The Gold Family

My kind of Craft Project and Chore Chart
I am NOT crafty.
That is not a confession,
like the kind you have to hide in a closet,
but a declaration of this is part of who I am.
More power to those of you who are crafty and take joy in it.
I would rather buy your stuff than attempt it myself.
Because I am a shopper.
Shopping is a talent I like to spend my time working at.
I’ts also something that I have learned how to curb.

You see, God made everyone different.
It’s o.k. that I am not crafty.
It’s o.k. that I don’t want to spend my time
trying to be like most of the other moms I know.
It’s o.k. that I would rather spend my time
reading and writing and bargain shopping.
It’s o.k. that I don’t care if my girls hair is perfection.
And that I don’t even like those horrible
crazy HUGE bows on the modern babies’ heads.
It’s o.k. that my house is simple.
That I don’t need a showroom
for my friends.
It’s o.k. It’s o.k. It’s o.k.

I recently came across a friend’s cool craft project.
It involves a T-shirt and a can of spray paint.
It’s my kind of project.
I am going to try it.
But, I will probably never post a picture of it.
Because that’s just not who I am.
I would rather blog about my
thoughts, opinions, ideas, and funny stories.

Go over and check out how to do it at Jennifer’s blog.
She’s most definitely a crafty.
In fact her mom tried to teach me how to sew once.
It was a disaster.
The only way my ugly skirt got done
was because my sister took pity on my
and finished it after she got done with hers.
We were 14 and 16,
and she was and still is a million times craftier.

And to add to that
Here is an example of the simplicity I prefer.
It’s our chore chart.

I will show you how to make your own
if you are craft challenged.
Like me.

This system made it through the whole summer,
and is still in full swing
into the first week of school.
I’m very proud.
Not of its gorgeous display,
or the effective system,
but I am proud of the fact
that I pulled out
the electrical tape,
crayons,
scissors,
paper,
contact paper,
and magnets,
and my kids made it for me.

The kids were crossing their weekly jobs out
with a dry erase marker
as they get them done.
Now, we just know when they’ve got them done.
The sooner the better.

Each of the girls were assigned a row.
Oldest to youngest.
And there is even a spot for Caroline.
Because we are putting her to work
as soon as possible.
Trust me,
the older girls
can’t wait to pawn stuff off on her.

And they each have three columns.
One for everyday jobs.
And a column of weekly jobs.
Because Excel spreadsheets,
I can reinvent.
We rotate the dailies on a weekly basis.
And they get to choose their own weeklies.
First come, first serve.
They love the grab.
And the competition.
We’ve initiated the concept
in family scripture study too.
Scripture chase:
Old Testament.
Go.
Proverbs 3:5-6
They are memorizing the
scripture songs
so they can get faster.
Watch out seminary kids.
The Gold Girls are in the house.

The last column is completely unrelated.
They are not rewarded any longer for chores.
They are expected to comply.
They don’t get allowance.
But, they do get warm fuzzies
for good behavior.
Kind of like
dad gets warm fuzzies from mama
for bringing home the bacon.

The black circles are worth 1 warm fuzzy.
The yellow are worth 2 and a treat at the store.
The red are worth 3 and a rented Redbox.
The blues are the biggest hit.
They are worth 10 and a date with mom, dad, or a friend.
The green are worth 20 or $5.
They haven’t learned to save up yet.
They like instant gratification.
In the form of candy and movies.
Lucky for dad.

The term warm fuzzy was coined
by my first grade teacher.
And you will hear me use it as a threat often.
“Go take two warm fuzzies for hitting your sister.”
But hopefully, more often than threatening,
you will hear me rewarding:
“Everyone gets three warm fuzzies
for being so helpful today.”

It’s on the fridge,
like every other important thing in my life.

And did I mention?
That it’s been working
at my house
for three months!!!

Kids doing chores = one very happy uncrafty mom.

One last sidenote:
At church the other day,
a teacher was explaining to me that
in his training he has learned
that you don’t want to divide and conquer your kids.
For example,
“Look at Bella, she is such a good cleaner.”

I am trying to figure out a way that I can
make this system
more of a Harry Potter style.
Where
everyone
gains
and
loses
together.
I am thinking that may
unify the girls
a little bit more.
Go Griffendor Gold Girls.

Only Sophia

A little while back Sophia had some fun by saying that if she would have gotten her middle finger cut off she would have to say “give me four” when wanting a high five for the rest of her life.
 
I recently came across this picture, and wanted to share the funny story.
 
Raising Sophia is so much fun. She is hilarious. She is smart. She is beautiful. She is SWEET. And she is also blonde. Very blonde.
 
