Motherhood

Better than a Church Sign.

I think:

“Goodie, I

have

successfully

brainwashed

children.”

And then I remember that it’s true.

Girls!

We are on the cusp of adolescence at our house. Joy. Poor LeGrand. He has been dealing with notes like this for years. Maybe it is time for his wife to grow up.

It was a rough day at our house yesterday. This is the note that I went to bed to find. Do you think that Abigail is sassy enough to be a teenager soon? Or maybe I need a parenting class?

Dear Mom,

I really need you to know this but you’ll yell at me if I tell it to you directly. You see, it feels like your giving less and less attention to me and the only way to get attention from you is to be a brat.

Also, If you could be less angry that would be great.

Also, I’m getting older, I can take more responsibilities, not like clean the whole family room responsibility, like babysitting, taking care of the baby, making dinner, stuff like that.

Also, I don’t know how, but somehow you can’t get it through your thick skull that we work better when it’s fun, to make it fun, you put on music, make it a game, stuff like that. I’d really appreciate the changes.

Sincerely,

Abigail

I am not sure if I should be proud that I have showed her how to express her feelings so well. Be astounded that she captured the first chapter of The Five Love Languages so insightfully, which teaches that people act badly to get attention. Maybe I could just be amused at the brattiness of “the thick skull”. Either way. I know I’ve got to work on my yelling more. And just so ya’ll don’t think that I am totally heartless, I will be having a chat with her.

Oh, it’s notes like these that make me so excited for my daughters to have children of their own. I am going to photo copy this and cross out her name and write in the name of her child at the bottom and mail it to her someday. I can’t wait.

I was considering writing her a note back and leaving it on her pillow tonight.

It would go something like this:

Dear Abigail,

I really need you to know this but you’ll yell at me if I tell it to you directly. You see, it feels like your giving less and less attention to me and the only way to get attention from you is to be a brat.

Also, If you could be less angry that would be great.

Also, you’re getting older, you can take on more responsibilities, like cleaning the whole family room, AND babysitting, taking care of the baby, making dinner,and a lot of other stuff like that.

Also, I don’t know how, but somehow you can’t get it through your thick skull that I work better when it’s fun, to make it fun, you put on music, make it a game, stuff like that. I’d really appreciate the changes.

Sincerely,

Mom

P.S. I love you and your sassiness and I think you are going to write a great college entrance exam someday and I am WAYYY looking forward to it.

Yes, there is a Santa Claus

After a recent depressing blog post,

I received an outpouring of love.

It was truly a miracle.

A Christmas miracle.

I had tried not to talk about our deplorable situation.

I didn’t want to be needy.

Or ungrateful.

I also didn’t want to make my husband feel bad.

Because he has been busting his tail.

But when one is building his own business straight out of college,

it is rough. Really rough.

And even rougher when you have a family to support.

This has been the worst fiscal year of our lives.

And that says a lot.

Because you all know we were in law school with three kids.

And we lived on less than $18,000 a year.

For those who aren’t Mormon.

You gotta know that Mormons keep a supply of food for emergencies.

Months back, we lived on that food for the first time in our married lives.

After months of living like this, I finally fell apart on my blog.

I threw it out there.

And I only threw a small portion

of the load that I had been carrying.

As to not make anyone feel bad.

Especially my husband.

Who I honor, respect, and admire.

Shortly after I threw it out there,

Miracles started to happen.

(LG sarcastically remarked that I should have begged on the blog earlier,

like when the kids needed shoes for school.)

I can’t even think about some of them without crying.

For instance,

A friend I haven’t spoken to in years called and asked what she could buy my girls for Christmas.

She had read the blog and felt inspired.

I am deeply grateful for all of the little miracles in 2009.

God has been good to us.

But one miracle in particular,

deserves a special mention.

A special mention

because

I met the wife of Santa Claus

when she found my blog years ago.

I would have never known Santa Claus without the blog.

Did you know that Santa really lives in Nevada?

Last week I got an e-mail from him.

The message line.

Yes, Abigail, Sophia, Bella, Caroline..there is a Santa Claus.

Along with it there was a notice to pick up a trampoline at our local Wal-Mart.

Santa’s wife had read my blog.

She notified her kind and generous husband of a Christmas need.

It wasn’t really a need, but a want.

A want on the Christmas list.

A want that some down and destitute parents could have never fulfilled.

And they would have never asked for help.

Because it was just a want.

And their kids had what they needed.

And the kids had become very aware that the basic necessities of life were blessing enough.

They could ask Santa for some amazing gift,

but he probably would be too busy helping some even more destitute kids in Africa.

But guess what?

Santa wasn’t too busy.

And on one day of the year,

nothing was too much to want.

Because on one day of the year.

Miracles happen.

And some precious little girls in Knoxville, TN got a trampoline.

Even when their parents had told them repeatedly

that Santa had kids to feed in Africa.

And would probably be too busy.

And one very little blogger.

with a very small readership.

Got her Christmas miracle too.

Santa Claus read her blog.

And on Christmas Day,

he made her husband smile.

Really smile.

And that is all she wanted.

And she had wanted that for a very long time.

Ever since last Christmas.

