The Big Four

I have learned that there are four words as far as health goes (probably more) that inspire A TON of sympathy when mentioned but can be quite benign:
1) MRI
2) Lumbar Puncture
3) Brain Surgery (not quite as benign)
4) Emergency Room

Somehow I have been on the receiving end of each of those things in the past two years.  When (usually IF) I mention any of those four things people get VERY concerned.  So I have a new list of things that have made it all not only bearable but a trial I am slowly becoming grateful for:

1) Love from family and friends, both here and miles away
2) Compassion from my children
3) Patience (not the way I would have liked to have learned it but okay I'm not in charge)
4) Prayer and listening to Conference with a heart open and begging for answers and relief

I have "miles to go before I sleep" but I also have the option to "submit cheerfully".  And I will because we know who wins. :)

Posh Spice

This cute gal is totally my daughter.  We were shopping for nail decals (not my thing) for a Mother's Day spa (not my thing) that my son needed to make the spa easier for him (totally my thing).  Girlfriend saw the Princess Press-on nails (not my thing) and I bought them to try out (increasingly becoming my thing).  We finally tried them out, after trying to pick the perfect moment - not before soccer, not before church, not after church, not right before bed etc etc.  She LOVED the attention and had to show her lovely hands off to every member of the household.  Since the rest of the household are boys they all stared blankly at her nails and went back to what they were doing.  Those dang nails weren't on her fingers more than 5 min. when she joined in a pick-up game of soccer in the backyard and she lost two.  As we were doing a little nail repair (the kit comes with two extra for all those little ones with 12 fingers) I very innocently mentioned that I keep my nails short so that I don't have to worry about losing nails or playing outside.  She turned to go outside, turned right around and asked me to take off the nails and maybe we could put them on later.  "Later" has never happen - she is totally my daughter.

The usual routine

Today in Sacrament meeting it was the usual routine.  I'm sitting with my brood trying to keep them quiet.  I try to sing and get at least one of my children to sing along.  I try to listen to the announcements and make a mental note of who has been sustained and released and tell myself to support them in their new callings.  The time for the sacrament comes and this is where I try to get the 3yr-old to listen to the prayers and sit quietly on the bench.  We have the sit-on-the-bench part down but listen-to-the-prayer and sit-quietly is still in the works.  At the start of every sacrament prayer since this child has been able to talk he asks me, "Who is saying the prayer?"  I attempt to answer him quickly and return to listening.  Today all went as usual except halfway through the prayer on the bread the speaker stopped and began the prayer again.  I had no idea why he had stopped and wrote it off to something rather small my very picky ears did not catch.  At the end of the prayer my 5yr-old says to me in a giggle, "He forgot it was the bread."  I had no idea what she was talking about.  After the meeting I approached the man who had said the prayer to get an idea of why my daughter would have said that.  It turned out that he had begun the prayer on the water and had said water until he was corrected and began on the right prayer.  I had been so busy getting my other child into an attitude of prayer that I had been a poor example of an attitude of prayer.  And my 5yr-old was the perfect example.  She was listening and knew the order of things well enough to know when the order was amiss.  It was humbling and gratifying.  I hope that, in the future, my opportunity to renew my covenants will not be the usual routine.

"It's soccer"

I was at the school for Track and Field Day and got a chance to see my sweet son in a pick-up game of soccer.  The festivities were over and he and a few buddies were just messing around.  The game grew and soon a bunch of kids were taking turns trying to make goals while other kids practiced being goalie.  I tried like heck to turn off my Mom-dar and just remain on the sidelines without calling out my dear one.  That is amazingly hard by the way.  When I'm at the sidelines during an organized game I can fall into sideline mode really well because the kids are disciplined and doing what they are trained to do.  When they are horsing around I am on high alert for misbehavior.  At one point the ball my kid hit collided with the face of a girl opposite him.  She left the field in pain and boy played on.  I watched the injured girl, who was immediately swarmed by her friends with overtures of sympathy.  I could take it no longer.  I signaled to my child to come and talk to me which I'm sure caused him no end of embarrassment.  I suggested that he should apologize to the wounded girl who by this time has limped (I have no idea why she needed to limp) to the swings.  Her minions had followed her and were casting nasty glances in our direction, to which my child was completely oblivious. "I think she's hurt and you should say sorry," I suggested in sweet motherie tones.  He shrugged at me, and as he ran to rejoin the fun he cast back at me, "Why?  It's soccer".

