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 Family Love

My folly this time was having a birthday. However, I don't think that there is any way out of that one without saying that I wish I had never been born. That seems a trifle over dramatic, so perhaps I should say that my folly was expecting my family to be other than it is.

There is nothing quite like a birthday to show you exactly how much you mean to your family. Yesterday afternoon, I told my sweet children that the very best birthday gift would be for them to do their chores without me having to hound them into it. Austin , in a voice reminiscent of Nicole asking why she had to wash the juicer, said, "But, M-o-o-o-m, you already got your gift." I really had to rack my brain over that one, as I couldn't remember getting any gifts other than the weekend trip that Rick had taken me on. With great exasperation, Austin reminded his obviously ungrateful Mother about the chocolate covered strawberries that he brought home from church. Now, chocolate covered strawberries (with a delightful creamy center) would not usually be a gesture that I would ignore. Perhaps some of the tremendous love that he was showing slipped my mind due to the fact that he dislikes strawberries. His primary teachers had given him the strawberries for an Easter treat and, disliking it, he came home and gave it to me. Judging by the fact that it took many arguments and much hounding to get the chores done, my worth is exactly that of disliked strawberries.

P.S. To anyone reading this post, I actually love chocolate covered strawberries. I guess that I shouldn't judge the motive behind the gesture.

Misadventures of a Well Taught Child

Sometimes, folly is unavoidable. Anyone with children knows that any activity can be turned to folly if children are added to the equation; the more children you add, the bigger the folly. Since the children were inescapable, I'm going to say that my folly lay in my drinking problem (no, not that drinking problem. My dishwasher is running fine). I am, of course, referring to my very strong addiction to drinking water. Normally, I'm able to keep this addiction in check, but when it gets out of hand it can lead to dangerously low blood pressure and an extremely overactive bladder.

I recently found myself out running errands with all four of my children. This unfortunate occurrence was brought about by Rick being out of town and my tendency to procrastinate. I was on my third store and just finishing my second liter of water since leaving home when I needed to use the bathroom. I put Alex and Erika in the Costco shopping cart, told Austin and Nicole to hang on, and raced to the bathroom. By the time I got to the bathroom, I really felt ready to burst. I asked Austin to come stand next to the cart and keep Alex from plunging to his doom on the concrete floor. "But I have to go potty, Mom," was his response as he closed the stall door. "I have to go potty, too!" chorused Nicole and Erika as they, too, disappeared into stalls. By now, I was doing a potty dance that would impress the most artistic of potty trainees. It was with extreme difficulty that I was able to keep my cool when Erika emerged a moment later to tell me that she was unable to go potty without my help. I couldn't go help Erika until I had someone to watch Alex and keep him from falling (I'm afraid that the seat belts in most shopping carts are a bit of a joke). When Austin finally came out, I asked him again to come stand guard over Alex, my situation becoming more desperate with each passing second. "Mom, I have to wash my hands!" (I interrupt my regularly scheduled rant to confess that despite my constant reminders to wash their hands for at least 20 seconds, the children usually don't spend 20 seconds on the entire bathroom routine.) Austin began to wash his hands while Erika chanted, "Mommy, I need help going potty." and I was dancing on tip toe with my knees tight together to keep from having an accident myself right there in the Costco bathroom. Austin washed, and washed, and washed, and washed. Then Austin, still rubbing soap on his hands, looked up at me with a big smile and said, "I'm washing my hands for more than 20 seconds just for you, Mom!" My return smile was, I confess, more of a grimace than a smile, but I tried.

Eventually, Austin finished washing his hands. I helped Erika go potty, and was finally able to go myself. We all made it home with clean, dry pants and all's well that ends well. The moral of the story is to not drink and drive, especially if you're driving with children.