pulling kids behind me I have forgotten bike locks, helmets, water, snacks, directions, you name it... But this is the first time I have forgotten to attach the kids! Enoch thought it was hilarious and after I got over the shock and "what-if" scenarios in my head, so do I. All-in-all nothing but a trustworthy screw and my momma pride is worse for the wear...
We shall dub thee "Old Faithful!"

Monday, May 12, 2008

Martin Quote

Enoch [outside]: Why aren’t the birdies coming to me?
Mom: Because you’re so big, and because they don’t know your name.
Enoch: They do know my name.
Mom: How?
Enoch: Because I Enoch.

Saturday, May 10, 2008


Jennifer at tagged me with this. It's a list of questions about my man.

After answering the questions, I asked David to review, hence, the editorial comments. Also, we got a little silly.

My Marriage to David

What is his name? David Myron Martin, aka. “Mr. Martin” or “Grand Weenie Puba.” (A very long and uninspiring inside joke which is what makes it so dang funny.)
David’s response: “There’s an ‘h’ on the end of that [Puba].”

How long have you been married? It will be 12 years in August.

How long did you date? We didn’t. Technically we hung out as best friends until he proposed. But we’ve been dating ever since.

How old is he? 35.
David’s response: “That’s not true, I’m 34.”

Who eats more? What are we talkin’ here? Chocolate? I’m more sweets, he’s more everything else. Until I’m nursing, then you’d all just better step aside.

Who said I love you first? He did. The day before he proposed.
David: “I really don’t remember. Probably because I had said it in my head so many times the year before I proposed.”

Who is taller? David.

Who sings better? David.

Who is smarter? I am. Proof: I graduated with a BA, but David’s still in school! When will he ever get it right?!
David: “You’re so right.”

Whose temper is worse? AM: David. PM: Me.

Who does the laundry? To quote Jennifer, “ME. ME. ME. ME. ME.ME. ME. ME. ME. ME. ME. ME. He'll throw a load in, but that's where it stays.”

Who does the dishes? Ideally: Emma, Taran, David and me. But I’ll let you guess if really goes that way.

Who sleeps on the right side of the bed? Mostly me. We switch from time to time. Actually, there is a very long and complicated and boring explanation for that. I really had to sit and think on it for a couple of minutes. What has my life come to?

Who does the cooking? David cooks on Sundays; I cook the rest of the time.
David: “And the meals are awesome!”

Who drives when you are in the car together? It’s a toss up. While driving, he’s better at directions and finding our destination. But I can put on lip liner, find and replace dropped pacifiers, and shout creative, terrifying threats to the back seat while merging into the fast lane.

Who is more stubborn? Let’s see, he hasn’t given up yet on a PhD and I haven’t given up on him. Probably, Enoch is.

Who proposed? He did. It was a TOTAL surprise, in the most surprising way. I thought he was going to ask if we could start dating. But then he starts talking about how marriage is possible, even though we’re so young and poor, etc… And after five minutes or so I finally figure out he’s proposing. So I said, “Well then you’d better ask me.” And he did!
David: “I was sooo lame!”
Lisa: “That’s not true. You were sooo scared and cute. And maybe just a little lame.”
David: “Possibly, but I still think I was sooo lame.”
Lisa: “Okay, but you may redeem your lame self by doing something WONDERFUL this August.”
David: “What do you mean by WONDERFUL? I guess I am still sooo lame.”
Lisa: “That’s why they call you the Grand Weenie PubaH.”
David: “I think it’s actually ‘Poobah’.”
Lisa: “Wikipedia spells it ‘Pooh-Bah,’ but let’s admit it David, you made up the name, and you can make up the spelling!”

Who is most likely to admit when they are wrong? I am most likely to point out that he is wrong. If he ever does the same, I change the subject. What were we talking about?
David: “Yes, you are right.”

Whose parents do you see the most? Ever since moving to the mid-west, Peggy and Jack Meyer.

Who pays the Bills? I do. The poor (literally) man doesn’t even know how much money he makes.