If that doesn't illustrate the difference between an 11yr old boy and 11yr old girl I don't know what does.  She is on the field to impress and be near boys.  He is just playing soccer.  I will relish these times and be grateful that he is completely unaware of the difference because in the not too distant future it won't be soccer.

Buyer Beware

Sans Necklace

I got "Happy" Meals for my kids at McDonalds.  (This is where I show my confidence by not explaining at length how it was Track and Field Day at school and the only day we can bring in junk food and I rarely if ever eat at McDonald etc etc etc)  I got the "girl" meal and toy for my 5yr-old girl.  I guess I should have emphasized 5yr-old girl.  The toy is a necklace sort of thing that plays music when a button is pressed.  Music is the operative word here.  Some messy concoction of sustained talking and computer generated fuzz is emitted from this box.  Had the lyrics not come with the "toy" I may never had known what the weird voice was saying.  And that might have been a good thing.  It is as follows:  "Yeah-e Yeah-e Yeah-e Yeah, my best friend's brother is the one for me."  And it repeats that refrain a couple of times.  Really?  I would love to know who in marketing in their ivory tower thought this was a good idea.  They are either as dumb as rocks or serious geniuses.  My little gal has no idea what the box is saying although she thinks she is repeating it as she croons around the house a sort of mumbly version of the thing.  But the tune is imbedded in my head and if she were to ever come across the song on the TV or radio (please never let this thing happen please) she would take to it like ugly on an ape.  I wouldn't be able to separate her from it to save my life...or hers.  So these marketers know EXACTLY what they are doing.  We are accused of indoctrinating our children by teaching them religion.  Well, it's either them or me and guess who loves them more...and you only get one guess.

Parable of the Lawn Mower and the Soccer Ball

Happier Days

I am convinced that one of the hardest things to do in life is watch your child suffer the consequences of their choices.  When kids are little it doesn't tug at your heart so much - boo hoo they didn't get to watch another hour of Veggie Tales.  Oh no - time out for 3min.  As they grow the ante grows and all of a sudden this all gets very real.  Our oldest and precious child is now a lawn mower.  This is a great and golden day in our lives.  I'm sure we have all heard of tales of children complaining about mowing the lawn and I had hoped they were exaggerated - they are not.  Golden child belly aches in volumes yet unheard of among child-kind.  We finally had to lay down the law and told him if it wasn't done in time he would not get to attend soccer practice.  This was not an aggressive requirement - it gave him 2 days to do it.  But true to tween form the time for soccer practice came and the lawn was still being mowed.  He approached me with the expected plea for leniency and somehow I mustered the strength to remind him of the stipulation and asked him to return to mowing the lawn.  His wails could be heard above the roar of the machine - I am not kidding.  His tear-streaked face shone during each turn in the lawn and reminded me and certainly him of what a hard mom I am.  My heart was in a small panic.  I could have easily caved and taken him to practice and the lawn could have waited for a day.  He could have finished the lawn after practice.  There were 1000 options that could have allowed him to go to practice however only one option was teaching him that choices have consequences and he had made his choice.  My heart bled a little for him that day and I was powerfully reminded that there are somethings we do as parents that our children may not ever understand until they are parents.  Until they are parents they will never know the incredible stabs of pain that go through us when we cannot rescue them from every hurt and all pain, every embarrassment and slight, all trials and difficulties and yes...all the consequences.

More Tender Mercies

Out of character for myself at this time in my life I volunteered to provide something for my son's classroom at school and then, of course, promptly forgot all about it.   Days later and feeling icky I somehow decided to take the kids to drop off books at the library.  The library has an outside book drop so I knew we would be there for only a second.  After I dropped our literary load and was getting back into the car I saw a mom of one of the kids in my son's class.  I stopped to talk and we chatted about nothing in particular.  At the very end of our conversation and as she was turning to walk away she mention needing to get ready for an event at school the next day.  Her comment was an aside and actually almost muttered under her breath.  It hit me like a ton of brick that I had volunteered to provide something for that event.  I happened to be at the library the very moment she happened to be walking by when she happened to mention the thing I needed in order to fulfill my obligation.  I would have felt awful had I missed this event just because I feel foggy while my meds are adjusted.  God reaches in and good happens.

Language of Love

I threw my two youngest in front of the TV so I could actually be on the phone without interruption - gasp.  "Sleeping Beauty" happened to be in the machine so that was what they were going to get.  My 3yr-old insisted on "pressing the button" - whichever, whatever that means - and in the melee the language for the movie was changed to French.  I didn't change it back and figured they would come and get me when they noticed.  They watched the ENTIRE movie in French.  I checked back in on them a few times and confirmed that, yes, there was no English being spoken.  My children do not speak French nor do they understand it.  At one point I asked my 5yr-old girl if they were enjoying the movie and she said, "Yes, they are speaking Beautiful Spanish."  The French or Beautiful Spanish had lulled them both and they enjoyed the movie very much.  Two points for language immersion programs.

Tales from the Dark Side

So I have been troubled lately by the lovely world of drugs and drug reactions.  Some (and lately most) days are spent in a morning haze of dizziness and nausea among other things.  However, our Father in Heaven has shown His tender mercies to me in MANY ways to protect me from myself.  For instance: during one of my hazy daze (pun intended) I cleaned out a drawer next to my bed.  Let this be a lesson, do not do this thing.  After my spree I fell back into bed to await the relief that usually comes around 11a.  My sweet baby comes to me while I am "resting" and asks to color a picture.  I tell him that is fine and for "some unknown reason" he chooses to draw on paper I have just thrown away.  He has never picked paper out of the trash before.  And he isn't really my artist child either.  After his coloring attempt he brings his art work for me to see.  Although I am only semi-lucid I can clearly see that he has colored on my patriarchal blessing!  I have somehow thrown it away!!  I thank him profusely for the art and scramble to the can to retrieve all kinds of things I DID NOT mean to pitch.  Thank you!!  At another point in my stupor I go to my med chest to get my pill for the hour.  The pill is actually in my mouth when I have a funny feeling that something is wrong.  I can't shake the warning sensation I am having and after a millisecond I realize I am taking the wrong pill.  I pitch it and grab a different one.  This pill is in my mouth and the same warning sensation comes and I wonder what could possibly be the matter.  Then I figure out I have taken a second wrong pill.  It felt tremendous that through the fog the Holy Ghost could still reach me and keep me safe.  On the lighter side: these meds make me TIRED.  Crazy tired.  I was at Walmart and knew that I was going to have to go home and dig for worms in my yard for Den Meeting.  (We were fishing at a local pond and I was in charge of bait.)  The idea of digging anything after being at Walmart overwhelmed me.  Usually just the idea of being at Walmart overwhelms me, but that is for a different time.  I said a prayer and headed for the sporting good section and wouldn't you know - they sell live bait at Walmart.  Every man in the known world is aware of this but I had no earthly idea.  Hooray for live bait at Walmart!

True Story - Garden Shop

I am at the garden store buying vegetable plants for my garden.  (Yes I don't start from seeds - don't judge me.)  I have my two littlest and they are, of course, running down every aisle, stepping in front of sweet old people buying ferns and putting stuff in our cart I have no intention of buying.  I feel like I am calling them in at every moment.  I am slightly exasperated by their questions but am trying to explain the difference between pepper plants and tomato plants to them.  We are finally done with the veggie stuff and are headed to the "pretty stuff" when I notice another mother with her young child.  This one is riding in the bottom of the neat greenhouse carts and she is watching some kind of program on an "i" thingy.  She is not exploring the greenhouse.  She is not smelling the mint and basil and picking out impatiens and petunias.  Neither is the mom slightly exasperated and having to corral this child.  I guess those are the trade-offs.  I don't judge this mom.  We are all doing the best we can with what little we have.  So if I want no exasperation and quiet kids I will give them a small TV to watch while I shop.  This experience reminded me that I have chosen a different road and I had better not complain because I made this choice.  I chose to have mint smelling, aisle running, plant picking, garden loving kids - so I better just chose patience and hope the sweet old lady with the fern also had children.

Tip #21 - Enjoy the Good News moments

I have a confession.  I really don't like the Good News Moments in Relief Society.  Inevitably they devolve into funky announcements about bowel trouble and car problems.  Not pleasant - but here are a few funky Good News Moments of my own.

Last night my oldest asked for French Toast and fried eggs in the morning.  I told him we might not have time for both.  He said, "No problem, I'll fry the eggs, you french the toast."  I'm afraid I could not help a small chuckle.  He pressed me for a good hour as to why I had reacted and since he is entering middle school I decided to tell him about the alternate meaning of the word. The Good News here is that he had not already learned the less fun meaning of the word.  yeah.

My two oldest are going on field trips on the same day and needed to take sacks lunches.  As I was shopping I decided that Twinkies might be a fun addition.  When I announced to the kids that I had purchased Twinkies all five replied in unison, "What's a Twinkie?"  Seriously?!  These kids have never had a Twinkie?  The Good News here is that although I fail on a regular basis to feed these children anything nutritious, for me anyway a Twinkie is the last rung on the ladder and I had not reached it.  Until now.  yeah.

