Misadventures of Mommy's Surprise

When the children sent me to my room this morning, it was with a heavy heart that I went. Now, don't get me wrong, usually getting sent to my room is the greatest of delights. So, what made this morning different? Well, it's my story, and I will tell you.




It all started with my road of good intentions. I had gone to the kitchen in search of an apple to start my healthy day. Today being Saturday, everyone was just loafing around without our usual hustle and bustle. When the children saw me, Austin suggested that I should return to my room and soon they would present me with a wonderful surprise. That is when the sinking feeling started. A wonderful surprise that I couldn't be witness to? That never ends well. I took my apple, a small portion of the healthy breakfast that I had intended, and slunk back to my room. I turned on the TV to try to mask the sounds of the mixer, the crazy giggling, the occasional outburst of, "Oh, No!", and my personal favorite, "Cooper, Get down". The TV turned out to be an ineffective diversion as Erika came in every 3 minutes to tell me that they were not making pie. What a relief! Except that I was pretty sure that she was not being entirely honest since I could hear an argument in the kitchen that sounded like this, "No, we can't make the pancakes. We'll have to make the pie".



After about 45 minutes, Austin came in to tell me that it would be at least another hour because the recipe said that the filling had to chill for an hour. Recipe? Chill? I was not aware of any pie recipe that would require chilling for which I had the ingredients. The sinking feeling was becoming more and more pronounced. Since my surprise wouldn't be ready in time to feed my starving body, I asked permission to go make my breakfast. Austin cheered right up and said he would get me some food. I thought I heard something about cooking broccoli as he walked down the hall. Good, the day would not descend into completely unhealthy eating. A few minutes later, Austin returned with what he called, "The Brigham Young University Power Drink". I think that this had more to do with the cup it was contained in than any actual affiliation with the school. I believe it consisted of milk, peanut butter, and a whole lot of Splenda. Trying to drink it through the crazy straw sticking out of the top was like trying to drink peanut butter through a crazy straw. It was sweet enough to power all of Brigham Young University. After the requisite "chilling hour", in which I did very little chilling, I was invited out to enjoy my surprise. What wasn't a surprise was what had filled me with unspoken dread, the mess that I found in my kitchen. Surprise, Mom!

And what delightful surprise had my children lovingly prepared for their favorite Mommy? Berry pie. The ingredients were: berries, Splenda, water, and ..... wait for it ..... butter, all topped with sheets of graham crackers. I confess that I was a little puzzled. I thought that he had said there was a recipe behind this project. When asked, Austin said that the recipe had come from the back of the Splenda bag. Thinking that the butter was probably supposed to be used with the graham crackers to make the crust, I read the recipe. There was no mention of butter anywhere. I wondered, out loud, why they had decided to put butter in what would otherwise have been a delightful berry blend. Austin said, "The recipe called for G-elatin (strong g). Isn't butter the same as G-elatin?" As I explained that gelatin was what Jell-O is made from and doesn't really have a lot in common with butter, Austin expressed the same sad conclusion that was racing through my mind, "That's the trouble with trying a new recipe without Mom's help".

As unsurprising as the messy kitchen was, equally unsurprising was the speed with which the children disappeared when called on to clean it up. Although my Mommyhood did compel me to eat some of the buttery, berry pie, it didn't compel me to clean the mess up alone. So fueling up on some of that good BYU power drink, we surprised each other with how quickly the kitchen could be cleaned if we worked together.

Misadventures of First Attempts

I recently came across my first attempt at a blogging. At the time, my children were ages: 6, 4, 2, and 4 months.

Musings on Motherhood


9/16/2009



When I was a little girl, I had all of the usual aspirations: I wanted to be a ballerina or a princess. As I grew older, my dreams changed; I realized that Queen would have much more power than a mere princess. I went through other career plans as well, doctor (to help people), lawyer (to use my love of arguing, I mean, you can only be a teenager for so long), or teacher (very noble and self-sacrificing since they don't actually get paid for their work). But through it all, I knew that I ultimately wanted to be a "MOM".



I was going to be very good at being a mom. I was going to spend my days playing Candyland and pulling fresh baked goods out of the oven in my immaculate house. I was going to look like the moms in the TV commercials, too. I would be thin, always have a perfectly done face, beautiful hair (preferably thick and auburn). The details of how I was going to manage all of those things stayed comfortably hazy. What would it matter if I hate housework or my hair was stringy and blond? It's done on TV all the time.