A few years back, as we were visiting my in-laws, for some reason, LeGrand and the girls and I ended up driving to church in Grammy’s van. Aunt Michelle was with us. Halfway to church, Sophia starts screaming from the back. We, being the experienced parents that we were, told her to knock it off. Michelle attentively found out what was going on. She calmly declared, “Her finger is stuck in the seatbelt.”
 
“Well pull it out”, I say. “It won’t come out”, Michelle says. Sophia is now crying with full force, which is slightly louder than a whimper. I forgot to tell you the girl is quiet. And although she has mostly outgrown it, she used to be terribly shy. I climb in the back of the van to take care of whatever it was that 22 year old Michelle couldn’t.
 
I was in for the shock of my life. HER FINGER WAS STUCK IN THE SEATBELT. What the heck? How did this happen? Sophia explained that she was just trying it on for size. You know, like a ring. What?.. had she worked her way up to the middle finger from the pinky? Well, she found the finger that it WOULDN’T fit. The middle finger was painfully and obviously TOO BIG. Honda Odyssey engineers must not have thought this one through. 3 year old stuck in a van + an empty middle seatbelt = an ultimate disaster.
 
I still thought I may be able to rectify things. I asked Michelle to hand me the A&D Ointment out of the diaper bag while thinking “thank goodness I still have one in diapers.” I slathered it good. The finger would still not budge. It wanted to keep that seatbelt on for the showing I guess. Sophia started really screaming good. I pulled hard to no avail. That thing, that ring, um, I mean that seatbelt was not coming off, and her finger was now swelling up good. The seatbelt started cutting into her skin.
 
By this time, we pulled into the church parking lot. LeGrand got in the back of the van to assess the damage. He calmly asked Michelle to go into the church building to get his dad. Papa came out and was astonished. Remember he is an engineer and he raised five kids….one of which, was Jordan. (a whole other story – one bragging rite was rescuing Jordan vs a hot water heater and although the hot water heater tried to shock Jordan to death, Jordan still won) Who would have guessed this could ever happen? Not any of us if we weren’t staring at it with our own eyes.
 
We decided I should try and get some ice from the church to see if we could get the swelling down. At this point, Sophia is resigned to be stuck in this van for a very long time. At least she had stopped screaming. The ice didn’t work. At all. It may have cooled her off a little but, that was about it. The only other thing we could think to do was call the fire department. I went in and found a NON EMERGENCY number and called. They questioned, “Her finger is stuck in the seatbelt?” “Yes”, I said, “but it is so much worse than that.” “We can’t get her out of the car.” With my brief explanation and their utter curiosity they said they would send someone out.
 
Meanwhile, we solicited the help from a prison doctor who happened to be attending church. He tried the trick of wrapping the string around the finger. It wasn’t even close to working. I guess it works on real rings…just not the steel kind. People from the earlier congregation start filling the parking lot as they were leaving. They looked over casually wondering what all these people were doing standing in the back of a van. It was July. It was hot. All of the sudden, you can hear the sirens. They are screaming from down the street and they are traveling fast. Could they possibly be for our Sophia? Why yes. They were.
 
First, the firetruck arrived. In LeGrand’s words, “Three big old firemen” all decked out in their flame resistant uniforms went to work. They assessed the situation and found a perfectly happy and shy little girl confined to a life in the backseat of a mini-van via seatbelt confusion. The confusion being theirs. They called the fire chief. He had to come and see for himself. Shortly after he arrived and checked things out for himself he said he had been the fire chief for thirty years and had never seen anything like this. Well there’s really no other way to celebrate America on the weekend of Independence Day, is there? The irony – no freedom to be found without the jaws of life.
 
Well, before they went as drastic as the jaws of life they decided that they would consult with their buddies, the paramedics. The paramedics offered nothing, except for some real eye candy for the people leaving church. We had a lot of gawkers. Not to blame them. How could they not wonder what was going on?A little girl in the back of a van. Emergency workers each taking turns checking out the situation. An array of emergency vehicles, inlcuding, but not limited to: a firetruck (with lights and sirens), an ambulance, a couple of police cars, and the truck of the fire chief.
 
Oh yeah, after putting all their heads together, what did they come up with? They were gonna have to cut her out. That was all they could do. They cut her out of the seatbelt and gave us their best advice, “Head on over to the emergency room to see if they can figure out some way to remove the metal from her hand”. “Oh, and tell your other kids not to play with the seat-belts in the future.” “Why thank you. Thank you so much.”
 
LG, Sophia, my father in law(Duane), and I head on over to the emergency room. We get to start it all over again. At the front desk. “Hi.” “hi.” “How can we help you?” We all look totally fine and we are dressed to the nines compared to the rest of the room because our Sunday worshop was apparently happening on their floor of the hospital. LeGrand starts to explain, “This is our daughter Sophia, she got her finger stuck in the seatbelt.” Blank stare. Me: “let me show you.” I held up her hand to the receptionist who immediately dropped her jaw in astonishment.
 