So on Sunday I will raise my hand and announce to the Sisters that my Good News is: My oldest is one step closer to losing his innocence and the rest have finally reached rock bottom as far as unhealthy food goes.

I can't wait.

(The rest of the story is that my 7yr-old acted like I had just started a drip of cocaine, or however you ?consume? cocaine, when I gave him the Twinkie.  "Need more, please more."  I have definitely opened Pandora's box with that one - oops.  Perhaps another Good News Moment??)

Tip #20 - Who cares if you are right

So this has been a rough weekend.  I have RAILED continuously about one thing and then another.  I have been ranting about things in my calling (I'm a den leader - what could I possibly have to rant about?), raving about an objectionable encounter with a sales person, steaming about the price of grapes and other tedious and obviously very "important" things.   At one point my sweetest of all 7yr-olds says between sobs, "I thought it was "K" week not "F" week".  I'm guessing he meant "Kind" and "Fight" although I didn't ask.  I was trying too hard not to laugh because that would have definitely have made the matter worse.  After the great grape rape I jumped in the car, let my anger fly on the wrong people and headed down the road.  Ironically I always have the Mormon Tabernacle Choir in the CD player of my car.  Needing it just then I flipped on the music, and sweet and soothing strains filled the heated air.  Immediately my oldest says, "Whoa that's better."  A few moments later he offered, "I was getting this feeling, but now it's gone."  Until that time I had not paused to consider what it was doing to those I dearly love the most, to be showing as much anger as I was.  I felt justified because in each raucous encounter I had been right: right to be angry about a budget cut, right to be angry about an ignorant sales clerk, right to want cheaper produce (4 bucks a pound - am I wrong?).  So what if I was right.  I can be right all the way to judgement day and whine to our Lord about how right I am and how unfairly I was treated.  I am certain that He will not exonerate me and cast into the fiery pit all those who have wronged me.  I am certain He will turn my face to my five little ones who had to listen to the tirades of bitterness and He will ask me if it was worth it.  Between sobs I will ask for "F" week again - forgiveness.

Tip #19 - Deja Vu all over again

Poor little gas face

So mother bear went sprinting to the garage when I heard my little cub screaming my name.  He is bent over the lawnmower and I assume that some appendage has been removed or worse...not quite removed but dangling in place.  Much less serious but no less painful (at least I assume that from the wailing and thrashing that this boy is doing) he has splashed gasoline into his eyes.  I drag him into the house and dump his head under water and command him to continue in that way while I call poison control.  I am suddenly reminded of a very similar circumstance that was almost exactly this time 10 years ago.  This same child had had gasoline squirted into his face by a cousin the same age.  The two little 2yr-olds were having a great time using the ??squirt bottle filled with gasoline??? and my little guy happened to be the one that got it in the face.  He started screaming which drew our attention to the scene and the smell immediately let us know what we were dealing with.  As our first child I was, of course, calm as a breeze.  HAHAHA.  I dragged the child into the house and dumped his head under water and commanded him to continue in that way while I called poison control.  This was all very amusing to my dad and the cable guy who did their best to ignore us as I bulldozed through the cabin as they discussed whatever confounding dilemma stood between my dad and 50 channels.  (Mind you this was 10 years ago.)  It was hilarious now that I think about it.  Anyway, then as now, my son seems to have no lasting corneal damage and is right on schedule for sending me into mild panic.  Once every 10 years is just about right.

A cousin says sorry

Happier times!

Tip #18 - Just remember

As the wife of a Bishopric member I have the "opportunity" just about every week to be offended.  I do not take this opportunity.  Regular and I think sane people say the most irregular and insane things to me.  (I KNOW the Bishop's wife could go nuts about this subject.)  I usually halt all people when they begin any conversation with me by saying the following: "I think the Bishopric should..." or "I really disagreed with the Bishop when..." or "Do you think you could let your husband know that..." or "You must really have an in..." or "You probably already know this but...".  Actually I let that last one go because chances are I don't already know.  My LEAST favorite comment, because our Bishop travels quite a bit, is "Well your husband is the acting bishop."  No he is not.  Our good Bishop is not dead/translated.  He is not in some higher calling like the Stake Presidency or First Presidency.  sigh.  Well meaning but misplaced.  Some weeks are better than others and I sit in the congregation trying my best to keep five young children reasonably quiet while my good husband smiles helplessly from the front and I am comforted with two simple words - It's True.

