The Dad Life

Just Ask Alice – Inception (Spanking)
Dana and I go way back. All the way back to California in the 80’s, where she thought I was the coolest girl at camp and decided she wanted to be just like me when she grew up. She has done pretty well with that, except to really pass the Alice look alike test I think she will have to put on a few pounds. Like 100 or so.
A few years ago, Dana and I were shocked to run into each other, after 20 years, at church in Atlanta, where we thought it odd that we both had three children (I believe all of hers were girls) and attorney husbands.

Here is a link to her website, where you will see that she is a talented photographer. I  love her style. You can also like her on facebook. And even though her photography is the bomb, let me tell you that Dana is a hoot. I would pay her to take my picture just because I know she could get a real smile out of me. She may not even have to say anything. Just looking at her makes me laugh. She has the vibe.
Dana came up with the idea for Just Ask Alice.
She said she thinks I could give good advice. Little does she know that I have spent my whole adult life-hood learning how to keep my opinions and advice to myself. Or maybe she does know that (or even relates) but she is flattering me and laughing behind my back as she sends me to my own destruction.
But, I like the idea of having things to write about. Things that interest my readers.
Great picture to go with spanking, eh? It was Dana’s idea.
Did I tell you how much I LOVE her photography?
And her sense of humor?

Dana’s question that I will answer:

How do you feel about spanking?
Don’t do it. Unless it’s for your husband. My husband deserves a bunch of spankings right now, but it’s all good cause he likes being spanked.
But really, while raising four children, I have come to realize that spanking is absolutely ineffective.

To show you the proof: My mom used to line us up as kids and spank us with wooden spoons. It didn’t have ANY, not one iota of influence on our behavior, except for making us laugh. And see how I turned out? Good argument, eh?

My mom was a successful spanker. Why? Because she never spanked out of anger. She slapped me as a teenager out of anger, but that wasn’t the question. And in her defense, I pretty much deserved it.

We quit spanking when our oldest was about three, at about the same time we got rid of the pacifier. And while I am writing this, I am realizing that I think there was a connection between the two. Once she was free of the paci and could talk back a whole lot more, I found myself getting more and more out of control with my anger and the more I spanked the more she acted aggressively.

I’ve heard that some children respond to spanking better, but I think I can honestly say that I have many different personalities represented by my children, my siblings, nieces and nephews, and friends’ children and none need to be spanked.

I know I know. Spare the rod, spoil the child. God never said the rod had to come in the form of spanking. We prefer the punishment techniques of withdrawal, torture, humiliation, and time-out.

Keep posted for our children’s future blogs where they discuss all they overcame in therapy.

What’s your take on the subject? Maybe you actually have something smart to say?

Leave me a question for a future Just Ask Alice and I will give you a shout out with the answer.

How to dress up like a cow
We recently took a trip to Chick-Fil-A
for some free chicken.

All you had to do was dress up like a cow.

It was in this setting that I realized,

that moms can try as hard as they want:
they can make costumes
and help coordinate efforts

but, they can
never
even
try to
replace
dad.

LG is such a good sport.
Or he really just likes free chicken.
Nobody got his costume.
Except for this other dad,
standing close by
in his sissy
jersey spots.
He let out a good manly chuckle
at the sight of LeGrand,
being the man that he is.
I think he is going to rethink
his costume next year.
I wonder how many men
will show up as bulls
next time?
But, remember,
you saw it here first.
LeGrand needs all the manly points
he can get
in this household
full of women.
Like our 4 daughters
always say,
“even our cat and dog
are girls.”

Wishful Thinking

Happy Birthday Big Guy.
I wish we could stay in bed all day.
And do nothing.
Or something.
But instead we will be
getting Caroline tubes in her ears,
closing your practice,
searching for a new job,
taking kids back to school shopping,
paying bills,
cleaning house,
and
working on church callings.
All of which will require us to get out of bed
VERY EARLY.
I’m so glad I married a morning person.
One of these days,
let’s get out of bed early,
and go somewhere
where we can stay in bed all day.

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.

Dad’s Money
A few weeks back Bella accompanied me to the bank. It was a wondrous experience for her as she had never been to Daddy’s work bank before.
We stood in the line for the teller.
Bella asked me about my little deposit bag. I explained to her that this was daddy’s bank for work
and that I had to give the bank the money that dad had earned.
She asked me how much money daddy had in the bank. I told her that it wasn’t very much, but that this deposit would give him more money.
She exclaimed to me and the three people behind us in line:
“Maybe we should go to daddy’s work and get his money.
Daddy has a lot of money at work.”
I was perplexed.
I then rememebered that we have been trying to teach Bella about coins. Daddy had given her free reign in his change drawer a few days before. She loved counting all those pennies. I guess I had better go and rescue the change from the office, now that you all know where mu hugely successful lawyer keeps his big bucks.

