Motherhood

A Mom Heart, Her Pets, and Her Hero

Hey everybody.

We aren’t necessarily moving.
Sorry for the scare.
It’s just that LG is looking for a new job,
and that could bring a new residence.
Let’s face it,
the economy sucks.
And you have to go where the work is.
Today one of LG’s cousins said they were looking for a dog.
My mother in law so kindly offered up ours.
She knows I have been thinking about finding her a new home.
I have been stressed about finding a new place for her to live,
in case we have to move.
You know, I do that stress thing from time to time.
Why?
Because I am a mom.
That’s why.
And I have a mom heart.
I can’t help it.
And I want to make sure that all of my kids (and pets) are taken care of.
I take no child left behind to an all new level. It’s called no living thing left behind.
So, this cousin, who would provide Olive (our dog) with a wonderful home,
offered to take her on a trial basis.
My in-laws were pulling out of the drive-way,
and it was all up to me,
as to whether or not Olive was going to go along.
At least that is what LG said.
I started loving on the dog,
and I couldn’t keep the tears away.
My 12 year old Alice
who lost her best friend Major (a German Shepherd)
to the vet’s needle,
seemed to show her true self.
She screamed,
“Please don’t make me do this.”
It was decided to postpone the decision for now.
Relief washed over me,
and the 12 year old Alice
thanked me incessantly.
Once a mom decides to care for something as her own,
nobody should try to come between them.
Unless they want to watch the mom cry
for any amount of time.
The funny thing is that I have complained about this dog.
I have constantly complained.
I’m the only ones who feeds her.
Or takes her on walks.
I have to bathe her.
And cut her nails.
And get up with her in the night.
And I have to run after her when someone lets her out,
and she can run about 80 miles an hour.
Seriously.
From the get-go I took the majority of the responsibility for cleaning up her messes.
And it took about 6 months and ripped out carpet to properly house-train her.
But gosh danget…she is MY dog.
And I am not giving her away.
Because I promised to take care of her.
No matter what personal sacrifice I have to make.
And I love her.
And she loves me.
And my mom heart can’t handle abandoning her.
And just writing the word abandon makes me want to throw up.
A mother can never abandon her children or her dogs.
She will throw herself in front of the train if she has to.
And her reward at this very moment is a dog sprawled out on the rug looking up at her with loyal eyes and her cat sitting next to her arm that rests on the desk while typing.
And on lots of days, that is more than her kids ever offer her for all of her sacrifice.
So, after my in-laws drove away,
LG says to me,
“Alice, I just made an important decision. If we do have to move, we are just gonna have to find a place that will let us have the dog and the cat.”
“Why do you say that?” I question.
“You know why.”
I wrapped my arms around him and started to bawl.
I love that man.

The Snow Blues
After a month of almost consecutive snow days and Winter Break,
this mom is officially in Cabin Fever mode.
I even pulled out my old gowns as a new point of interest.

I have been in a foul mood.
I am not sure quite why.
It’s a combination of things, I am sure.
The lack of sunshine.
My house being at 60 degrees to conserve cash.
The cooking three meals a day,
EVERY day.
O.k. I’ll be honest:
no breakfast
just lunch dinner and the 4th meal.
The daily routine of
Wizards of Waverly Place, Hannah Montana, and Cake Boss
should be envious.
(And just for the rest of you moms who are trying to survive
with a Netflix membership
because the remote
to the digital converter went missing ages ago
and you don’t have any real T.V.
the last of those three shows is the winner of
Best Entertaining TV)
And there’s nothing like a really long
run-on sentence to express the true sentiment
of my last month.
I’ve been dreaming of going to Carlos’ Bakery
for a warm lobster tail or crumb cake.
Of course, in my dreams,
I am decked out fashionably
with my hair done, make-up on, and nails brightly painted.
I guess if my mind really had some imagination
I should have been wearing a Miley wig
and some Wizard glasses.
Because that is what the kids would find entertaining.
But, in my dreams,
I am all alone.
Go figure.
And then I sit to blog.
Because maybe it will help me find myself.
Or at least pull me out of this mood.
And I stumble upon this old photo:

and I remember how awesome my kids are.
And how fast they grow.
And then the smell of a poopy diaper
brings me back to my senses.
Just as Caroline goes flying off the bottom of treadmill.
And for the millionth time
with my kids
we laugh.
And I think
it’s too bad
their teachers don’t get to
see them at their best.
And I tell myself
to embrace these snow days.
Because even though the days go by so very slow.
The years fly by.
And, next winter,
if I am lucky
The Tennessee weather God
may bring no snow at all.
But of course,
by then I may be living in South Dakota.
And LG will still be saying,
“Oh, but this is still nothing
compared to the Winter of ’88.”
And I will no longer wonder how my mom survived
with seven children
because I will be longing
for my childhood
in
Southern California.
Where snow days
don’t exist.

By Their Fruits (or Gifts) Ye Shall Know Him

For the past year, I have prayed like never before. It has been the hardest year of my life.

Since I was 20, I have felt very secure in my choice of religion, but during the past year I have found myself questioning. I guess most people would if given my circumstances. I felt faithless and I have been ashamed of myself.

Nonetheless, I have persevered in prayer. I have remained obedient, even when I felt like my prayer wasn’t being answered. I kept asking God to reaffirm my faith. I love God with all my heart and I would never want to dishonor Him by following an untrue path. But, for months I felt like He wouldn’t answer my prayer. I wasn’t sure why.

The other night Sophia kept ringing a jingle bell and we asked her to stop because she was driving us crazy. She said ever so nonchalantly while ringing the bell to her own ear instead of ours, “What? I don’t hear anything. Remember, we don’t believe in Santa. This should not be annoying you.” Thank you Polar Express.

Well, lately, I have felt like a non-believer. No matter how much I wanted to hear the bell jingle, it just wasn’t working. Others will say that it’s not true because I have always believed, but really, I wasn’t hearing what I felt like I should be.

Well, tonight I wouldn’t be more convinced of an answer to prayer if God himself arrived on my doorstep.

It has been said that God does his mighty works through other people.
It has also been said that “by their fruits, ye shall know them.”

Well, this Christmas, the works have come. And they keep coming. I can’t make them stop.

We have had so many anonymous gifts left at our door, that I have completely lost track. We have also had friends who have tried to pretend that their kids just wanted to get our kids something for Christmas. We have had other friends bring stockings fully stuffed for every one of our children. Every gift has been equally thoughtful and equally appreciated. It has been totally humbling, yet wondrous to behold.

The climax of the giving came the other night when while one friend was making a delivery, another friend doorbell ditched with more gifts and a gift-card.

Tonight, was the clincher for me. Someone left us a bag of multiple gift cards and some treats. They left us $40 in Chuck E Cheese bucks, a $50 movie card, and $50 to our favorite local used book store. My kids were going absolutely nuts. It’s been a hard year for them too, and this was just too much at once. It was like Christmas wasn’t even big enough to contain their excitement.

I had to walk back out to the van to cry. I didn’t want my family to see me lose it.
And lose it, I did. I poured my heart out to God and thanked Him with all my might.

I thanked Him for His love, and for watching over us. I thanked Him to be surrounded by such wonderful friends. And I mostly thanked Him for finally giving me my answer.
If my church wasn’t true, why would the people I surround myself with have such wonderful works?

Now, I also know that I have some wonderful Non-Mormon friends who may have been part of this Gold Christmas miracle, and for them I am also grateful. But, tonight, while I read the card with the aforementioned gift, I knew God was telling me that He has let me struggle, so that He could show forth His power, which lies in the people’s hearts…His love is a living force for good.

And let me tell you something. That love and power is described as light because there is no other way to describe it. It’s warm. It’s invigorating. It’s mighty. It’s the giver of life. It’s all-encompassing. The only way to receive it, is to let it consume you.