Then reality hit. When my oldest was born, I lost a lot of the answers that I was so sure I had. Child development courses and four younger brothers did nothing to prepare me for the uncertainty of motherhood. But somehow I muddled through with a few of my theories still comfortably in place, and then came Nicole. With the birth of my second child I lost all of my remaining answers and was left foundering. I've never found my footing since.



Still, motherhood is the greatest blessing in my life. What other career would have you saying prayers every morning, thanking Heavenly Father for the person who kept you up all night.

Musings on Motherhood, Four Years Later



With my youngest child approaching four years old, and having spent a lot of hours playing Candyland recently, I can tell you that spending your days playing Candyland has been scientifically proven to slow down the movement of time. I'm not talking about the, "I wish this moment would last forever!"time. I am referring to the, "Will this never end?" time. (While I write this, Alex is trying to set up a Candyland meets Parcheesi game. I'm not sure how that will work, but he's a man with a plan.)



Fresh baked goods do awful things to my body and further mess up the kitchen that I still hate to clean.



All of the parenting wisdom that I firmly believed pre-children has been gone so long that I can't even remember what I thought I knew. I have only two parenting theories that I have come to believe, and I'm sure that they, too, will pass.

1. Life was much simpler when I had ALL of the answers and NONE of the questions. I've come to realize this truth as I've asked for advice in public forums. The people who offer advice generally have fewer children at younger ages who have never reached my situation. The people who have "been there, done that" will simply say that I need to figure it out for myself.

2. Having been out of Junior High longer than I usually care to admit, I'm not too concerned with my public image. What I mean to say is it doesn't matter if the people at the grocery store think that it is odd that the children and I are all sporting eye liner mustaches or if my hair is purple because we had a wacky hair day. The grins and giggles of my little ones matter much more to me than the raised eyebrows of strangers.

Still, even on the days that I wonder if the children will ever go to bed and give me some time, I'm thankful every day to be the MOM.

     

Misadventures of Answered Prayers

My soul felt raw. My inner dialogue was un-publishable. My usually sweet spirit was anything but angelic.

The day had started with Alex throwing up in bed. I had asked Austin to put his clothes in the dryer while I was stripping Alex's bed. I ended up speaking rather sharply to finally get the washer emptied. Things hadn't improved much in the afternoon.

Now 5:00 found me driving down the freeway to take my little monsters to swimming lessons. The lessons weren't for me. I wasn't going to be playing in the pool. Why should I have to do it? You can probably imagine the kind of language that I had been listening to. To tell the truth, if today's lesson hadn't been the last, the little dears would have found themselves without a ride.

As I drove, I came to the conclusion that, if I was going to take the turkeys to swimming in spite of their behavior, then I really needed to stop fuming about it. Having made that very mature decision, I tried to figure out a way to get over my anger. I offered up a little prayer. It was a carefully worded prayer. I didn't pray for better children. I didn't pray for patience, I've heard what happens when people ask for patience. I simply asked for guidance on how to snap out of my funk. I had scarcely finished my prayer when a truck kicked up a rock and put a large crack in my windshield.


Feeling that all of my carefully chosen words had somehow failed me, I felt myself slipping deeper into my bad mood. In my mind (because I was driving), I began writing my little rant. Finding the right words to convey just how ill used I felt really lifted my mood.

 I would not normally go looking for tender mercies in a knicked windshield. However, I came to the realization that trying to find something funny to say about my windshield was probably the only thing that could have brightened my day. The Lord does work in mysterious ways.

Misadventures of the Daily Grind

You know that blissful moment between wakefulness and sleep? This morning found me in such a happy place, lying on the beach of imagination, fully aware of the fact that today is NOT TUESDAY. Thursday is such a nice day; Thursday has no carpools, no responsibility, no need to be anywhere except where I want to be; Thursday would never hurt anybody.


Suddenly, I heard feet thundering down the boardwalk. Wait a minute, there is no boardwalk on the beach of imagination. Trust me; if I'm going to imagine a beach, it would be a private beach, no boardwalk necessary. After the intrusion of the thundering feet on the boardwalk, I slowly became aware that the sound of screeching seagulls was, in fact, the squealing of little children. And, the saddest realization of all, the gentle sound of waves lapping against the shore was actually the sound of the toilet being flooded, thus causing the thundering feet on the boardwalk and the squeals of the gulls children.

TUESDAY! My great and worthy adversary! I thought that there was a law, irrevocably decreed in heaven, that YOU must stay in your weekly time slot. As I refuse to believe that anything bad can happen on a day that is not TUESDAY, I must own that I am not as awake as I initially believed. As I lay back down on the beach of imagination, I put my sunglasses back on. But, this time, I make sure that they are complete with a funny nose and mustache. TUESDAY will never find me now!