Who wears the pants in your family? He wears his pants, I wear mine. Unless I’m pregnant or postpartum, then I wear both.


Now I get to tag someone. Is it fair to tag two people? I tag Kirsti and Amy!

Questions Answered

I was in the mood for an essay, perhaps I'm missing school. It's on my favorite topic, me! (Really you don't have to read it, unless you're David or maybe my mom.)

Just Keep Running
by Lisa M.

Today I was running around the track at the gym on four and a half hours of sleep thinking to myself, “How did I get here?” and “Why am I doing this?”
How did I get here…
Easy enough, I promised I’d let my children play in the kid areas of the gym today.
And I have a really good (but not as easy) explanation for the 4 1/2 hours of sleep too.
So last night, I started watching the new release of a Jane Austen movie, Persuasion, around 10 o’clock. After I finished it, I realized that although it was good, it was not as good as the 1995 version that I love. Or was it? The only way to know was to watch it now and compare!
Nope, I was right, the 1995 version is better, yet, the new one’s worth watching.
Well, after pushing through my initial sleepies during two movies, at 2am I wasn’t a bit tired. So I read some.
It’s a bitter-sweet deliciousness for a momma of young’uns to read late at night. The house is quiet and you can sit uninterrupted for hours, but the hours come with a price. Finally, knowing I’d have a morning of reckoning, I hauled my body up to bed. Too soon daylight and Calvin came to collect. I was up and getting everyone ready for the YWCA (but not before David made us blueberry muffins, magnificent man!).
Why I am doing this…
So why the running? My kids are in the gym, playing with toys and friends, just as I had promised. I could just go get one of those cushy exercise mats, lie down in the stretching room, and do the “dead body” yoga pose. That’s what I wanted to do, why run?
The brownies.
It is a truth universally acknowledged, that when a woman sits down to watch an Austin flick, chocolate must be involved. I started with (yes started) with a rather large double chocolate brownie and a little-ish bit of chocolate ice cream on top. Afraid I was overdoing the chocolate just a mite, I added some strawberry syrup. Perfect!
That got me through the first movie. By the second, I could hear the brownies calling down to me, “Liii-ssa!” I resisted for a good while. After all, to get another, I’d have to climb a whole flight of stairs. Alas, I succumbed. But I only took two.
Yep, that’s my diet plan: start with a good sized portion of your dessert choice, top it off with something healthy sounding, “strawberry sauce,” distance yourself from the object of your affection by one whole floor of the house, and then if you do fail, limit it to one in each hand.
And so I ran. And ran. And then did some sit ups.
Of course later in the day, I gathered my family around me and we finished those brownies off. They won’t be bothering ME again.
So, questions answered! And hey, this also answers the question I often ask myself, “If I exercise so dang much, then why am I not loosing any weight?”

Thursday, May 1, 2008

It's Finally Sprung, To-Witta-Woo!

It has been a VERY long winter. Here is Emma the Sunday after Easter. She's adorable in her new Easter dress from Amy (Thank You Amy!), but there's still snow on the ground.
Then it all melted and then we had a snow storm and then some warm weather and then another bit of snow that was melted by some freezing rain... and on and on until my poor, ghastly white California body was ready to crawl all the way back to the Central Valley.

But then this morning came! Without realizing it at first, I walked out to the car in...BARE FEET!
(Please no comments on my alabaster skin.)

I'm not trying to get my hopes up too high, but I really feel like this time it's going to stick! Even my bulbs seem to agree, they've become more than leaves, can you see the buds?

It's so beautiful outside that everyone's going barefootin'.

I've never had this strong a reaction to Spring. I feel like all the cliches and odes and songs about spring aren't enough to convey my joy over the new colors and warm temperatures of May. But here's a try:

Spring, the Sweet Spring
from Summer’s Last Will and Testament by Thomas Nashe (1600)

Spring, the sweet spring, is the year’s pleasant king,
Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring,
Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing:
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!

The palm and may make country houses gay,
Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day,
And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay:
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!

The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet,
Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit,
In every street these tunes our ears do greet:
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!

And should you need more: