Is It A Sign Of Bigger Problems That I Only Clean My House...

...When Someone Is Coming Over?

I had a Trek Meeting and a Primary Meeting here a few weeks ago. That was good, my house looked quite presentable. Even the places behind the toilets were clean.

A few days later, though, I was surrounded by disaster.

Last week some friends were coming to dinner. When they cancelled I stopped cleaning immediatley and let the house return to it's natural state of chaos. Entropy.

A friend called last night and said she would come by today to see if they would like to use our house for Beehive Camp this summer. Oh, dear, this was like a hotel inspection. I set to work early this morning. Things were in a really bad state because I had emptied two desks with the plan to organize them. It was in the "worse before it gets better stage" in most corners of my house. I thought she'd be here at 10:30 or 11. She was here at 10. When the door bell rang, I said, "Time's up," and apologized for the remaining mess. Now that she's gone I'm leaving the mess for later.

Good thing my parents are coming on Saturday. The house will be clean soon.

But the real question is not, Am I A Lousy Housekeeper?
The real question is Is This Some Form Of Well-Developed Fraud?

I did almost every listed goal in the Personal Progress Book when I was in Young Women's. My leaders were very impressed. I'm not sure I learned anything.

I got a straight A's in High School. I definitely didn't learn anything.

I have a degree with a minor in Statistics. I had to be tutored through every Stats class I took. I still don't really get it.

I wrote papers in College (quite good papers, sometimes) on books I'd only read the first and last chapter of and the first and last paragraph of all the interim chapters.

We have Family Home Evening every week, but it doesn't seem to create the "joy in every sound" and "life a bliss complete" that the song says there will be. (Hymn #294)

Henry Higgins says of women:
"Straightening up their hair is all they ever do.
Why don't they straighten up the mess that's inside?"

Maybe he's describing me.

I think, perhaps, that I am not trying to master myself, but attempting to master the art of looking like I have my act together. So far, not successful at either.

...Well until I figure how to keep my act together (and my house, too) please keep visiting, or else my family will have to live in a pigsty.

How Long Can I Let Them Scream At Each Other?

Alternative Titles:
How Long Until They Kill Each Other?
Can I Ignore This Forever?
What Is The Natural Consequence Of This?
Is He Biting Her?
Can Our Neighbours Hear Them Screaming?
If I Yell At Them, Will That Help The Situation?
Can They Possibly Get Any Louder?
Will It Resolve Itself If I Leave Them Alone?

Can I Resign?

"And ye will not suffer your children that they go hungry, or naked; neither will ye suffer that they transgress the laws of God, and fight and quarrel one with another, and serve the devil, who is the master of sin, or who is the devil spirit which hath been spoken of by our fathers, he being an enemy to all righteousness. But ye will teach them to walk in the ways of truth and soberness; ye will teach them to love one another, and to serve one another." (Mosiah 4:14-15)

Is This Song For Real?

My children started practicing songs for Mother's Day today in Primary. I know it will sound cynical, but who are they describing with these lyrics?

Mother dear, I love you so.
Your happy smiling face
Is such a joy to look at;
It makes home a lovely place.

I leaned over to the primary president and said, "Does your happy smiling face make your home a lovely place?" She replied, "Are you kidding?"

Somehow I do not think my eyes are twinkling very regularly and my smiling face is a joy for my children to look at.

Am I Missing It?

How could I possibly be missing it? I'm here all the time.

I'm changing wet beds and making snacks and having my ear chattered off at the grocery store. I'm playing Mouse Trap and washing mud pies off their bellies. I'm helping with spelling lists for hours per week and listening to the "at-home reading" every day. I'm reading those really long Magic School Bus books, with all the extra stuff on the page, that they love and I hate. I'm curling hair and singing the "Speckled Frog Math Song" as I brush their teeth.

How could I possibly be missing it? But, somehow I don't remember that little boy at all. I must have missed it.

“The biggest mistake I made [as a parent] is the one that most of us make. … I did not live in the moment enough. This is particularly clear now that the moment is gone, captured only in photographs. There is one picture of [my three children] sitting in the grass on a quilt in the shadow of the swing set on a summer day, ages six, four, and one. And I wish I could remember what we ate, and what we talked about, and how they sounded, and how they looked when they slept that night. I wish I had not been in such a hurry to get on to the next thing: dinner, bath, book, bed. I wish I had treasured the doing a little more and the getting it done a little less” (Anna Quindlen, Loud and Clear [2004], 10–11).

Is There An Entry About Me?

My dear Naomi. My eldest. You receive my rawest parenting. You are closest to my insecurities. You receive the majority of my time and nearly all of my energy and I worry incessantly that it isn't enough.

You have charisma and energy and sparkle and sweetness that continually surprise me.

You are concerned about Kaylie who lives in a foster home.
You are grateful we have Eliza safely adopted into our family.
You never forget to pray for John Larsen.
You know your prayers will be heard.
You cheerfully do your chores.
You watch out for your brother and sister.
You eagerly talk to Nana every chance you get.
Your eyes were the brightest when we saw the two deer in our yard this week.
You are naive of anyone's intentions being anything but pure.
You worry about Koby being unkind to Ethan.
You are ecstatic about a new baby coming.
You have shown a true mother heart from the time Eliza was born and you were only two then.
You ask me every few days what I'm going to be when I grow up. And you always laugh when I say, A Mother. "No, after that," you say.
You are already thoughtful about the importance of choosing wisely whom you will marry.
You trust me when I tell you that learning to read is so vitally important, even though I know you can't see that far ahead.
You remember that Chas has had a rough go and are tender toward him.
You forgive us so many, many, many times.
Your whole day can be "the best ever" because of watching a friend do rug-hooking.
You once wrote a song at Sister Murley's that captures the sweetness that is intrinsic to you.

(Naomi's Song)

I love you.

Why Does My LOOK Not Have The Same Effect On My Kids...

...As My Mother's LOOK Had On Me?

Today at piano lessons, I shot her The Look. As I felt my lips tighten, my chin go out to the side, my eyes narrow just slightly, and my head shake ever so subtly, I knew it was My Mother's Look.

At the same time I was giving The Look I could feel my own childhood reaction of wide eyes and nervousness rise up within me. This was surely going to work, I thought. I felt proud. I felt like I had arrived at a meaningful, time-tested strategy of parenting.

The Look failed me. I sent it again, this time with a more vigorous head shake. Nothing. No intimidation. No cessation of misbehaviour. I resorted to speaking her name seriously AND giving The Look. It was all to nought. I tried several additional strategies, each one a little more invasive (and desperate) than the last. Why was this not working? What did my mother do differently?

We left the piano lesson. I felt defeated. I resorted to the only strategy I know: Now I'm upset and you owe me when we get home. So she practiced the stuff the teacher was asking of her for me at home. But I know this will not have sufficient impact to last until the next lesson.

And worse than that, now I know that The Look has no power over my children.

Do You Want To Sit Somewhere Comfier?

My world crashed down around me a bit yesterday. I actually cried. Chas couldn't believe it. His sweet voice said, "Mom, Why are you just sitting there? Do you want to sit somewhere comfier? It's not all your fault you know." That cheered me up. And today was better.

Who Do You Usually Play With During Recess?

I was at the girls' school today during recess.

Naomi came in and said she didn't have anyone to play with, so I went out with her.

Who do you usually play with at recess?

"Carissa and everybody."

Why aren't you playing with them now?

"They said Wednesdays are their day off."

Their day off from what?

"From playing with everybody. On Wednesdays they can just play by themselves."

Ouch.

Is This Child Sick?

No. His mother is having a nervous breakdown.

Have You EVER Had To Put Your Hands Up?

"Sure, lots of times," was Dallin's answer. What?!? How did I not know that by now? (That will be a question for another day.)

Here's the story:

On Friday we were frantically trying to get out of town to go see the cousins in Vanderhoof for Spring Break. Laundry was in the washer and drier. Dirty dishes were in the sink and dishwasher. The vacuum was waiting at the ready to do its job. Leftovers were waiting to be nuked for lunch. And then we would be off.

But--at 10:30 the power went out.

This is about the sixth time this has happened this winter, so I grumbled and hoped it would come back on soon. Naomi wondered how it could possibly be out on a sunny day like this with no wind at all. I wondered what I was going to do about taking clothes to Vanderhoof since I was counting on the ones in the laundry.

By noon I realized we were not getting power before we left, so I hung up all the clothes, loaded the dishwasher as full as it would go and set the delay start, heated leftovers in a frying pan, and tried to figure out if the switch on this side of the room is up and the one on that side of the room is down, are the lights on or off?

We left an hour late and I thought the worst of my worries was how many lights were really left on.

(A picture of our house using no flash)

We came back six days later at 9 pm. The minute I saw the blackness I knew something was wrong. The garage door would not go up and I immediately started mourning my three freezers' worth of food.

We went in to stinky, chilly darkness. The kids were terrified. Dallin was sure I had forgotten to pay the electric bill.

We started our gas fire (which gives off almost no heat, by the way), got the kids' sleeping bags, found flashlights, candles, and the most recent electric bill (which acquitted me), and called BC Hydro.

The kitchen was flooded with melted ice cubes and who knows what else, the kids were huddled together in the living room singing primary songs to each other, Dallin was playing with breakers and flashing his flashlight along the power lines to try to determine the problem, and I was consoling my freezer grief by watching for the Hydro truck.

We thought we saw the truck once because a pick-up slowed down and drove past our house two or three times. But it didn't come up.

We thought it must be coming now when we saw flashing lights come up our driveway, but they were the blue and red kind and came carrying men with guns.

We went out on the very dark porch to meet the men with guns who said abruptly, "Put everything down and put your hands up!" Yikes! They were standing behind their opened car doors a distance away from us with their hands on the top of the door. (Dallin says they definitely weren't pointing guns at us, but why would they have empty hands on top of the car door pointing at us?) "Who are you?" I blabbered some answer that included the fact that our kids were probably completely freaked out inside. "Male. Come here." I watched my husband walk over with his hands up and the officer don rubber gloves and pat him down. "Female. Come." Are you kidding? Is this for real? I thought my biggest worry was the melted ice cream and the thawed meat. (Also, the frozen lasagna and Chinese hors d'oeuvres I just bought the day before we left. Bummer. )

In the end, I felt touched that two of our neighbours had seen suspicious looking lights in our house and called the police, disappointed about the freezers, a bit nauseated by the curdled milk, safe and cold in my bed, and grateful for my children cozily sleeping on the floor of the living room by the fire.

*As a Post Script--I've decided that if our neighbours are watching us so carefully, I think I will stop walking around the house in my underwear.

Is There Value In Performing Poorly At A Concert?

She wanted to apply for the "Mission Talent Show" a month ago. So, we filled out the application and sent it in. We hadn't heard whether or not she was in until this week, but I suggested we press forward and practice the songs as though she was going to be performing them.

Well, sometimes I suggested. Sometimes I begged. Sometimes I bribed with stickers. Sometimes I yelled. Sometimes we fought. Most often we endlessly negotiated.

Vivian called three days ago to say that the rehearsal is on Saturday morning, the Talent Show on Saturday evening.

She is NOT ready. She can barely sort through all the notes. The rhythm, which is very tricky, is a mess. But maybe no one will notice because it is sort of discordant and jazzy and strange anyway.

So this week I have said a new sentence, "I will not fight you about this at all this week. The natural consequence is on Saturday, and you can determine how well you do by how much you practice." She wanted to know what "natural consequence" meant and which weeks in the future would be no-fighting-you-can-decide-how-much-you-practice weeks. After each time through it, I say, "Would you like to try it again?" She sighs, rolls her eyes, groans and says, "I guess one more time."

I feel glad to have a natural consequence imminent enough that she can grasp it. That is so rare. The natural consequences of having no friends if you keep saying mean things, of working at the donut shop if you don't learn how to read, of having poor health if you never eat anything besides white things, etc. are so very far away. I've been able to not get emotionally dragged in to the drama of piano practice this week. What a relief.

But, how is this all going to work out? Will this be a positive lesson for her? There will be a couple hundred people there. Will she never want to perform again? Will it shatter her fragile self-image? Or, maybe worse, will she not even notice that it was a completely botched performance and miss this lesson completely?

Was It Worth It To Stay Up Until 3 AM?

Absolutely yes.

Night One was 1 am, Night Two we played Rook instead. But last night it was 3 am.

Dallin was up reading his book. He said, "I listened for a while, but all you discussed was parenting and marriage." I guess he's right. But somehow it felt like so much more.

When we called it a night, I felt like we nearly had it all solved. A pretty impressive result for only seven hours of chatting. Here's what we concluded:

• Discouragement leads to Despair. Despair leads to Iniquity. Iniquity, of course, leads to Discouragement. We'd be better off to gaurd against discouragement than to try to stop the cycle farther down the path.
• Starting Chas in Music For Young Children, instead of sticking with the teacher we have, is probably biting off more than I can chew.
• Hope is not Naive and Cynicism is not a sign of Intelligence. Hope is the Lord's way. Is hope something we just fake until we grasp it?
• The parent who insists on a certain rule should be the one to enforce it.
• Scripture Study is more valuable than "just reading." Colleen takes two pages at a time and reads and re-reads them until she discerns the principle being taught there. She forces herself to discover a new principle every time. My cousin wakes up early every morning to pour over conference talks on parenting and look up every scripture contained in them.
• My amazing sister-in-law's parenting success may be due to the fact that she never gets emotionally drawn in to her children's fits, arguments, pouting, etc.
• It is valuable to have a pragmatic view of parenting. It will serve no purpose to despair that our children will grow up to be unhappy, undisciplined adults who cut themselves off from their parents who messed them up. It is better to pretend that they will grow up to be happy, helpful, selfless adults who are very grateful for their mothers. We have no idea which will actually be true, but we may as well assume the latter, it seems like it has a better chance of happening if we pretend it is going to.
• Labeling children with positive labels often makes them come true.
• We'll make more progress trying to strengthen our strengths than fix our weaknesses.
• If our friends who are human and love imperfectly think we are on the right path to Heavenly Father, surely the Lord whose love is perfect and merciful is pleased with our efforts.

By the way, I slept through Ward Conference today and four people commented on it to me. I'm sorry Bishop Croonen and President Christensen, I was up late last night working.

Are You Blogging Again?

I knew I shouldn't have told Dallin I was blogging.

Is It Spring Yet?

Chas asks this question every week from Christmas until his birthday.

Eliza's 1st grade science project proves it's here.

How Is Chas Doing?

(Chas's Brain in January 2008)

People ask me this all the time. I appreciate it so much.

He runs.
He swallows.
He talks.

That's what we wanted more than anything else a year ago.

He also wobbles a bit.
Pictures of his brain come quarterly and we watch vague fuzzy white matter.
He takes stairs one at a time.
I hope they will understand him when he starts Kindergarten. More than that, I hope he will not sound like a Kindergartner when he is 15.
And although he retained all of his left-handed sports maneuvers, his fine motor skills have all had to shift to right-handed.


MRI January 2008 --------------------------MRI March 2009

Dr. Cochrane's direct quote is: "This is the only area on one slice that we will be watching. See you in 6 months for repeat study– no need to come in on Monday"

Why Am I Blogging? (Part II)

A friend gave this wise response to my question of-- Why bother to make this public at all?

It is valuable to train our feelings and responses in such a way that we can express our experiences in a way that will not harm anyone else. A private journal allows for any amount of negativism, outlash, or despair--no matter how temporary-- to be recorded forever. A public sharing allows us to adjust the way we experience truth.

The glass can be half-full.

How Does My Sister-In-Law Do It?

We just spent five days with my sister-in-law and her family, which is almost the best way I can think of spending five days.

For eight years I have been in awe of her. People who don't even know her admire her just from the stories I tell.

She has seven daughters with only about 9 years between them from top to bottom. There is something amazing about them. Only in watching it day after day and year after year does the true magnitude really sink in.

They see me unloading the dishwasher or folding the laundry and start helping without any prompting.

Ten or more times in any given day I hear this shocking sentence: "Is there anything I can do to help, Aunt Sariah?"

They solve their own problems. They find their own lost mittens and snowpants and report cards.

They answer every task with a cheerful, "You bet" or "Sure, Mom." I mean truly cheerful.

They sit quietly without colouring book or pencil all during sacrament meeting.

They stay out until 10 pm at a basketball game and don't get grumpy.

They don't complain when they get in the car and have already missed half of the movie.

They invite each other to take turns on the only two sleds (I know I would be buying seven just to avoid any issues.)

They don't scuffle over who gets to sit where at mealtimes.

They eat whatever they are served.

They close their eyes and kneel reverently during prayers.

They run family home evening themselves, from the conducting, to the lesson, to the game, to the treat.

They make lunch and cookies and brownies on their own with no supervision. And they clean up the mess.

They stop whatever they are playing immediately to run get a broom from upstairs or a can of soup from downstairs or someone else's coat that was left in the car.