Misadventures of Excess Verbage

My folly in writing this is that I feel it will be too short to justify a blog entry but far too long for a status update.

It has been a difficult month at our house, we have had stomach flu, pink eye, and ear infections all while Daddy was traveling. The result was several weeks stuck at home, surrounded by children who didn't feel well. People have needed me every hour of the day and night. I haven't had many waking moments of peace and I have felt a little (putting it very mildly) frustrated.

Finally, today, I took a day to myself. I had a playdate with my Mommy and my sister in law.  At the end of a wonderful day, I found myself making the 50 mile drive home in the midst of a bad snowstorm.   Driving, with my jeep in the slow lane, I noticed that all of the other cars were flying past me. I got to thinking about what I was going home to. I would find my husband who would welcome me home with a kiss, but would probably grab my bum, because he can't do one without the other. There would be four children, clamouring to tell me about their day or the mistreatment they received from their siblings or maybe a new episode of their favorite cartoon. I would have at least two children fighting over my lap wanting me to read them a story. I would probably hear some complaints about their chores. I would find that none of their chores had been done. I would hear, "Hey, Mom!" at least 57 times before I was able to finish tucking them into bed. As these thoughts came to my mind, I found myself driving just a little bit slower through the snow. I wasn't, however, driving slower because I was dragging my feet, I was slowing down because I was going home to so much love that I wanted to make sure that I got there safely.

Many of my dear friends have been expressing their gratitude this Thanksgiving season and I have been reticent because many of the things that I feel grateful for may seem trivial to others. Tonight, though, I feel that I need to express my gratitude. I am grateful for the chaos, the noise, and the maddening joy that is my life.

Misadventures of Misplaced Modesty

I feel that I am really making progress with my children when it comes to modesty and respecting personal space and boundaries. Now what would give me that impression? Since it's my blog, I will tell you.

As I was getting out of the shower the other day, I had one foot over the edge of the tub and was just reaching for my towel when the bathroom door burst open and Erika came trooping in. With complete disregard of my unclad state, she pulled down her jammies and climbed up on the potty. I quickly wrapped my towel around me and gave her my sternest look of disapproval. Her response, in a rather scandalized tone, "M-O-O-O-M, don't look at me! I'm going potty." At least she's respecting her own personal space and boundaries.

Misadventures of Motherhood

Recently, a friend of mine has been posting some of her thoughts on what Motherhood means to her. It has gotten me thinking about what Motherhood means to me. Should I lead off with the tender moments, or maybe the grotesque? Perhaps I should start with the monotonous? or the unpredictable? the laughter? the tears? Where to begin? Pondering on that question brings me to my first thought:

Motherhood is a whirlwind often going from one extreme to another(and sometimes back again) within seconds.

Motherhood is snuggling a sick child, feeling so much love, and then having that child throw up all over you. Motherhood is bravely snuggling the child again and having them say, "Mom, you make me feel better."

Motherhood is making perfectly rational statements and then realizing that you have used words that have no business going together in this world or the world to come. For example, "Why is there mayonnaise on the vacuum cleaner?" "If I catch you eating Jello powder in bed one more time..." or my personal favorite, "Who put toothpaste on the cat?"

Motherhood is reading Dr Suess so many times that you find yourself speaking in rhymes.

Motherhood is the tragic day that your children don't want to read Dr Suess anymore.

Motherhood is talking to your old friends, with whom you used to have important conversations about boys and evil math teachers, and discussing which PBS shows are educational and which are just annoying.

Motherhood is trying to come up with words to use instead of "why". You may be wondering to what point and purpose Katie is trying to stop using "why". A few conversations with my 3 year old should clear up any questions on that issue.

Motherhood is .......having to take a break from your blog because someone wants to 'nuggle you.

Motherhood is preparing to yell because you tripped on a pair of shoes, only to discover that they are your shoes.

Motherhood is knowing the fastest way to the bathroom in any given place. (this one actually starts during pregnancy, it just never goes away)

Motherhood is a laundry cup full of dandelions because the children know that you love yellow flowers.

Motherhood is discovering a great series of books with your children.

Motherhood is wondering why you have to have the same conversations at least three or four times per week.

Motherhood is reliving your childhood, and not in a good way, and realizing that you don't have any more solutions to give your child than you had for yourself.

Motherhood is reliving your childhood in the best ways and discovering the joy of discovering.

Motherhood is trying to put thought into things that you do automatically in an effort to teach your children how to do them.

Motherhood is discovering the adventure in things. For example: The sprinklers you drove by that were crossing to form an X must indicate the location of buried treasure. Grocery stores are great places to play spies. A mess-monster that is threatening the castle is more likely to be cleaned up than a dirty family room.

