Motherhood

The Mom Test

It’s 12:50 a.m.

Because I am a mom

this is how I spent the last

15 minutes of my life.

I was in a dream

and then there appeared

Sophia

my 11 year old

at the side of my bed.

I opened my eyes

because

she was covered in

florescent paint

and saying

something

that

I couldn’t quite understand.

She called to me

and so I knew

it was important

but I couldn’t

get a handle of what

was happening

in my dream

until I let it

“Mom, I just puked.”

I wasn’t dreaming.

I flew out of bed

using the wings

that God installed

just for moments

like these.

If I would have looked

back I would

realize that

my partner in crime

couldn’t help it

that God didn’t

make him for this job

and that is why

he hadn’t moved

an inch

or an eyelid.

Before I knew it

I had stripped

down every inch

of that top bunk.

Of course

it was the top.

And of course

I needed those wings

so as not to

wake the one

sleeping on the bottom.

No need to mention

the smell or color

of the foulness

or how it sloshed

from pillow

to sheet

to comforter.

I looked down at my

daughter

to see her

use the trashcan

I had somehow provided

before flying into action

on the bedding.

The florescent

colors were gone now.

I blinked to make sure.

Before I could get my bearings

I started to remake the bed

and then thought to ask

“Sophia,

do you want to sleep on the couch?”

The answer came quietly,

“Yes mom, that’s a good idea

but I have all this gross stuff

all over me.”

“Is it just on your shirt?”

“I got a little on my cast,

and it’s all in my hair.”

In to the bathroom

we flew.

I cleaned

off her arm cast

(and chuckled

at the thought

of the flu

and a broken arm

at the same time)

with a Clorox wipe

in between

the heaves into the toilet.

I applied

the two plastic

bags and rubber bands

that I had so

neatly stored

under the bathroom sink

yesterday.

I then turned her around

and stripped her down.

She’s at a private age.

11 is tricky.

Somehow I was

instinctual enough

to just know

to have her step into the

shower before removing

her soiled clothes.

“Sophia,

did you start your period, too?”

As in,

on top of

the broken bone

and puking.

She looked at me confused.

“Or did you

just poop your pants?”

She sheepishly answered

that she thought

that wasn’t her period.

I plugged

the tub

and started the warm water.

Then I gathered the

dirty clothes

and the dirty linens

and headed to the laundry room.

I got the worst

loaded into the washer

and realized that the 13 year old

never started her laundry

like her told her to

before heading to work

this afternoon

or yesterday afternoon,

depending on the time.

Thank goodness

for adolescent

irresponsibility.

I grabbed

an extra blanket

and headed back upstairs

to the couch

where I found an

almost empty roll

of duct tape

which someone

had not put away.

The item that

had been alluding

my memory

for the past two days

came to me.

Compound W

needed to be added to

the grocery list.

Baby Caroline’s

wart must be attended to.

Compound W

combined with

duct tape

is the best

antidote

for warts.

I actually

learned that

before I had

kids

if you don’t

count the hubby

and his massive

wart on his right knee

that I cured

shortly after marriage.

I washed and rinsed her hair.

twice.

And handed her

some soap

to take care

of the backside.

I held up her right arm

wrapped in plastic.

Placing back the soap

I told her to rinse with water.

I took care of the towel

which I had given her to rest

her broken arm on.

I guess the ledge on the tub

wasn’t big enough,

it was floating at her feet.

I ran (I mean flew)

into her room

and grabbed her

comfy shorts,

undies,

t-shirt,

and a cami

because times like

these are too harsh for bras

(even if she does

normally wear hers to bed)

and she will appreciate

the extra layer

of support.

How do I know?

Because I am a mom.

And I always pass the test

even when I am failing.

Here I sit

watching, typing,

shaking my head in disbelief,

not even longing

for sleep to come back to me.

Because I am a mom.

And I am always on duty.

Always.

Notice her favorite

scooby doo blankie?

I made it for her

when she was seven

and without even realizing it

I had grabbed it off

the couch downstairs

while fetching

the other warmer

blanket

just

before flying

back upstairs

30 minutes ago.