One of the most amazing is how when their mom says this sort of vague sentence, "I need a broom downstairs," or "Will someone find Rachel?" or "Dad needs a helper outside." A child ACTUALLY shows up with the broom or finds the baby or puts on her boots and coat and goes outside to pick up garbage.

I have been trying to sort out how this miracle came about for years. I've concluded that it must be their mother. I've tried asking her to tell me the secret, but she's sort of oblivious to her own role in creating these happy, cheerful, helpful, kind, generous children. So, I've resorted to visiting as often as I can and watching her like a hawk. I haven't figured out how she does it yet, but when I do I'll be sure to let you know.

Is This Indicative Of the State Of My Mind?

This is my office floor.

Would a good desk solve this problem?

Or is the the problem the disorganized state of my mind?

What Are You Thinking About, Eliza?

Yesterday, the kids and I walked home from school together. With all the dawdling and distractions, a 7 minute walk often takes 25. Eliza said about three sentences. Then we came home, had a very quick snack, and ran off to piano lessons (45 minutes away.) Eliza didn't talk the entire drive. During her piano lesson, she is mute, except to say thank you, as I told her to. It is obvious that she is happy during piano lessons because she smiles and eagerly nods when her teacher asks her to play something. On the way home, we listened to "The Best Christmas Pageant Ever" in the car and Eliza was still silent. Not one question about the story or anything else. This is not unusual for her. She's very chatty at times, and then there will be blocks of hours where I feel like she doesn't utter a sound. When she finally says something, I am often startled to hear her voice and realize that I haven't heard it for two or three hours even though we've been together the whole time. At night I tuck her in and often try to draw her out for a few minutes. It is most often a futile attempt. I assume that is because whatever book is in front of her is more interesting to her than anything we could discuss. But it leaves me curious, thoughtful, admiring, and sometimes worried. What is she thinking in that bright head of hers during all those long hours?

How Do The Ice Cream Scoop And Telephone End Up In The Bathroom?

Am I The Wife Of The Century?

Does it make me wife of the century to hang a dead animal above the beautiful mantle of my glorious and very central living room? Does it communicate my great love for my husband? Does he look at it every day and know that I prioritize him above all else? I asked him a few days ago if he feels joy every time he looks at it. "Yeah, I guess." "What kind of Joy?" I said, "Like Joy Joy?" "Uh huh." "How much Joy?"

Maybe it gives my children respect for the grandeur of nature? (Or maybe it makes them a little nauseous.) Maybe it is teaching them that killing for sport is OK! What are they thinking as they patter past it between their bed and ours?

Or, does it just say--"Oh it really is too bad that a woman who can't decorate at all lives in that beautiful house," "That man really does need a den," or "Why is it staring at me?"

The eagle is currently on a "trial period." Last night I suggested a joint custody arrangement where the eagle would visit us every other weekend and one month in the summer. That could be a nice compromise.

Should I Laugh Or Cry?

I finally went to the midwife yesterday. I'm 18 weeks pregant. I've gained 17 lbs. I didn't recieve these two pieces of information at the same time, so it took me a few hours to realize that I've gained a pound a week in the First Trimester. I don't think this is a good sign.

Why Do I Serve In The Church?

A week ago I was in charge of a meeting for the 30 Trek cast members who will be doing more than a dozen "re-enactments" (mini-plays) depicting Joseph Smith's life and other events of the early Restoration of the Gospel.

As a light introduction to the weightier things we would need to discuss and by way of an apology for not being more on top of things, I explained the make-up of our committee to the cast members who were there:

On my second Sunday in our new ward in September, Karie (the Stake Young Women's President) pulled me into the kitchen (when I was supposed to be in Relief Society--My mother always told me to be where I should be when I should be), closed the door and said, "Oh I am so glad you've moved here." Thanks, I think we're glad too. "You are an answer to my prayers." Oh? "What do you know about theatre?" Nothing. I was once in a high school play, I didn't have any lines, and I was lousy. "OK, perfect. We have this situation of two women in charge of a large cast of people for Trek and they're both pregnant, and one is a high risk pregnancy and one will have a 4 month old baby at the time of Trek, so they really need some help." I'm trying to get pregnant. Karie counts nine months out on her fingers, realizes that if I got pregnant I would be due exactly during Trek and says, "Oh I think it will all work out. I knew you were an answer to my prayers." I know nothing about theatre, I may be in a trickier spot with a baby than either of these other women, but somehow maybe it will all work out?