Motherhood is thinking that if you hear "What if..." one more time you'll be driven into the assylum.

Motherhood is swelling with pride at preschool graduations.

Motherhood is packing a suitcase for a trip to the grocery store.

Motherhood is shouting, "Will you please stop making all of that noise?!"

Motherhood is seeing the boy that you dated and fell in love with walking down the hall with a child on his back and one on each leg and really knowing what love is.

Motherhood is tucking sleepy heads into bed with rituals that belong to each child and then sneaking back for one last kiss.

Motherhood is never knowing whether you should scold, cry, or laugh out loud.

Motherhood is the relief on my readers faces as I cut my thoughts off to go be a Mother.

Misadventures of The Worst . . .?

My folly this time lies in the fact that I decided to have children. I'm hoping that a similar scene has played out in other homes proving that I don't actually have the worst children (and am therefore the worst parent) in the world.

This afternoon, I was just finishing washing up my juicer when Nicole came and asked if she could use the juicer when I was finished with it. I groaned inwardly, but said that she could use the juicer. I helped her put the juicer back together and then showed her how to feed the apples in and push them down. When the juicer was finished, I showed her how to take it apart and scrape the extra pulp into the trash. Then I took her to the sink and started handing her pieces to rinse off. After the second piece, she tossed her saucy little head and said (in a voice that I'm sure most parents could identify), "Why do I have to wash the whole thing?" I'm afraid that I couldn't answer that question, as all of my retorts involved language that I didn't really want to teach my "sweet" little girl. After a few moments pause, I was able to explain that she had to wash it because I had just finished cleaning it when she asked to use it and got it dirty again. Her response, "Can't we just stick it in the dishwasher?" I think that it must be time to start washing all dishes by hand.

Misadventures of a Broken Trust

Nicole has recently discovered a new love, the crane machine at Wal-Mart. My folly that brought it about was parking on the wrong side of the parking lot. Because I was parked on the wrong side of the store, we had to pass the mysterious alcove containing all of the flashy quarter machines. The first time the girls asked to enter this wondrous place, I reluctantly agreed, on the condition that they realize that all of the machines cost money and I would NOT provide them with any change for the games. This satisfied them until that glorious day when the tooth fairy brought Nicole two shiny quarters. What higher earthly bliss could there be than in depositing your quarters into the machine for the chance to win a stuffed animal? The next trip to the store found us in front of a crane machine filled with stuffed animals of all shapes and sizes. Nicole eagerly deposited her precious quarters, carefully moved the crane above her animal of choice, watched in awe as the crane lowered around the animals head and began to lift..... The animal raised ever so slightly before the crane slipped off and it fell back among it's fellow play things. Her disappointment was great, but thankfully, not overwhelming. I explained that the cranes were not made very strong because they were made to get your money, not to lose their toys.

When another tooth fell out, Nicole began to entertain hopes again. She came to me one day and confessed that she didn't really believe that the people who made the cranes were just after money. She felt that the cranes were made poorly because the people who made them had other things on their mind and must have just been in a hurry to get the job done. She then asked if I could take her back to Wal-Mart to try her luck again. I agreed that we could go while Erika was in dance. I wondered how many times she would throw her quarters away before realizing that those games are a scam. When we got to the store, Nicole carefully examined each and every machine, in fact, she spent more than ten minutes analyzing the machines to make sure she would pick the best. She carefully placed her quarters in the machine and began to move the crane. We held our breath as the crane came down around the head of a purple panda and began to lift.....up and over and down the chute. Nicole had won her panda bear! Great was her delight. And Great was her exultation that she had been right all along and the crane builders were really honest people who just wanted to help little girls get new toys.

She has lost several quarters since that wonderful day, but her faith in the machine remains unshaken. I find myself worrying a little over whether her faith in my warnings will ever return (not that Nicole has ever had much faith in my warnings).

Misadventures of Sunday Morning

My folly this time lies in the fact that I'm unable to hold onto a thought long enough to bring it to fruition.

A few Sundays ago, as I got ready for church, I realized that my nylons had holes in them. I put on a skirt long enough to cover the runs and made a mental note to go get some during the week. After church, I left the holey nylons sitting on top of the dresser to remain as a constant reminder that I needed to replace them. A few days later, as I was walking out of my bedroom to go to the store, I tossed them into the trash knowing I was on my way to replace them. Unfortunately, the free cookies in the bakery and the other wonders of Target filled my imagination with such delights that mundane things like nylons were quickly driven out.