LeGrand’s the man
…yep, he really is the man.
And should I mention that he’s been quite lonely lately.
If any of you have been feeling lonely too, this link is just for you.
(Thanks for the laughs Kristen. I just love ya.)
And if you can’t relate, or even think that this is at least 50% true,
you have no business being my friend,
or you just aren’t pregnant enough.
I will feel better any day.
It’s the 12 week mark.
Yahoo.
Hopefully, I will find some blog time,
just as soon as I get my house back in order.

It was red.

It was red. It was perfect. And the story goes something like this:

The anticipation of Mother’s Day was slowly putting my husband over the edge. How the man ever buys a satisfactory gift for me with all that intense pressure, I will never know.

On Saturday morning I chuckled inside as he begrudgingly announced that he had some business to tend to and would be home shortly. As he dragged himself out the door, I hollered out, for the twentieth time that week, my short list of things that he could buy for me. I try to help him out like that. That’s what mothers are supposed to do and I wouldn’t want to shirk my responsibility so close to the holiday, would I?

Less than ten minutes later, he walked in with a good size box under arm. It was all wrapped up. What in the world? He confessed; he had gone to work to pick up the gift that he had really purchased several weeks back. He had been acting worried for two weeks just to increase the surprise.

I gasped for air. Had he really bought me a gift two weeks in advance? I must be getting more special by the minute. Or was I just better looking when I was 8 months pregnant with number three? He never buys Christmas gifts until Christmas Eve; he learned quickly to put off the torture as long as possible. Wow. I couldn’t have been more speechless if I had won the Grammy for mothering.

I was in a trance. I sat and I unwrapped. I felt like the luckiest mother alive. And let’s keep this between me and you, I was taking my time because I was a bit worried about what he may have picked out all on his own. Ideas were flowing freely into my skeptical brain. What if it was horrid? How would I play it off? The worry lasted for just a second. The picture on the box stole away all of my spousal anxiety and mistrust.

My jaw dropped. If the box was correct, he had purchased my coveted Kitchen Aid mixer. I can’t even tell you how many times it was on the long list of gifts to buy! It was the gift at the bottom for another day when we had more funding. It was a gift of such magnitude that it was never on the list that I typically yelled to him while he stomped out the door. How could he have remembered?

When I started to tear up, it was a little more emotion than he was ready for. He quickly explained, “I hope this gift lasts you for the next three years because you probably won’t be getting anything else for a while.” We would all become law school orphans soon enough.

The gift couldn’t have been any more phenomenal. Except maybe if it was a new couch. That is still on the long list. I tore into the box; I couldn’t wait to make some homemade rolls; I would finally be free of the torturous duty of kneading. I made a vow, the man would never hear me complain again.

But, wait! What color is that? It’s not the same as the picture on the box? It’s not the plain old white model. Oh my goodness. Oh my goodness. My eyes did not deceive me. My man had given me the moon and the stars just as promised in those old fairytales. My new mixer was a mixer with a purpose; it made a statement as grand as mine.

My new mixer was the color of my personality. My new mixer was my favorite color that I had never dared to declare. It was red. It was perfect. It was the color that I always described like this, “I don’t have a favorite color. I love them all. How could anyone declare a favorite color? All of the colors are beautiful in their own way. Oh, if I had to choose one? Well, I really do love the color red. It would be at the top of my list.”

I am sure that LG has given me great Mother’s Day gifts over the last ten years, but I can’t for the life of me, think of one. How could he top perfection? And not because it was from the long list, but because it was red. He had chosen my favorite color. And it was beautiful. And if his 8 month pregnant wife wasn’t beautiful, you could have never convinced her of it. Her husband had reached perfection in the gift giving department. And he did it just for her.

And I am now proud to exclaim my favorite color. When people ask, “What’s your favorite color?” I proudly reply. “It’s red. My husband chose it for me. It was a mixer. It was red. It was perfect.”

Now honey, don’t be getting any crazy ideas. A red couch would simply not do the trick for my upcoming birthday. Please keep the couch at the bottom of the long list and don’t EVER try to pick me out a couch, o.k.? Really, I want a say in the couch department. I am serious.

Oh, and I love you. And, I love red. And, I love my red mixer. But, I won’t love a red couch. Got that?