This exact scenario happened at least 20 more times while visiting the hospital. We finally just started throwing her hand into the faces of the medical gawkers. Everyone wanted to see what a finger looked like on a little girl who stuck it in a seatbelt. Nurses, doctors, janitors, desk workers, x-ray technicians. You name it. None of the emergency room docs knew what to do either. They tried the string trick, ice, but gave up shortly before the second round of A&D ointment.
 
It all ended with a visit from the orthopedic surgeon who declared, “we are going to have to do surgery with our diamond saw.” Are you kidding me?
 
As he started to explain that he was pretty steady with the saw, but there were still all kind of tragic possibilities including the loss of a finger, I quickly reminded him that LG was in law school and he better not screw up. He didn’t appreciate that. I started crying and begging him to not cut her finger off. He assured me that if he did cut it off, he would be able to most possibly successfully reattach it.
 
That was the longest hour of my life. The surgeon did a great job. I never did tell him that LeGrand wouldn’t have sued him even if he cut her whole hand off. I was so relieved that she was all in one piece.
 
Today, Sophia is really proud of two things. One- she was in a movie and two – she has a beautiful and modern ring that is an original. (I haven’t had the heart to tell her that has probably happened to someone else out there in this big world) The ring is cut into two pieces in her box of keepsakes and she is free to try it on whenever she feels a hankering. We figured that would be the surest way of keeping her away from the same exact seatbelts in our current van.
 
I wish I could have been at the Honda Dealership when my father in law was explaining the situation. He had to pull out a picture of WHY the fire department had actually cut the seatbelt out of the van. “She got her finger stuck in the seatbelt” just wasn’t cutting it.
 
Our hats go off to Honda who has a lifetime free replacement for their seatbelts. Maybe one of these days they will call to let our children safety test their vans. I am sure there are other possible disastrous scenarios that their engineers haven’t thought of. Adding a blonde child to their team could only help their safety regulations. I know four children that could give them a run for their money, as long as they won’t lose any fingers.
Adding this video in on 1/24/2014 for your reference to the string trick mentioned.

Proud Mothering Moments

When I was a young mother,
I screwed up all the time.
I would like to think that I screwed up
then more often than I do now.
I laugh as new mothers ask me
how I do so well with 4 children.
I laugh because they don’t believe me
when I tell them that there’s a learning curve.
To prove my point, here’s a great story.
One time, LG and I went shopping with Abigail.
Remember, we only had ONE child.
Maybe two, I can’t remember if Sophia was born yet.
We went to Utah’s finest hub for young poor college families:
The Wal-Mart in Orem, UT.
Abigail started whining that she needed
to go to the bathroom.
We cut our shopping short,
and checked out quickly.
LG was assigned to take the things to the car.
And, I took Abigail to the bathroom at the front of the store.
I took her in a stall and got her situated.
When all of the sudden,
a wave of “I need to relieve myself too”
washed over me.
I told Abigail to stay in her stall
and that I was going to run into the stall next to her.
I talked to her as I ran over and the whole time
I was doing my business.
In the middle of this, I see her feet hit the floor.
I adamantly encourage her to wait for me.
I tell her to sit back down.
She took a step.
I tell her to stand still.
She keeps walking.
I see her feet run out of her stall.
I don’t know if she can hear me.
I start raising my voice.
“Abigail, Abigail, mommy is right here.”
“Abigail, come here.”
I notice that she left her pants and her underwear
on the floor of her stall.
I hurry and pull my pants up.
And run.
I don’t even think I flushed the toilet.
Gross.
By the time I got to her,
she had walked out of the store.
With no pants on.
So much for Code Adam.
So much for Wal-Mart greeters
watching for suspicious activity.
And so much for me being
a natural at raising kids from my first.
And I have never EVER tried to go to the bathroom
at the same time as one of my toddlers
ever since that horrifying day at Wal-Mart
back in 2000 or 2001.
And one lesson, after another, and another,
has made me into the amazing mother
that I am today.
And lucky for me,
none of the rest of my lessons,
consisted of me
running after a naked child
in the parking lot
of Wal-Mart.
Did I mention that she had pooped
and hadn’t been wiped?
And the same goes for me.

Meet Piggy Piggy.

My kids crack me up.

Here is an overheard conversation today.
Abigail questioned me, “Mom, if we got a pig, do you think it would eat bacon?”
Sophia almost under her breathe, “That’s just wrong.”
Why is that so funny to me?
Maybe it’s the fact that Sophia knows that bacon is from a slaughtered pig.
Or maybe because she so matter of factly protested.
Either way, I am still laughing.

