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 Good Manners

If this looks familiar to anyone, that's because it was an old post on my other blog. re-reading it gave me a little laugh, so I thought I would share.

I have always tried to instill good manners in my children. To say "Please" and "Thank You" and "Excuse Me". I have tried, with out much success, to teach them not to interrupt. Overall, I think that I'm just trying to teach them to be good Ladies and Gentlemen. I had no idea of how much of an impression my teachings had made until recently.




Exhibit A:
Austin and Nicole were waiting in the car while I was finishing packing the diaper bag to go run some errands.



Erika: "Mom, you need to be my gentleman!"



Mom: "What?"



Erika: "You need to be my gentleman!"



Mom, not really paying attention: "Oh, I need to be your gentleman. (Whatever that means)"



I finished packing the diaper bag.



Mom: "Erika, you need to run out to the car. I'm coming right now."



Erika: "I can't open the door. I told you that you needed to be my gentleman!" At least I know that Daddy opening the doors has made an impression.



Exhibit B:
We recently read "James and the Giant Peach". When we finished the book, I let the children watch the movie version. After watching it a couple of times and seeing how badly James' Aunt Sponge and Aunt Spiker treated him, Nicole came to me with the following observation:



Nicole: "James's aunts are so mean! Aunt Sponge burped and she didn't even say, 'Excuse Me'".



Exhibit C:
While watching Star Wars with Austin, I heard:



Austin: "Mom, Anakin interrupted that bad guy! He wasn't even finished speaking and Anakin killed him anyway!"



Now that our manners are well in hand, I think it is time to turn to other lessons: treating people kindly and not killing guys, whether they've finished speaking or not!

Misadventures of a Broken Commandment

This morning found me singing a cheerful good morning song to try to rouse my sleepy minions and declaring what a glorious day we were bound to have. Five minutes before this happy morning ritual, I was in bed using very abusive and near unpublishable language as my alarm tried to rouse sleepy me. At least five days a week finds me putting on my "Good Morning" face to try and start our day on the right foot (as opposed to the left foot?). Today, as my little children gave me their usual morning grumbles, I thought about what a hypocrite I am, singing and being cheerful when I really wanted to throw my alarm out the window.

It reminded me of something that I read on facebook Christmas morning. In reference to a post that Snopes made about Santa, many negative comments were made. This direct quote sums up those negative comments, "For me, lying to children is one of the most disgusting things an adult can do to them. Be the example you wish your children to be." Being guilty of perpetuating the Santa story and realizing that I was lying to my children every morning with my delightful demeanor, I began wondering about what other deceptions I am guilty of. No, Michelle, I wasn't delighted with my new hair color. Though, I am getting used to it. No, Bishop, I wasn't grateful for the opportunity to speak in sacrament meeting. No, Erika, I didn't "get" the joke you made up. No, Children, I don't think going to the dentist is a fun adventure. No, my Sweet Little Girl, I do not find this terribly long story to be totally riveting. And, Alex, I am not, in fact, a tickle monster. Boy, it's true what they say, "Confession is good for the soul."

Misadventures of Sad Plates, a Lesson in Understanding

A few weeks ago, Alex and I were in the car running errands. From the back seat came an excited voice, "Mom, I saw a plate!" Distractedly, "Uh-huh". More excitement, "Mom, I saw another plate!" My response, "You saw a plate?", still sadly unfocused. "Look, Mom, there is a plate on that house." Now more confused than distracted, I responded, "That sure seems like a strange place to keep a plate."

The next day found us driving on a different stretch of road. From the back seat, Alex said, "Mom, I can't see any sad lights." My very helpful answer, "Well, that's good. Isn't it?" A few minutes later, "Mom, why can't I see any sad lights?" I'm thinking, "Sad lights? What on earth are sad lights? We have a Sad Sock Bucket for mate less socks. We have sad toys, whose batteries have died and Mom hasn't replaced them. What are Sad Lights?" My answer to my boy was, "Alex, I don't know why you can't see any sad lights. Maybe the lights aren't sad." Suddenly, with great excitement, "Mom, I see a sad light on that house over there." The clouds parted and a ray of understanding finally came to my foggy brain. Rewind to a lovely September morning when Alex and I walked the big kids to school. On our way home, we walked on "Mom's Bike Trail". As Alex looked at the houses that backed onto the trail, he was curious about those funny circles that stuck up from so many houses. I told him that they were satellite dishes that people used for their TVs. Satellite? Sad Lights?  "Alex, are you talking about the satellite dish?" With great joy at finally being understood, "Yeah, Mom. I see a sad light." With a little more understanding I asked, "And, Alex, when you saw the plates on the houses were you talking about satellite dishes?" Dishes? Plates? it's all coming together. "Yeah, Mom!"

Now, as we drive around town we have fun looking for people's dishes. Some days they're "sad lights" and some day they're "plates", but they're always fun to look for.

Misadventures of Global Commerce

On a recent shopping trip, Erika, Alex and I found ourselves out and about at lunch time. We stopped at a food court to get something to eat. After eating just her hot dog, Erika carefully separated the two sides of her hot dog bun. She then handed one side to Alex and an epic battle commenced, the hot dog buns standing in for swords. With a magnificent swish of his "blade" Alex broke Erika's weapon in half. Sadly, Erika picked up the pieces of her bun and remarked, "This hot dog bun must have been made in China, it broke way too easy!"

An Angel's Prayer

I write this with a heavy heart in response to the Sandy Hook shootings.

An Angel's Prayer



Dear Teddy, who's guarded my sleep all these years, please snuggle my Mommy and catch all her tears.

Dear Pillow, that still holds the scent of my hair, please comfort my Daddy and let him feel me near.

Dear Blanket, that has tucked me in cozy and tight, please warm their hearts on this darkest of nights.

Dear Snow, that falls on a grief stricken face, please help her feel kisses you give in my place.

Dear Daddy, who could always quiet my fears, please know that I'm fine and finished with tears.

Dear Mommy, who held my hands and my heart, please know that I'm here though we seem far apart.

Dear Savior, Who's welcomed me home with such love, Please give them the peace from our Father Above.