I will be submitting this to Scribbit’s September Write Away Contest. Just for fun. And as my way of saying thanks for the topic.

Rules, rules, and more rules.
As you all know, I am blessed with three beautiful daughters. What you don’t know is that these girls are almost perfect in every way. I’m not trying to brag. I just speak the truth.

Look at this, even their profiles are perfect.
What a great Mother’s Day gift from the primary, huh?

People notice the goodness of my children and they are always asking me, “Why are they so good? What are your tricks? What are your rules?” I could write a book, really, but wish to share a really good trick here. Rules have to be easily maintained.



First, I have to give credit to the kids, God sent us the best.


Second, I think LG and I learned early that following through is very important in discipline. If you do lay down a rule, you must follow through with enforcing it.


Third, we give our kids room to just be. Therefore, in return, they give us room to just be.


These three “tricks” go together. First, you have to believe, truly believe with everything you are that your children are great, and that they want to be great. This ideal in your children really affects your attitudes when parenting.


Second, you have to be in charge. You can’t let your kids run the roost. They need leadership. They are just waiting to be taught the consequences of their actions. You must follow through so that they understand that there are real and consistent consequences. Lord of the Flies taught me this in 9th grade.


Third, and this is a very important key. You have to give enough room to your children, and more importantly to YOU, so that following through is actually do-able. If you have so many rules, being in charge is way too hard. And NOT fun! And nobody wants a mom or dad who is always nagging them. Look at the federal government. They are a prime example of screwing things up with too many restrictions to enforce.

I am not going to take credit for my parenting wisdom. I got my parenting style from my parents. They had seven kids. People with lots of kids usually adapt to a “survival” method of parenting. I think that this “survival” method is best. Do ONLY what is absolutely necessary.


The words of a surviving friend to her children suit this style perfectly, ” I am on the phone, come and get me ONLY if someone is bleeding or the house is on fire.”


LeGrand and I were laughing at ourselves the other day. Whenever we have a higher maintenance kid visit, we are always relieved to see them go back home. For the most part our girls are so easy and don’t require much but the food I prepare and a good hug from time to time. We just don’t “get” kids who want to be constantly in our face. They exhaust us.


Yes, we know, we’ve raised our kids to be low maintenance. We aren’t sure if it is a good thing. Not that we are going to change it. We like our kids the way that they are. They make our life easy. Someday because of our parenting style we may be able to handle some more, and make them low maintenance kids too. We pray for that.


Some of you may think that this sounds heartless. I can hear you now, “What kind of mother are you? You don’t want to interact with your kids?” You may think that we are horrible parents who don’t spend time with our kids. You are dead wrong. We still spend a lot of time with them.


Our time is quality though and it is full of great conversations, laughing, learning, fun, and love. Quantity is important and I think too many parents justify their own absence by saying “When you have quality time, you don’t need as much quantity.” But, this justification will be used by me only in reference to the energy that is passed between my children and I. When I don’t have to spend my whole day breaking up fights, telling my kids what to do, or disciplining them for what rule they broke, my time is freed up for such better interactions.


We have very little negative interaction. Most of our communication is positive. Our children are independent. They are problem solvers. They work out a lot on their own. They are confident. They are also creative.


Here is some food art that they come up with. It’s a pond with goldfish, and yes, they ate every one. Some of those freaky moms out there would be upset by something like this. There were only compliments from this mother, “Wow you guys, that is pretty cool. Let me take a picture.” “Ahh mom, why do you have to put everything on your blog?”

I was just reading this and it got me thinking about what Do NOT’s I have as a mother.


How do my do not’s affect my kids.


A friend and I were talking the other day. She has a rule that her children like to break, “Thou shalt not play in my room.” Where seems to be the favorite place for her kids to play? Her bedroom, of course.


I’ve been pondering, “What are my rules?” Do my kids like to break them?
I have come to the conclusion that I don’t have very many, therefore they don’t need to break them.


Some of the only ones that I can think of are:


No screaming unless you are being kidnapped.
No eating after you brush your teeth at night.
If I count, you better come. (and they always do to the total delight of any onlooker)

Here is what hangs on our fridge. These rules are all it takes at our house.

Sophia added the last one all by herself.
We aren’t sure when she did it. She didn’t have to tell us. She was happy to let us find her addition on our own time. (It goes back to that giving each other space thing)
And, she’s right. When you only have seven written rules, and three unwritten ones it’s easy for everyone to be happy.

“A man is rich in proportion to the number of things he can afford to let alone.” ~Henry David Thoreau