But she thought Santa was too busy in Africa.

But, Santa was in Nevada.

And he not only read my blog.

But he made miracles happen at my house.

That is so like him.

I heard this song on the radio the evening of Christmas.

I bawled my eyes out.

That evening my prayer went something like this:

Give Santa a halo for me, will ya?

Oh, and send his wife a big fat kiss.

Uranus and UP

Here is Abigail trying to make Caroline smile.

I know I’ve blessed my children’s lives eternally by gifting them my sense of humor. I know they are happy about it. I know because I hear their laughter on a consistent basis.

I am not so sure that their posterity will be so grateful, but if my theory that laughter is genetic is true, then I am sure they will be.

This evening, I pulled out one of Abigail’s graded papers from her backpack.

As I read, my funny bone was struck like a beautiful chord.

I had to call LG at work to beam with pride.

Me: “LG, you gotta listen to this.”

LG: After my third attempt “Alice, I can’t understand a word you are saying, you gotta quit laughing.”

Me: “Abigail brought this paper home. She turned it in this way. I can’t stop laughing. At the top it is entitled Uranus. (oh c’mon, tell me some of you immature types are already laughing – LG was still silent) It then reads. ‘The planet I was assigned was Uranus, now, don’t laugh, Uranus actually has some interesting facts.’“

LG: “Alice, it’s not funny, she is just saying it is an interesting planet.” (Yeah, of course he would think that. She gets the scientific side from him)

I was out to prove that she gets a little DNA from me too. I hollered out to Abigail. “Why did you say not to laugh in this paper Abigail. Was it because it’s a small planet?

Abigail: trying to be serious “No, mom, it’s just because the name sounds funny.”

Me: “Why does it sound funny Abigail. I know you are too smart for that. Do you know what an anus is?”

LG on the other line is denying that she would know any such thing. At which point Abigail busts out in laughter. “Yeah, mom, an anus is the hole in your bum.”

That’s my girl!

The conversation finished by me using every ounce of self control to stop laughing and discussing LG’s further plans for the evening. He said, “If basketball is lame, maybe I will stop by Redbox on the way home.”

Me: “Yeah, that would be fun. Instead of Redbox, we could just watch U – P (spelling out the name of the movie so the kids wouldn’t catch on to a future Christmas gift.)

LG responds to my fits of laughter with, “What are you talking about Alice?” I reply while trying to breathe instead of laugh, “I said we could watch YOU PEE.” LG was still clueless. I had to explain that I was spelling the movie title at which point he gave me a sad sounding chuckle.

C’mon people. Tell me you laughed.

Mom’s Search For Meaning

I spend about 83.2% of my time looking for stuff.

And, no, this is NO exaggeration.

There are things that just have to be found: the best deal at the stores, shoes, pacifiers, whatever it is that is causing that stench under the back seat of my minivan. (and boy that’s a squeeze for these hips that have birthed four children). Ticks. (We’ve got a lot of those in the South) Where is that darn coupon? I filed it right here! Oh, and the library books…oh those library books. They never go away, except when they are due and can’t be renewed.

The list goes on. Which can of tomato soup is the oldest? Where in the world is that bill that needs to be paid. (He didn’t follow the system of what basket it goes in…you ladies know what I am talking about.) “Oh, yes, kids, I know exactly where that missing game piece is.”

There are the more complex things to look for. The homework that somehow didn’t make it back in the backpack. The bra with just the right amount of padding for a ten year old. The stuff at the pharmacy that will magically cure my husband of his snore before he goes to Scout Camp.

The other night brought a fun challenge. “Mom, do you remember that paper that my teacher sent home on the first day of school? It has my log in and password for the website on it. I need it. My teacher says it will be a pain to look up my number. He can look it up if you can’t find the paper, but it will be a pain.” (Um, what about me here? Seriously? Are you kidding me? That was what? 5, 6 weeks ago?) “Yes honey, I would love to spend the next 1/2 hour searching. It’s my favorite thing to do. You know I love to find things.” Lucky for me I keep most papers that look remotely important. Unlucky for me, we had put this paper in the girls keepsake tote not my pile to be filed. There went another hour to tack onto my fake time clock. Man, if I could just punch in and out. I would ask for minimum wage. No one could afford to pay me a higher salary.

Then there are the most important Mom searches. The ones with meaning. Are those lying eyes? What does that smirk on his face mean? Is that a tear rolling down my daughter’s cheek? Or is that not a tear when there should be one? Where is she hiding and why is she hiding? Why is this one crying and the other one hiding?

How about the searches we like to avoid? Am I doing a good enough job here? Have I got through to my children in the areas of the utmost importance? Do they know I love them? Do they know they are of infinite worth? Do they know that they can accomplish their goals? Do they have goals? Do they believe in what is right? Have I been a good example? Do my kids know I would do anything for them? That I will always be here for them? Will they tell me when they are in trouble?

I love it when the searches are for fun random items. Just this week, I have looked for light sabers at least 20 times. They needed them to read their library books before bed.

Trust me when I say we can do this all night.