And after the crappiest year ever, and the months and months of prayers of mighty supplication, I all of the sudden found myself surrounded by the light. In fact, I was the light. In every direction I looked, all I could see was good. All I could see was love. And all I could see was the face of God. With a smile. It seemed to say, “I’m so proud of you for sticking in there Alice. Now go to Chuck E Cheese and enjoy some downtime.”

Oh, and, “Be still and know that I am God.”

Christmas Pageants

Every Christmas I try to read
with my children.
It is one of my all time favorite books.
Of course it consists of two of my most favorite things:
laughter and the Savior of the world.
I have the book that my Aunt Shirley
gifted to my family one year.
I treasure it.
My Aunt Shirley loves literature like I do.
I want to grow up to be like her one day.
She writes better than me.
I am of the opinion that Christmas Pageants
should only be given by children or professionals.
A few years ago they had LG dress up like a wise man
and I just thought it was pure mockery.
Especially since they had him dressed in the costume
that was obviously meant for an African.
He was one big white African King.
Well, anyhow, somebody forwarded me an e-mail
with a funny little Christmas pageant tale.
It showcases WHY exactly children are the ones to give any pageant.
THE CHRISTMAS PAGEANT
My husband and I had been happily
married (most of the time)
for five years
but hadn’t been blessed with a baby.

I decided to do some serious
praying and promised God
that if he would give us a child,
I would be a perfect mother,
love it with all my heart
and raise it with His word
as my guide.

God answered my prayer s
and blessed us with a son.

The next year God blessed us
with another son.

The following year,
He blessed us with
yet another son.

The year after that we
were blessed with a daughter.

My husband thought we’d
been blessed right into poverty.
We now had four children,
and the oldest was only
four years old.

I learned never to ask God
for anything unless I meant it
As a minister once told me,
“If you pray for rain,
make sure you carry an umbrella.”

I began reading a few verses
of the Bible to the children
each day as they lay in their cribs.

I was off to a good start.
God had entrusted me
with four children a nd
I didn’t want to disappoint Him.

I tried to be patient the day
the children smashed
two dozen eggs on
the kitchen floor searching
for baby chicks.

I tried to be understanding…

when they started a hotel for
homeless frogs in the spare bedroom,
although it took me nearly two hours
to catch all twenty-three frogs.

When my daughter poured
ketchup all over herself and
rolled up in a blanket to see
how it felt to be a hot dog,
I tried to see the humor
rather than the mess.

In spite of changing over
twenty-five thousand diapers,
never eating a hot meal
and never sleeping for more
than thirty minutes at a time,
I still thank God daily for my children.

While I couldn’t keep my promise
to be a perfect mother –
I didn’t even come close…
I did keep my promise
to raise them in the Word of God.

I knew I was missing the mark
just a little when I told
my daughter we were going
to church to worship God,
and she wanted to bring
a bar of soap along to
“wash up” Jesus, too.

Something was lost
in the translation when
I explained that
God gave us everlasting life,
and my son thought it was
generous of God to give
us his “last wife.”

My proudest moment came
during the children’s
Christmas pageant.

My daughter was playing Mary,
two of my sons were shepherds
and my youngest son was a wise man.
This was their moment to shine.

My five-year-old shepherd
had practiced his line,
“We found the babe wrapped
in swaddling clothes.”

But he was nervous and said,
“The baby was wrapped
in wrinkled clothes.”

My four-year-old “Mary” said,
“That’s not ‘wrinkled clothes,’ silly.

That’s dirty, rotten clothes.”

A wrestling match broke out
between Mary and the shepherd
and was stopped by an angel,
who bent her halo and lost
her left wing.

I slouched a little lower
in my seat when Mary
dropped the doll representing
Baby Jesus, and it bounced
down the aisle crying,
“Mama-mama.”

Mary grabbed the doll,
wrapped it back up
and held it tightly as
the wise men arrived.

My other son stepped forward
wearing a bathrobe
and a paper crown,
knelt at the manger
and announced,
“We are the three wise men,
and we are bringing gifts
of gold,
common sense
 and fur.”

The congregation
dissolved into laughter,
and the pageant
got a standing ovation.