Now, I am pregnant, will be 37 weeks pregnant at Trek and still know nothing about theatre. One more woman has been brought on to the committee and so now here is what we consist of: Between the four of us we currently have 12 callings, 12 children, one emergency c-section a month ago, one newborn baby in the hospital for a week with respiratory problems, one cracked tailbone, one woman 41 weeks pregnant and on bed rest for the last 2 months, one 4 year old son with brain tumour surgery, and one woman 20 weeks pregnant. No wonder we're a bit behind on rehearsals.

Sometimes I wonder if this sort of insanity is what the Lord wants for us? Isn't this akin to what the pioneers went through? Is this "wasting and wearing out our lives" to a good purpose? Is this serving Him with all our "heart, might, mind, and strength"? Is my family coming first in all of this?

I don't know.

Here's what I do know. Two weeks ago I had a meeting of directors at our house and I felt grateful to have quick, real friends in a new place. Last week we had our first rehearsal and I felt in awe of being part of something much bigger than I could ever accomplish on my own. Today I set about trying to write an additional part of the script about the Organization of the Relief Society and felt touched by the miracle of the Restoration and the vast potential of good women.

Is It All Me?

I take comfort in knowing that my kids are different from each other. In some ways they are dramatically different.

They are different in their strengths. There is energy, calmness, assertiveness, gentleness, thoughtfulness, independence, self-reliance, and fun.

They are different in their challenges, too. There is wildness, shyness, helplessness, reluctance, argumentativeness, and more.

So, their strengths are not necessarily to my credit. And that must mean that their weaknesses are not all my fault either. They must have arrived this way.

But at parent teacher conferences and in their report cards, I heard a story of my kids so completely different than my experience at home. "She works independently," "She never complains," "I've never seen her get frustrated," "She works very quickly."

What?!? Who?!?

I'm left with only two options--Either I'm the problem, or the teachers are trying to butter me up. Oh, please, please, please let it be the latter. But, somehow, I don't think it is.

Is My Birthday Coming Up Or Is Christmas Coming Up?

Chas's question of the day. What it really means is, "How long until I get some new Stuff?"

Why Doesn't My Dad Remind Me About Daylight Savings Time Anymore?

Is it because I should be an adult by now?
He used to call me the evening before Daylight Savings every six months and tell me which way to set my clocks. He also used to file my taxes for me.

Well, I missed it again.
Almost missed church at 11 O'Clock!
I think I've only caught Daylight Savings Time twice since my dad stopped reminding me 10 years ago.

Why Does One Always Equal More?

This could also be entitled, "Is Soccer The Answer?" or "Is It All Or Nothing?"

The other night I went out with a girlfriend for dinner (Yeah!)

The meeting's agenda really only had one topic--What to do about our kids.

She said, "I'm going to figure this out for you." She's been watching the Dog Whisperer. Maybe it will be helpful. Maybe it has, or she has, some idea that the 30 + parenting books, 1,000 other conversations, and many tearful nights have not had.

She (a different she) has a lot of energy. She doesn't have something that she feels good at. "Maybe soccer would be the answer?" "Or maybe a jump rope team?" I've debated this one before. This would release energy, maybe this would release aggression? This might give her something to love. She could feel good about it. She could feel good about herself? (Is this completely flawed logic? That will be a question for another day.) Is that all that the thousands and thousands of hours of agony and discussion and soul searching boil down to? If I had just found soccer sooner...

For the record we have done soccer, and tap, and gymnastics, and ballet, and rhythmic gymnastics, and recorder, and Girl Guides, and computers, and photography, and biking, and...

Now comes the question above. At the moment we are one small family taking two girls to school, one boy to speech therapy, and two girls to piano lessons. (=5) We have not always been so streamlined. Maybe soccer is the answer? Chas would also like to play soccer, probably more than Naomi would. He has never gotten to try anything other than reading books on the couch with Mom, speech therapy, and brain surgery. Ok, soccer for two. Oh, and remember that slice of bologna in the middle? She has been pleading to take gymnastics again for about six months. She has a little friend who would like to take gymnastics with her, which would be very positive, because Eliza feels like she hasn't really made friends in our new lives here. (Now we're at 8.) Oh, by the way, soccer is one practice per week and one game per week. (Make that 10.) We'll take one order of sports for each child and continue on with piano lessons. It's time for Chas to start too. (=11) To add to my confusion, I am often circling around the fact that a tutor for Naomi might be helpful to make school not so much of a struggle. All tutors we've ever spoken to say that there isn't much benefit to the child without meeting two to three times per week. How can I say soccer is the answer when she may drown in school next year? We better add tutoring. (13-14) 14 plus Kindergarten plus Activity Days = 16.