Once in a lifetime, as a mother, you find the best find ever. The other night it came out of Sophia’s journal. It would have been so much sweeter if I hadn’t just got onto the girls about keeping track of their “own crap” (in my exact words). It may not have meant as much if my frustration hadn’t mounted.

If you can’t read the photo, it says:

“My hero is: mommy. Because: she can find anything.”

Needless to say, I think I will be spending that 83.2% of my time with a smile on my face and love in my heart. I’m a hero now. It makes my searching so much more enjoyable.

Now, I am off to find the baby. Where did I leave her?
Oh, and the cat. Can’t lock up without her inside.

Propaganda I agree with

I was one of “those”parents. I wrote to the principal to see what the school was doing about Obama brainwashing our kids. I was happy to find out that the school administrators had decided to leave it up to the individual teachers as to whether or not they would air Obama’s speech today.

I was happy until I read the script last night. In Tennessee, it’s a 50/50 shot at whether or not the teacher likes Obama. I knew most of my kids probably would NOT hear this today. And I was right. Not one of their teachers showed Obama’s speech in class today. And I so wish that they did. It inspired me as I read it last night. It made me want to go back to school.

And just for the record. I think that propaganda is perfectly acceptable as long as I agree with it. 🙂 Go ahead, all you Conservative freaks….hang me. I can’t wait to hear what you possibly found wrong with this speech. Bring it on. I’m waiting for some juicy comments.

Every single one of you has something you’re good at. Every single one
of you has something to offer. And you have a responsibility to yourself to
discover what that is. That’s the opportunity an education can
provide.

Where you are right now doesn’t have to determine where you’ll end
up. No one’s written your destiny for you. Here in America, you write
your own destiny. You make your own future.

No one’s born being good at things, you become good at things through hard
work. You’re not a varsity athlete the first time you play a new
sport. You don’t hit every note the first time you sing a song. You’ve
got to practice. It’s the same with your schoolwork. You might have to
do a math problem a few times before you get it right, or read something a few
times before you understand it, or do a few drafts of a paper before it’s good
enough to hand in.

Don’t be afraid to ask questions. Don’t be afraid to ask for help
when you need it. I do that every day. Asking for help isn’t a sign of
weakness, it’s a sign of strength. It shows you have the courage to admit
when you don’t know something, and to learn something new. So find an adult
you trust – a parent, grandparent or teacher; a coach or counselor – and ask
them to help you stay on track to meet your goals.

And even when you’re struggling, even when you’re discouraged, and you
feel like other people have given up on you – don’t ever give up on
yourself. Because when you give up on yourself, you give up on your
country.

I think I named her perfectly.

The name Sophia means wise. My 2nd daughter seemed wise to me from the moment I laid eyes on her. She is so innocent, she exudes wisdom without even trying.

Here is one of her recent stories. I found it jotted down on a folded up piece of paper. She loves to draw and write. I hope she grows up to be a famous author/illustrator. Or a non-famous one. Either way she’ll be o.k. with it. Keep reading and you will see why.

On the top fold of this little homemade book it has the book’s title: “The Small Prisus.” That’s “The Small Princess” for those of you that don’t speak childrenese. O.k. I admit it, maybe her wisdom could be spread to the spelling department someday. (Oh I better not forget to spellcheck this post)

Here is the story:

“Once upon a time there was a prisus (at least she misspells consistently) in a
far away kingdom Pompae. (She got the place from The Magic Treehouse, I am sure) She had a small kingdom.”

And the last line….the clencher.

“She was o.k. with that.”

Don’t you wish we could all be so wise?

It’s all how you look at it.

Caroline is 4 weeks already. I can’t believe it.

Here was my mommy conversation with my 7 year old the other day.

Sophia: “Mom, Caroline is so so smart.”

Me: “I know, all my girls are smart. Why do you think she is smart?”

Sophia: “Oh it’s so easy. She already learned how to cross her eyes. It took me forever to learn how to do that.”

All of my older girls have been in heaven for the past week while Uncle Jordan’s family has been visiting. There is a younger kid around for each of them to have one to themselves at all times.

facebook

My brother Adam has been guilting me about it for over a year.

I had been a member about four years ago, but it was back in prehistoric times and wasn’t that exciting when it only included a couple of moms from church. (no offense to you moms)

So, I got a rare e-mail from a high school friend Shelly. She just had her first baby.

I wanted to comment on cute little Carlos. No, I NEEDED to comment. He is adorable and this mom HAD to tell that mom.

The next thing I know, I am SUCKED in. I mean, like I have been at my computer for two days straight. It’s a really good thing that I have a newborn to blame for my inproductivity! (Sorry honey…no dinner again…she’s just been so fussy all day)

Besides getting a sweet message from my first kiss, (If you are reading, you made my hubby cringe with your sweetness) (And LG, you know, I only have eyes for you!) I found another awesome find today.

BreezyMama

It’s a blog by two friends from High School. I loved this post by Chelsea about the Current Top 10 kids books. You all know how I love to read. And Where The Wild Things is my favorite of all time.

And on a sidenote. It’s amazing how after almost 20 years, you can still share so much in common with classmates. Does this sentence from their “about” page not just sound like I could have written it:

“They love being a mom but have no problem admitting it’s hard.”