Just say no to mom jousting.

I recently read this blog post
after it was shared several times
by my friends on facebook.
Rage Against the minivan wrote it.
Can I rage against the minivan too
even if I drive one?

This is my two cents today.
Parents don’t have to tell other parents
what to do or not to do.
Parents have to grow a backbone
and tell their kids to NOT expect something
just because other kids have it.
This is the problem with our society in general.
Parents are all competing
instead of supporting each other.

Sometimes (actually all the time)
we just need to check out of the
Mormon mommy blogger culture.

“Oh, you throw huge themed parties for your kids,
well my kids must have that too.”

You read 10 books every night.
You always have ironed clothes.
You have sterile bathrooms.
All your clothes are from Matilda Jane.
You have an elf on the shelf.
You have a 5 course meal every night?
Your kids are each in a music lesson, a sport, and a cultural extra-curricular…
and you have 10 boys and 5 girls?
You have a leprechaun that shows up for Christmas?

Do you see how it can become a really huge problem
when you try to do everything like everyone else?

No. No. No.
That’s all it takes.

And guess what?
Your kids don’t care.

Or they may care
and then when you say no
they’ll figure it out for themselves.

Case in point.

This is Bella
pretending to be
a leprechaun
for Saint Patrick’s Day.
She thought that
Caroline deserved some fun
that we didn’t want to provide.

Momming

Did you know that there

are college degrees

in family science?

I never got it when I was younger.

Why would anyone

go to all that school

just to learn how to

be married and have a family?

Can’t anyone do that?

Doesn’t everyone do that?

I felt that those who majored

in family studies

were just doing so

because they wanted

an easy Bachelor’s Degree.

Or they were looking

to build a resume

for their future spouse.

“Look at me,

I want to

spend eternity

in your kitchen.”

The older I get,

and the more I attend

marriage counseling,

I am grateful for

the other suckers who

went through all the work

to help me to figure

out the complicated

parts that I never

understood back then.

And honestly: still don’t.

But,

just like everyone else,

sometimes,

I get it right,

without any studying at all.

Sometimes I get it right

out of sure dedication

and practice.

In the kitchen,

I need no therapy.

I am the boss.

In one small area

I’ve got the momming down

to a science.

I’m a PHDmf.

People Hone Down

(my food)

Here is a photo

for evidence.

Tuesday afternoon

this is what my kitchen counter looked like

right before I headed

out to my real job.

(ha ha – we all know

momming is my real job)

white chicken chili, homemade bread,

and after-school cookies

Let me brag for a moment.

Just the other day,

while we were on our way to soccer

Abigail received a text

from a charming young man

with whom we attend church.

We had taken his family

some cookies the day before.

He said,

and I quote,

“I would marry you

just so I could get your mom

in the deal.”

Fist pumps were had

all around.

This little exchange

made my day.

Add to the fact

that Abigail’s boy buddy

at school

(who has learned to cook

out of sheer desperation

because his mom doesn’t)

calls me

“the regular Rachel Ray.”

And

The neighborhood

adolescents’ each have

their own

favorites of mine

whether it be

pumpkin bread,

rolls,

cinnamon rolls,

chocolate chip cookies,

cake pops,

homemade bread,

pizelles,

or pizza.

Yeah I screw up

in the momming

Newga

This little lion has been with Caroline from birth.

It was a baby shower gift.

Thanks Aimee!!

Caroline named her

sometime in her first year.

Her name is

New-Gu

or Newga.

Every night before this sleeping angel goes to sleep

we have a routine.

We go potty, change into clean panties and p.j.’s, and read three books.

We then give each other big kisses

and I say,

“I love you the mostest.”

She then repeats it back to me

anywhere between 5 and 10 times.

Then I pull out Newga

(the last step til sleep)

and proceed to shower Caroline

with kisses from her favorite lion pal.

Caroline always tells Newga to “Stop it Newga”

while trying to hide under her covers.

Newga promises to behave,

Caroline comes out

and gives her a kiss

and then shares with lioness

her favorite pink blankie.

As I walk out of the room

I say

“Goodnight Caroline.
Goodnight Newga.”