Remember the Conference Talk a few years ago where Elder Ballard told of "one mother [whose] children had 29 scheduled commitments every week...She felt like a taxi driver." I think he said it as an extreme example. We all felt sorry for this poor mother who was so overstretched. She was probably just a mom with five kids each in one sport, one instrument, and church commitments. That equals 29 before you blink.

So, is it all or nothing? Would soccer help or cause more problems? Does it just open a can of worms? Am I over-analysing something that really should be a very simple decision about whether a kid wants to play on a neighborhood soccer team or not?

"The amount of children-and-parent time absorbed in the good activities of private lessons, team sports, and other school and club activities also needs to be carefully regulated. Otherwise, children will be overscheduled, and parents will be frazzled and frustrated. Parents should act to preserve time for family prayer, family scripture study, family home evening, and the other precious togetherness and individual one-on-one time that binds a family together and fixes children’s values on things of eternal worth." Elder Dallin H. Oaks (“Good, Better, Best,” Ensign, Nov 2007)

Am I Doomed To Be Out Of Style?

I finally had feathered bangs the year after they went out of style. (1989?)

I inherited John and Becky's hand-me-down Francois Girbaud jeans (I never did figure out how to say it. "JURBO?") after they had gone out of style and so they were no longer going to wear them. Do you remember those? With the white tag on the front zipper that proclaimed "These jeans cost $75" (at a time when jeans only cost $15)? Well, I wore them forever, cut them off when they got holes in the knees and finally got rid of them after Naomi was born. Yikes!

I grew hippie hair and wore flower-embroidered shirts for the last three years (about 30 years late.)

I never did see Titanic.

At a Trek meeting last week, the man who is supposed to be playing "David Leatherman" (Letterman), said that Stephen Colbert would be more up-to-date. Who's that?

So, Dallin came home from Blockbuster with a Seinfeld DVD last week. I had never seen an episode. We cracked up for an hour and a half and are now on a belated mission to watch them all. (Thank goodness we can borrow them from the library.)

Although...

...because of a well-timed surgery when I was five and my mother's quick trip to the toy store, I did have the first Cabbage-Patch Kid on the block. Those were my glory days.

I'm about to get my haircut, could someone please tell me what's in style this decade?

Why Didn't The Sub Show Up?

I called in sick yesterday,

but it looks like the substitute didn't come.

What's Left To Do When The Power Is Out?

Can't do laundry.

Can't water plants (we have no water when there's no electricity.)

Can't vacuum.

Can't tinker with my newly created blog.

Can't start filing my taxes (today really was the day I was going to start.)

Can't clean bathrooms (no water.)

Can't call a friend to chat (because I won't go hunt for the non-cordless phone.)

Can't catch up on postponed Trek work.

I can play Disney Princess Go Fish with Chas.

Is It The Right Move If I Feel Sad?

Today the fits were intense.
I was calm.
That was good.
I drove to the school (2 minutes away) twice in order to send a calm message that the things that need to be done BEFORE school must be done before school. This seemed like a good move.
The fits continued when I returned.
And when I was finally driving the last shuttle to school,

"I love you" was met with

"I'll run away if you keep being mean to me."
Ouch!
Ouch!

How Do I Know How The Roots Are Doing Without Pulling Them Up?

There are very few things I remember from ten minutes ago or ten years ago, but this is one of them. In 2004, Elder Maxwell said, "Today, some anxious parents seem to insist on constantly pulling up the daisies to see how the roots are doing." I'm not sure exactly what this means, but I know it is describing my parenting.

Why Am I Blogging?

I think it's peer pressure, but possibly it is a hopeful desire to have some record of my life. If I document my happenings will they become more exotic? Hmmm... Will I take more pictures? Maybe it will inspire me to accomplish something very meaningful throughout my day or possibly it will leave me with a to-do list that is now one item longer. Time will tell, I guess...