“I’ve never enjoyed a Christmas
program as much as this one,”
laughed the pastor ,
wiping tears from his eyes

“For the rest of my life,
I’ll never hear the
Christmas story without
thinking of
gold, common sense
and fur.”

“My children are my pride
and my joy and my greatest
blessing,” I said as I dug
through my purse for an aspirin..


Yesterday at church
It was also a heartwarming tale.
which supports my idea of
children being the best actors for a pageant.

I cried as Wally the innkeeper
felt compassion and interceded with
“Wait, you can have my room.”

This made me ponder on what I am willing to give.
Sometimes I don’t even think I am smart enough
to give up my own room;
even when I have promised to give everything.

I will end this Christmas post with
my favorite
Christmas poem.

In the Bleak Midwinter – Christina Rosetti 1872.

In the bleak mid-winter
Frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron,
Water like a stone;

Snow had fallen, snow on snow,
Snow on snow,
In the bleak mid-winter
Long ago.


Our God, Heaven cannot hold Him
Nor earth sustain;
Heaven and earth shall flee away
When He comes to reign:

In the bleak mid-winter
A stable-place sufficed
The Lord God Almighty,
Jesus Christ.


Enough for Him, whom cherubim
Worship night and day,
A breastful of milk
And a mangerful of hay;
Enough for Him, whom angels

Fall down before,
The ox and ass and camel
Which adore.

Angels and archangels
May have gathered there,
Cherubim and seraphim
Thronged the air,

But only His mother
In her maiden bliss,
Worshiped the Beloved
With a kiss.


What can I give Him,
Poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd
I would bring a lamb,
If I were a wise man
I would do my part,
Yet what I can I give Him,
Give my heart.

I hope that I can give Him my heart.
My whole heart.
Every day.
And be like Him.
More selfless.

I know
that
just how I enjoy
unexpected outcomes from
funny Christmas pageants,
He accepts
my best attempts at worship.
No matter how
unorthodox.
Or how
far from
perfection
they are.

Because the imperfect kind
are often the best
and most meaningful.

Lesson With a Flair

Abigail has been making dinner on Sunday nights.

I got really stressed about her learning to cook before she goes to college.
I am not sure why since that is at least 7 years away,
but it’s all good since it gets me out of dinner duty on Sunday.
Abigail loves to search the cookbooks for something.
She is completely opposite from me.
I like to cook the same thing over and over again
so I don’t have to refer to a recipe.
Anyway, last Sunday, Abigail found a recipe for
Chicken Catchatore. Or however you spell that.
I have never made it before, how would I know.
We decided to tweak the recipe a bit
because we don’t shop on Sunday
and we didn’t have all the required ingredients.
However we did have ginger.
Abigail wanted to add it.
LG kept saying to add more.
I told him that ginger is really strong
but he wanted more.
We ended up chopping and sauteeing
what Abigail calls
a whole leg of ginger.
About an eighth of a cup.
We fried it up with garlic and onion
and the diced tomatoes
and added some spinach
and then added the leftover Thanksgiving turkey.
And Abigail declared proudly to her sisters
that we would be eating
turkey catchatore with a flair.
I said, “One big flair of ginger,”
as I secretly added some brown sugar and milk
to lighten up the overwhelming ginger.
Abigail and Bella then got into it
about what kind of noodles were being served.
Abigail assured Bella that they were linguine.
Bella argued back, like she had some kind of authority in the matter
knowing full well that Abigail was
the one to fetch the noodles from the box.
Before I knew it, Abigail and Bella were having it out
about noodles.
I then hollered,
“Fine, you are both right
the noodles are NOT linguine,
from now on in our house
they will be called:
‘Love one Another, who gives a crap what kind of noodles they are’ “.
End of story.
As we ate Bella says,
“So we are having
Turkey Ginger Catchatore over ‘Love One Another, who gives a crap kind of noodles they are.”
And Sophia in typical Sophia fashion.
Always with perfect timing
and always keeping the peace
says “with a flair.”
So from now on, our noodles will remain nameless
(don’t they all taste the same anyway)
and anything that has ginger in it
will be with a flair.
And I call that one productive Sabbath.