Thank you to

Ms. Sunshine

(the pre-school teacher)

for a very permanent reminder

of how powerfully

this nightly ritual

speaks love

into Caroline’s heart.

Caroline brought this home on Valentine’s Day.

I am so glad Ms. Sunshine

wrote down exactly what

Caroline told her

even if she had no idea

what she was talking about.

We all knew

exactly who Caroline

loves.

I am so grateful to God

for giving me Caroline.

She is spoiled rotten.

We all love her so much.

Thank you God for Caroline

and for Newga

as a nightly reminder of

how blessed I am

to love and be loved.

I need a mom.

I am sure you have all noticed my lack of posts this week
because I know you all come here every day with super high hopes
because I am the world’s most amazing blogger.

O.k. o.k. I’m not, I know.
I may not be the world’s best blogger
and I am most certainly not the world’s best mom,
but guess what I am all they’ve got.
They’ll get over it eventually,
after some good therapy
that I will hold off on as long as possible
so they have to pay for it themselves.
I mean really
if the choice is between therapy
and cold cereal,
I am pretty sure the shredded mini wheats
or the more appreciated at the moment.

What am I good for anyway?
I’ll tell you what.

I always throw away the empty bottles in the shower.
I always make sure that everyone is fed.
I always make sure everyone has clean clothes.
I am always the first one to hand over the trashcan when someone is sick.
I buy all the food.
I buy all the toiletries.
O.k LG buys it, but I purchase it,
and you all know that it’s not the easiest task
to keep household items in stock.

We never (I mean NEVER) run out of toilet paper.
(O.k. we do all the time in our bathroom where
at least a roll a day escapes through the floor vent
and can never seem to replace itself. This always seems to happen
when I am done with my after-run #2. I always get a little mournful when I notice that once again I am up sheeshcreek – and my husband has absolutely nothing to do with the disappearing TP or the empty dispenser and it really isn’t his fault that he’s at work when I am the most in need. I love bargaining with a three year old ever so carefully to bring me a roll of the most necessary item in the hygienist’s closet that is missing from MY bathroom!)
But it is never missing from the house all together,
and that is totally because I am awesome.

Caroline came home from pre-school today highly disappointed. She has been talking about kangaroo zoo for a month and they finally got to go today but after playing on the blow-up bouncy toys for the hour with her class, she turned to her teacher, and said, “This isn’t a kangaroo zoo. There aren’t any kangaroos.” She was so totally bummed.

I brought her home and gave her cheetos and an orange and then bought her some bubble gum.

I got dinner ready, cleaned the house, showered off my running filfth, and even had two minutes to spare to write this post before running off to work for the fourth night in a row. When I come home tonight too tired to even check my facebook, I will realize for the hundreth time

that I need my own mom.
Every mom needs a mom.
It’s too bad mine lives in kangaroo zoo.

Utah style Sugar Cookies

Here is my Valentine’s gift

to the rest of you

that I don’t sleep with.

I wish I could send you a warm cookie

through my Ethernet cable,

but since we haven’t figured that one out yet,

I’ll give you my recipe.

I call these

Loralee’s Sugar Cookies

(I got the recipe from my boss

twenty years ago

Her name was Loralee.

Go figure.)

This recipe makes about 60 medium size cookies

so be sure you have some plates ready to share

with neighbors

or make them on the day you are running a marathon.

1 1/3 cup shortening

1 1/2 cup sugar

4 eggs

1/2 cup milk

2 tsp vanilla

5 cups flour

3/4 tsp salt

6 tsp. baking powder

Cream together the shortening and sugar.

Add eggs, milk, and vanilla.

Sift in the flour, salt, and baking powder at the same time

Mix.

The real trick with these is to let them be a little sticky.

Don’t think you need to add more flour.

Refrigerate the dough for about an hour.

Then the next trick is to roll them out thin.

No more than 1/4″ thick,

like pie dough.

They will puff up a bit

in the oven.

Bake at 350 degrees

on the middle rack.

for 8-10 minutes.

In my current oven 9 minutes

was the magic number.

Let cool.