Tip #17 - Know the worth of a soul

He insisted on the helmet.  We chose to think it looked sweet.

So, for "I" week (see previous post for explanation) we took the kids Ice Skating.  A bit on the nose I realize but I actually forgot we live outside of Indianapolis in Indiana.  I honestly did.  Anyway, we all suited up from big to little and headed down a set of stairs (yes the skate-puting-on-place was up the stairs from the actual ice) and threw our now screaming children onto a sheet of frozen water.  Did I mention that it was a surprise and until we arrived the kids didn't know this is where we were going and now they are screaming and clamoring for anything solid?  We finally coaxed 4 of the 5 children onto the ice and then I stepped onto the frozen sheet and had an epiphany.  If I fall then the chief cook and bottle washer is out of commission for an untold number of days.  Seriously, who is going to run the show if my hip/back/leg/neck is broken?  I have a small army counting on me not to be in bed/the hospital/traction.  My large hubby had the same epiphany just looking at the ice.  He walked to the entry way, pursed his lips, and let me know that he would be watching the baby while I took to the ice with the rest of them.  I did more wall hugging than kid watching and I am happy to say I never fell.  I teetered on more than one occasion but never fell.  Go me!  If you ever question your worth as a mother, try to do something death defying (like ice skating) and you will be suddenly and acutely aware of what you mean to yourself, your family and the world.  It's a good feeling.

They have skates this small!?!

Girlfriend rocked it!!

I didn't fall but this one did.  But he got right back up and skated on!!

Tip #16 - A house cleaning tidbit

Offending bran bit

I would LOVE to take a poll of mothers of young children and find out how many of them know how hard it is to get a Cheerio off of any surface after it has soaked in milk and dried there.  It honestly is cemented there and I think NASA could take some kind of lesson from the epoxy it forms to the counter.  In a non-scientific poll I have done on my own in mentioning this dilemma I received the following responses.  "I can't believe you admit to leaving it (the Cheerio) there that long" and "My kids don't eat cold cereal".  I guess I am not a normal mom, so here is what abnormal looks like.  Kids get cold cereal in the morning - anything I can dispense from a box as fast as humanly possible.  Anything spilled gets my attention after kids are away, fight is broken up, my bed is made, fight is broken up, laundry is started, dishwasher is loaded, fight is broken up, and shower is taken.  Often is the time that I meet the arriving school bus (bringing my underfed darlings home) in my PJs.  So needless to say I didn't get to the wipe it up part.  So now what.  How do you get the darn thing up?  You may be tempted to use a knife or other sharp implement, think chisel.  Do not do this!  Not because it may ruin your counter.  Not because you have no idea where to find or if your husband even has a chisel.  But because your children will see you do this and then there will be no end to the things they will attempt to chisel/knife.  Lay a wet rag over the offending oat chunk and in a bit (like maybe a few hours) it will wipe right up.  I will not tell you how long it took me to figure out this little tidbit, but again, I'm the abnormal mom.

Tip #15 - At least it's not curry

We had an especially rancorous with the boys.  Hubby finally left the house this morning with a carload of unhappy children.  As it was told to me later, it was the longest 8min. in history and he questioned the wisdom of continually driving them to school.  All children left the car unhappy, peevish (really just the 11yr-old was peevish, I think that's his job) and basically unprepared for the day.  My darling husband, after calming down wondered why after 8 years he didn't know how to remain calm, dispassionate and a peacemaker to a carload of boys.  I wonder the same thing everyday of my life: why after 11 years am I not the picture of calm.  I trade barbs with one or more children everyday.  Why can't I do this right?

After the school drop-off disaster, my good man went to drop off his dry cleaning.  His dry cleaners are a lovely India couple that he has gotten to know over the years.  (Over the years of me not willing to iron his shirts - another thing wrong with me I guess.)  This morning, mu hubby pointed out a blueberry stain that was sustained while he was eating a continental breakfast at the J.W. Marriott Resort and Spa in Palm Springs.  (My heart bleeds for him.)  Anyway, the cleaner said he would have no problem getting it out.  Blueberry?!?  Really?!?  According to him the thing that is hardest to get out is curry.  Whoda thunk?  I started thinking about our rough morning and wondered what lasting damage we might have inflicted and it occurred to me that somehow it will all come out.  We (meaning I) may throw a lot at our children.  Some because we are tired, frustrated, they need it or just because we love them so dang much.  But maybe it will all come out - just don't throw curry.