Peace and Quiet

Tonight I am grateful for peace and quiet.

I am not sure what is making me so grateful.
It may be living 24 hours a day with a very hyper 17 month old.
Or the fact that I am now the mother of a teenager.
Or that I have a daughter exactly like me who could talk non-stop all day.
Or the cheers and incantations that my only quiet child has felt loyal to practicing.
Tonight, LG is getting a sleep study.
I can’t wait until he gets his C-pap machine.
There’s nothing like a c-pap’d husband that can make a woman feel old.
For some reason, that just made me think the man was getting his yearly vaginal exam.
What is that? Not c-pap. But some other form of pap.
So, tonight, I am grateful for peace and quiet.
Because it may not be too much longer that I will enjoy this luxury through the night.
(Insert the sound of c-pap)

But really, I have found serenity.
In peace and quiet.
And I long for it.
Even if I only get it for a few short hours during nap time and before I conk out in bed at night.

Mom’s Revenge
I’m 37 years old today,
and the last thing I want for my birthday
is cake.
Why, you ask?
Keep reading.


 
This morning I shopped at Food City
so that the school would get a portion of my sales
for new computers next year.
Even though I may have gotten what I needed cheaper elsewhere.
 
(For the sake of this story,
let’s just pretend I shopped at Food City
out of school pride,
and not because it is
the closest grocery store to my house.)
 
I bought frosting with Box Tops on them
even though they were 50 cents more
than the generic brand.
The frostings I bought were in special containers
that had TWO boxtops
each worth 25 cents for my school of choice.
And my kids get prizes
from the PTSO
if they turn in the most boxtops.
 
I then proceeded to make
TWENTY
cakes
for the second grade’s
cake walk
at the school’s
fall festival tonight.
 
In case you are wondering
what I did for the third grade,
I already bought
items for their
gift basket
auction
last week.
 
Coincidentally,
last week,
I also bought
the
sugar free
frosting
for the third graders
to decorate their
healthy rice krispy treats.
 
The sugar free kind is
mandated by the federal government,
who doesn’t seem to care if it cost me
a dollar more than the regular
kind with actual sugar.
 
Oh, and for the second grade
I bought frozen yogurt
(also mandated)
and it
cost me $2
more than
the ice-cream
I would have preferred to eat.
 
I am sure that my kids
will not come home
tonight
without one of my cakes.
I wonder how much that is gonna cost me?
Not to mention
how many songs I will have to endure
as they hope they
get picked.
1/20 chance.
 
“Teachers,
I made 20 of those cakes,
please take mercy on me
after ten tries.”
 
And
tonight
when I get a bite
of my own
homemade cake,
that ended up costing me
who knows how much,
and gave back to
the school
more than my tax dollars,
I will smile
because somehow I beat
the federal government,
and got a cake
full of sugar
from a public school.
 
I will also be smiling
because I will
be 100% certain
that I am an amazing mother.
 
If only I had some
regular ice-cream,
instead of leftover frozen yogurt.
 
Oh, and did you notice
the silly bandz
as part of the packaging?
 
HA!
Two can play at this game.
 
Even though my cakes might be
 
smaller,
yuckier,
and
cheaper to make
 
you know my cakes
are gonna be way more
desired tonight
than those store bought ones.
 
Thank you to the
founders
of Silly Bandz,
who have also taken
who knows how much
money
from me
in
the past year.
 
P.S. I wrote this post yesterday.
It only took $6
to win a cake.
And Bella chose
someone else’s
cupcakes.
And nobody was choosing mine.
 
So much for mom’s revenge.
But, I am still the best mom in the world.
Because it’s my birthday,
and guess what my girls did
this morning.
They let me sleep in
and they baked me a cake
for breakfast.