Frost with

Buttercream Frosting

2 sticks (1 cup) unsalted butter – partially melted

4 – 5 cups powdered sugar

2.5 teaspoons pure vanilla extract

2-3 Tablespoons of milk or cream

(for you cheapos out there

like my mom,

you have to buy the real vanilla

and the real butter

it makes all the difference

I get mine at Costco)

Enjoy.

The Monster

Our baby monster is growing up way too fast.
This seems like a lifetime ago.

Mini-Me Bella

I recently wrote about Abigail and Sophia.
I always write about Caroline.
Well, today it is Bella’s turn.
She’s a mini-me.
Just look at the picture above
and tell me that
she isn’t a me.
Funny girl.
In the middle of it all.
Just like her momma.
The life of the party.

Sometimes I look at her in
pride and admiration
and wonder why I don’t
recognize her
strong personality traits
in myself and pat myself
on the back.

Other times
I shake my head
in shame
knowing she’s
going to experience
the same life frustrations
as I have.
I wonder if I made her the way
that she is
or if God just sent her
to me so I could have better
glimpses of myself.

I’ll start with the things I love about Bella.

Bella is thoughtful.
She is very aware of the people around her
and their feelings.
This probably stems from her own
deep feelings and sensitivity.
Of course I automatically
go to a bad place when recognizing this.
I’m sensitive too
and it gets overwhelming at times,
but really it’s a spiritual gift to be aware
of possibilities for despair in others
and to know the importance of love and support.

Bella just came home with the school
award for
dependability.
Remember a few weeks ago
Sophia was awarded with love.
I am amazed at how astute
the girls’ teachers are
in pinpointing their character traits.
Bella is dependable.
She is extremely capable.
She is a lot like me in this way.
She puts all her energy into
what she wants to accomplish.
She looks for ways to help others.
She takes pride in her accomplishments.
You can count on Bella.
She is extremely responsible.

Once again I see the downside in this
because of my own hang-ups.
I know a lot of my dependability
stems from my need to
prove myself
and I wish that I didn’t have to struggle with that.

I love watching LeGrand with Bella.
When she is having her stubborn moments
and I just can’t handle it
because I am even more stubborn than her,
LeGrand will go in and lay with her in her bed
and talk her down.
It melts my heart.
He’s her soothing balm,
and mine too.

We have four kids,
so it’s impossible to have a middle child
but if we had to choose between
Sophia and Bella,
Bella would have to be the middle.
She has middle-child syndrome.
The reason is probably because ever since
she was born,
life has been stressful.
She was born one month
before we trecked across
the country
to law-school
and has always known
poverty (until recently).
She was the youngest of 3 kids
under 5
and her mom
was always had-it.
(This is also my life story)
When Bella was 6,
Caroline was born.
She was old enough to
note when she went
from baby to
somewhere in the middle.

Bella is creative.
She loves to write and draw.
She loves to create stories
and she will read them aloud
constantly.
Again, like her mom,
it’s as though she feels
things by analyzing
other people’s experiences with them.
This is very intriguing to me.
She’s a kinsthetic learner.

Unlike me,
Bella is really good at math.
She loves math.
Also unlike me,
Bella hates spelling..
Reading is not her favorite thing
but she has grown to like it.

Like me,
Bella can talk your ear off.
Unlike me,
Bella can also listen.

Like me Bella
loves her sweets.
Unlike me,
she is a picky eater.

Also unlike me,
Bella really isn’t
in to sports.
We are hoping she might really enjoy
softball this Spring
when she plays with just the girls.
Her t-ball experience wasn’t the greatest.
Impressive though is the fact that
in our family Bella has the most
sports’ experience.
She has tried
basketball, t-ball, football,
swimming, dancing, and soccer.
Like her mom,
maybe she is destined
to become
a
jack of all trades
but master of none.

Bella loves to bake.
She is a master baker.
She wants to own her own bakery
when she grows up.

She is proud of the fact
that at 8 years old
she had saved enough money
to buy her own laptop.
The other night she told me
that she would
save enough money to buy her own car
and her own bakery.
I hope she does.
Bella is fiercely independent.
Just like her mom.