I AM BECAUSE


I want to start a revolution.

I want I AM_______BECAUSE_____ to become commonplace.
Forget “hello” or “how are you doing” or “I am fine”.
I want friends and family to start using I AM __________ BECAUSE _________ in our everyday interactions. Especially the people at my house.
Why? Because I need to know how people feel without reading their minds. I need for the people around me to identify their feelings because I love them and I want them to be happy. And we can’t turn our frowns upside down if we don’t acknowledge that we are walking around with a frown in the first place. We also can’t rejoice together if nobody ever communicates their triumphs or happiness.
So, I will go first. And then you can try. My goal is to have slightly more positive things to say than negative. Because I am a realist and I am not ready to completely ignore the negative quite yet.
I AM proud of this “I am” idea BECAUSE it is simple and I think in all it’s simplicity, it could make a profound impact on the amount of therapy my family needs.
I AM Alice Gold BECAUSE I married LeGrand Gold and I couldn’t wait to take his name.
I AM not going to be buying any Arbonne from Sarah BECAUSE I cannot afford it.
I AM somewhat frustrated today BECAUSE no matter how much things change, so many things stay the same, especially the ones I want changed.
I AM grateful for my friends BECAUSE they put up with my tendency to overshare, but I stand by my philosophy that it is better to overshare than undershare.
I AM worried BECAUSE my 5th grader is going to middle school next year and those kids at orientation today were looking kind of scary.
I AM hoping for a break from my baby BECAUSE I am over it today.
I AM mostly happy BECAUSE I am trying really hard to look for the positive.
I AM ignoring life with this blog post BECAUSE I am trying to avoid the things that make me feel crazy, depressed, or unloved.

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.

He’s an adjective.
He’s doting
Me: “C’mon girls, help me come up with adjectives for dad.”
Girls: “O.k.”
Abigail says, “Ooo ooo, I got it. Ah man, the word is on the tip of my tongue.”
Me: “What does the word describe?”
Abigail: “You know, stuffing your face with hotdogs.”
Me: “Gluttonous”
Abigail: “What does gluttonous mean?”
Me: (referring to the dictionary)
“One who eats too much.”
Abigail: “Yeah, that’s the word.”
I was thinking more along the lines of outdoorsy,
but I guess gluttonous will do.
(Thanks for all the campfires LG…
and the hotdogs)

Abigail: “Electronic – ee”


Sophia says “Happy”


Sophia says, “Sporty”
How about retired? (from coaching that is)
This man has seen enough pink soccer balls to last a lifetime.
Abigail says, “Seriously.”

Bella: “Too much cents.”
Or maybe she meant “too much sense.”
Either works.

Abigail says, “Like father, like daughter.”
(You have to understand that Bella is the chip connoisseur at our house)


Bella: “Love- ish”
Me: “You mean loving?”
Bella: “Yeah.”

Metrosexual.
(The kids all look at me in awe because I just said the word sex)
Beachy?
Sophia agrees.


Engaged.
(The kids are losing interest in my game)

Interested.
Abigail wants to prove that she isn’t losing interest.
She says that this should be
“O.k. Bella, o.k., I heard you the first time.”

Abigail says, “Freakishly weird.”
I was thinking more along the lines of
Cooperative.


He’s the leader, but that’s not an adjective.

How about trusted?

Tender.


Abigail says, “Focused.”
Accurate.


Cuddly.

Picture perfect.
This one is for Cally because she said that Conan was perfect
and I don’t want LG to be outdone.


I say sensitive.
Abigail says “Sensitive Four Eyes.”


Abigail says, “French…or not.”
“His name is French.”
She must be listening.
How many times have I said it?
“His name is LeGrand, it’s French, it means The Big.”
Or the best interpretation: “The Big and the Mighty.”


And lastly,
Completely unique, never to be duplicated, and certainly not cloned.

I love you LeGrand.
Words just don’t do justice in telling how wonderful you are as a father.
Apparently, pictures don’t do it either.
Sorry.
Next year I’ll try to be as sweet as Cally.
This year it’s just a good thing I finally finished this post after a week.
I love love love love LOVE you!
Happy Belated Father’s Day.

Introducing Caroline Grace
The song has been running through my mind for aproximately 3 hours straight.
Sweet Caroline.
Go ahead…add the duhn, duh, du…you know you want to.
Hello Grammy.

Where am I?

I’m hungry.

Still hungry.

Please mom, don’t put me on the blog.
Fine then, here’s a good one for you.

Hello Dad.

Hello Abigail.

Hello Bella.
Hello Sophia.

Hello Simba.

And hello to my favorite bad hair day ever.