When Sunday rolled around again, as I got ready for church, the nylons were brought back forcibly to my mind. Oh, no! I had forgotten to buy my nylons. Wait, I could just get the others out of the bedroom trash, it's not like they would be covered by kitchen waste. Alas, Rick had emptied the bedroom trash can only the day before. What could I do? I could go out to the garbage can, couldn't I? If he'd only dumped it the day before then it wouldn't be covered by too much stuff. Thankfully, the mental picture of one of my neighbors on their way to church noticing my feet sticking out of my garbage can was enough to keep me from Sabbath Dumpster Diving. Thank Goodness for long skirts and sandals.

Misadventures of Kate's Follies

I don't have a specific folly to list this time. I'm afraid that the whole entry is about Kate's follies.

As I was leaving church today, a mother of mostly teenagers stopped me and told me how amusing she had found watching me parading in and out of sacrament meeting. I'm sure that it was very amusing to the entire Ward, as we were sitting on the very front row. Rick was home today with a sick baby, so I found myself alone with the other three. I asked them all before entering the chapel if they had to use the bathroom. Of coarse, none of them did. Then, half way through the sacrament, Erika had to go potty "right now". I asked the other two if they needed to go, of coarse, neither did. When Erika and I reached the chapel doors to go back in, out came Nicole. She needed to go potty. About five minutes after Erika, Nicole and I marched back up to the front, Austin and Nicole both had to go potty "right now!" I didn't trust Erika enough to leave her while I took the others out, so off we all went again from the very front pew only to return five minutes later. When this sweet sister was talking to me after church, I mentioned how embarrassed I had been going in and out like that. She told me it was amusing to her because of how often she had been in the exact same situation.

I mention that story because it brought home something that I have been thinking about a lot lately. I look around me and have great admiration for the mothers that I see. I watch mothers bringing large families of neatly groomed, well behave children to church every Sunday. I do my visiting teaching in beautifully decorated and perfectly immaculate houses. I see these wonderful, amazing women running to little league, volunteering in school, cooking homemade meals, and caring for their children. They make it look so easy, like they could do it with one hand tied behind their backs. I have often found myself in near despair because I'm not amazing like these other women are. I make mistakes with my family. We eat corn dogs and hot pockets and mac'n'cheese because the more work I put into a meal, the less likely my family is to eat it. My house isn't perfect. My laundry piles up. My floor sometimes goes unswept. And, the worse part of all, I have no idea what I'm doing with my children. I am continually reading parenting books, trying to find the right path to be on. I feel basically clueless, flying from one moment to the next, just doing my best to do my best. Then, one day, someone said, "Wow! You're so on top of things. I don't know how you do it." That stopped me in my tracks. Me? On top of things? Me? And then I realized that all of my struggles are behind closed doors (isn't that where we want to keep them?). No one knows how often I have felt like I was drowning in uncertainty. It made me wonder, "Is it possible that all of those amazing mothers are just as uncertain as I am? Probably not, but it definitely gave me a new perspective on things. My kids are healthy and happy (for the most part) and for now, I'll keep doing my best to do my best.

Misadventures of the Best Laid Plans

My folly this time is that my imaginary self is much more energetic and organized than my real self

If you had seen me during the few weeks before the start of summer break, you would have seen one of those thought bubbles (you know, the ones from cartoons) following me around. My head was full of all of the things that the children and I were going to do this summer. I was going to sit down one on one with each of the children, every day. We would be doing our usual math lessons, but we would also be learning other things. Every week would have a new topic to learn about. I even had lovely lesson plans thought out in my head.

Not only would we have scholastic improvement, we were also going to do things. None of this sitting around doing nothing like last summer (and the summer before and the summer before and the summer before. You get the point). We would have weekly field trips. We would go to the zoo, museums, parks, nature centers, etc ... We were going to see and explore and enjoy everything.

Our house was going to get organized. We were going to establish fantastic routines that would liberate us from the daily grind of chores. We would be running so smoothly that it would feel as if the house was cleaning itself and it would take very little effort on our part as long as we stuck to our routines.

Reality Check Time! June started and we had school the first week. There was a wedding the second week and we had things going on. The third week we really needed to rest, after all it was summer and time to enjoy sleeping in, but only for a little while. I had plenty of time to put my plans into action. I'm pretty sure that you can see where this is all going. We're now 2/3 of the way through our summer break. We've taken one field trip up Mount Timpanogos, Had one awesome camping trip with Grandma and Grandpa, and Mom has managed to sleep in until 9:00 at least twice.

I would love to write more, but I'm off to the daily grind of chores.