Stuck
This morning while trying to fold laundry
the baby was out of sight
for a few minutes.
She began hollering.
I ran to the rescue.
She had climbed onto the kitchen table.
My last post makes this story even funnier.
This morning someone had left the maple syrup
in the middle of the table.
Of course that is Caroline’s spot.
I assume she had climbed up to claim it back.
In her 16 month old mind
I guess she decided to take that syrup out.
Out of the bottle to be exact.
The table had a healthy layer of syrup
across it’s whole surface.
And of course Caroline
had it all over herself too.
She was hollering because she didn’t know
how to get out of the mess.
If she moved, she would stick in place.
I scooped her up and put her in the bathtub.
Clothes, shoes and all.
I’m experienced like that.
We got the job done.
Caroline was stick free.
The clothes were in the dirty laundry pile.
And the shoes were washed out.
The table was also scrubbed
to shine.
Now that Carline is down for a nap,
I’ve had a minute to reflect
on my relatively unproductive day.
About how this little incident
parallels my life right now.
I feel stuck in the middle
of a lot of sticky goo.
No matter where I choose to move to
or even if I choose to sit,
it’s still not fun.
And I want to holler out for help.
I wish someone would scoop
me up and throw me in the bath.
And then clean up all the messes.
And then I remember that I am 37 years old
in three days.
And no longer 16 months old.
And I have to find my own way
out of messes.
Even if I don’t like syrup
and would have never
spread it across my living space.
I need an
Aunt Jamima size miracle.
And I am sure that God will deliver.
Because I am his 16 month old
who cries out of help.
Even when I am 36 and 362 days.

My Baby Announcement

Caroline is gorgeous.
All my girls are gorgeous.
I think I may be done having children.
I am not sad.
If I had to be done at some point,
I am glad to make this sweet girl the baby in the family.
She is so perfect.
But I am not.
And I am tired.
And old.
And I am afraid if I have any more
they will be completely neglected.
Every time I turn around,
this baby is into something.
She climbs.
She climbs.
And climbs.
She thinks her spot in the family
is sitting in the exact center
of the kitchen table.
She will find a way to get there,
no matter how many chairs I overturn.
And no matter how many times
I tell her no.
She finds electronic gadgets
and tries to drop them as many times
as she can
before she is caught.
She has broken
2 cameras,
1 laptop,
and a remote control
is lost forever.
Probably in the garbage.
She is constantly dirty
because her mother is lackadaisical.
It’s a good thing
that babies
with food on their faces
are so cute.
The girl will find
anything
that is not to be found.
We have nailpolish on our wood floors.
We have markers on walls.
We have ripped homework.
We have chocolate stains.
And missing shoes.
And not a single chapstick
that hasn’t been eaten.
When the fridge is open
and she is standing by
she goes straight for the tobasco.
Go figure.
She likes to suck the bottle.
I better not have any more children
or they may be taken away
by the authorities.
Oh how I love this child.
She is perfect.
Perfectly energetic.
She is a rambunctious dancer.
She loves to dance.
She loves to sing.
She loves to try and repeat
anything we tell her.
She calls everything and everyone
Jesus.
Because she has a picture of Jesus
above her changing table
and we practice his name
every change.
She can also say stinky ka ka
very well.
She hates bugs.
Freaks out at bugs.
She is a loud child.
She screams like nobody’s business.
She loves our dog and cat.
She LOVES her sisters.
She loves books.
She will open any book she can find
and read it to you.
It’s amazing how many books
are about Jesus.
She is strong.
She can throw a tantrum
that scares her father
who is 285 pounds.
She has the most amazing
attention to detail.
She is always watching
everything.
She thinks every cell phone
on the earth
belongs to her.
To do with as she pleases.
It’s like she has a cell phone detector.
If she is in the same room,
the same house,
the same car,
or the same soccer field,
and you pull out a phone,
she will be there for the grab.
She always wants to play on the computer.
I really think she is trying to program.
No joke.
She has the mouse down.
And the keyboard.
She knows how to open and close windows.
Did I tell you that she is only
16 months old?
I love this child.
I love her
differently than my other kids.
I think it’s because
she is the baby
in the family.
Or maybe it’s because I am
almost 40.
Did I mention how
tired I am?
And old?