Unlike me,
she is great at saving money.
I guess she does
get some things from her dad.
Although for the life
of me I can’t think
of any other paternal comparisons right now.

Bella is insightful
and spiritual.
She recently wrote
her own primary talk
that brought the room to tears.
I wish I could do that.

Like me,
Bella is stubborn.
She’s impatient.
She constantly fights her
desire to be in charge.
She would get
at least 50%
queen executive
if she took the
archetype me test.
She loves to plan parties
and she can carry them out
on her own.
Unlike me,
she’s very aware
of her pride and bossiness
at an early age
and to her credit
she works on collaborating
and humility.

Bella loves music.
She recently volunteered
to sing a solo at church.
She refused to let me
help her practice.
Like I said
she’s a mini-me.

And I love her.

Silly

Sometimes life just calls for some silliness.
We all get way too serious.
I hope that when I die
my kids will remember
that their mom liked to have a good time.

I love to remember that about my parents.
No one loves a good water fight better
than my mom and dad.
They are known for even breaking them
out in the middle of dinner.

One time they got so
competitive
that my mom ended up
in the emergency room.
She had slipped and fell
and hit her head
on some bricks.
They had a hard
time convincing
the doc
that my dad
wasn’t a wife-beater.

Just a week before
my nephew Braxton
died
a bunch of us
were at my parent’s house.
Mom did her thing
and bought all kinds of
balls, silly string, hula-hoops,
and fun things
for the kids and adults alike.
I am so glad I have those memories

This photo of LG is pretty awesome.

of Braxton giggling and having fun.

Go to your local dollar store
and buy some silly string.
Store it away where the kids
won’t find it.

Pull it out the next time
life gets tense.
You’ll see why silly
is so vital
in all of our lives.
Your problems will melt away.

These photos were taken on Christmas Day.
Uncle Logan and Aunt Jill
were here too
but they don’t like to be photographed.

Notice the covered bigscreen
and non-covered picture frames.
One minute of silly
is worth 5 minutes of clean-up.

Perhaps though my favorite
time of the day
was right before
the silly string fight commenced.
I found Abigail in her room
all dressed up in camoflauge
ready for the war.
It’s moments like these
that I feel validated

in the fact
that I am teaching
my kids a little good.

PepTalk

Thanks to the kid-president
for my pep-talk today.
I needed this.
Just two days ago I vowed to myself
to stay off facebook this week,
but right now I am really glad
that my self-will is weak
so that I could find this
in my hour of need.
Whenever I need a pep-talk
the most, it’s always out there for me to find.

For the past week,
I’ve been venturing back
into the college world.
My meeting with my
English Department counselor
was discouraging.
I have to retake the ACT,
which scares this girl
with an extreme case of math/science
aversion to DEATH.
It’s not like I did so smoking hot
the first time
and it is like I’ve been out of
school for 10 years.
Who knew an ACT expired?
Yes, I am that old.

To add an extra measure
of anxiety,
the aforementioned meeting
with the counselor
ran a little late
making me 10 minutes
late to pick up Caroline
from pre-school.
I had to use some of
my very protected blogging money
to buy the pre-school teacher
a gift-card to go along
with my begging for forgiveness.

You see, she had loaded up Caroline
in her car so she could
take her daughter to kindergarten
as I was that late.
Lucky for me
our vans converged at the
end of her street
and I was able to fetch Caroline
before she was whisked away
from my knowledge.
Whereas my total nervous
breakdown was avoided by a hair,
but left me second guessing
my decision to go back to college.
How can a mom of 4
ever pull this off?
Really it seems impossible.
It seems too insane to even attempt.
My plates are already overflowing
like thanksgiving at 2 p.m.
Do I really want to add pie
before I’ve had time
for the rest to digest?

But the kid president came to my rescue.
For which I am grateful.
I can do this.
Yes I can.
I’m gonna dance myself
all the way through
to that very coveted Bachelor Degree.
Or at least pretend
it’s dancing
when it really will be me
running around
like a chicken with my head cut off.
Come to think of it,
that’s kind of what my dancing looks like
anyways
might as well get something for it.