How Many More Strikes Do We Get?

The cat is back. It was babysat again by some thieving, well-meaning neighbour for a week.

And how many more times can I put up posters that pitifully brand us as the inept cat owners?

Strike 1

Strike 2

Do You Ever Put Everything On Your Bed...

...so that you'll for sure put it away before you go to sleep and then you get to the end of the night and feel so utterly exhausted that it all goes right back onto the floor?

I do too.

How Long Are We Going to Keep Calling "Katara"...

...on the Way To and From School?

And why did I let myself get attached?

Have You Seen Our Kitten?

(We lost it again.)

Please call us if you have any information.

(Or if you've taken her into your house and now think that she is your kitten.)

Why Did I Buy Size 16 Jeans?

Was it so that when they fall off thirty times a day I can feel like I'm losing weight?

Was it because I had four kids with me at Wal-Mart while I was trying them on?

Was it because I was so desperate to wear non-maternity clothes that I settled for anything without a knit panel?

Was it because the 14's were too tight and they stupidly don't make 15's? Ding ding ding. Right answer.

Why don't they make 15's?

And why do the waist of jeans only go halfway to the waist?

Are Parents Supposed To Correct Their Children's Homework?

I'm sort of new to the real homework world. I'm not sure how this is all supposed to work.

I understand that parents should guide and teach and offer support through the whole homework process, but what about correcting it?

Is homework supposed to be an indication to the teacher of how completely hopeless my child's spelling skills really are? or should I be telling my daughter that almost every word on the page is spelled wrong and helping her spell them correctly? Then the teacher won't have a clue why she received 1/20 on her spelling test when her homework looked so good.

Does Reading The Work and The Glory Count As Scripture Study?

It has long passages from the Doctrine & Covenants and the New Testament.

How Did This Happen?

Exactly 15 walls on the main floor of my house have square foot patches of 10 different colours of sample paint on them.

15 walls!!


10 colours!!


How did this happen?

It's all a bit blurry, but I remember having the mother of a playdate come to pick up her daughter a week ago. I remember sitting on the couch having a lovely chat. I remember musing about how to decorate my house. My friend started throwing around words like "Natural Wicker" "Bluff" "Spiced Rum" and "Caramel." It all got foggier then. Two days later I was in her car on the way to Benjamin Moore. 47 swatches, 10 sample paint pots, and an hour and a half later, she told me we did not have time to go out for lunch (the only reason I agreed to go at all) and then we were in my house painting every sample on every wall. I remember nursing Mark, washing rollers and watching my friend roll a small patch on every wall in sight. A second trip to Benjamin Moore. A third trip tomorrow...

I was planning to think about this for six months. Then worry about it for three months. Then give up for another half a year. And then start discussing it with playdate moms again a year from now. Now I have a deadline to have Spiced Rum on the accent wall and Masada on the door jams by tomorrow at 3:30 when she comes to check it out and help me paint the Mannequin Cream on the doors.

Notice the $4.99 paint pot samples on the table in the background.

"How Come They Only Have One Kid?"

Me: "I don't know."

Chas: "Maybe they're not so lucky like us."

How Did I End Up Doing This AGAIN?

I'm hunting for a piano teacher AGAIN. I am so mad.

I did this three years ago when I decided our first teacher was not working for Naomi.

I searched lists of registered musicians. I googled piano teachers. I called music schools. I weighed different methodologies. I mapquested distances.

And I interviewed teacher after teacher. This is a completely ridiculous process because you don't get any idea of what it will really be like two months in when your kid is whining about practicing, throwing a fit in the lesson, or rudely refusing to try the next chord. And every teacher you interview besides the one, you either have to slink away and never call them back, or boldly call them and say that there is someone better than they are. It's like firing someone you haven't hired. It's awful.

We spent all summer searching. I endured it well. We found a nice grandmotherly sort. And Naomi changed teachers.

A year later we moved and I started it all over again. But this time for two children and in September, when of course, every teacher has all of their teaching spots full.

I chose a teacher who was close and had a beautifully decorated studio. Within two lessons I knew this was not going to work at all. She was already snapping at what I considered my children's mid-range behaviour. It was not going to be pretty when they pulled out their real antics. Now I had to fire a teacher I had hired (and had given 10 post-dated checks to.) That was no fun at all. Now I avoid her determinedly when I see her across the intermission lobby at the concerts we have season tickets to (and apparently so does she.)

Finally I found a wonderful teacher. Hooray! He was 50 minutes away, but it was worth it. He distinguished between the two very different girls seamlessly. He praised the efforts of the one who desperately needs encouragement and pushed the one who could handle a bit of challenge.

Nine months later he accepted a position as principal of a music school far away and I am ready to jump off the roof as I begin the process all over again. Especially when I consider that 75% of the people involved in the lessons would rather call it quits anyway (I'm one of that 75%, by the way.)

Why am I doing this at all? Is it sheer stubbornness? Or will this study of music really expand their minds, open opportunities, broaden their appreciation, nurture their talents, and bolster their confidence the way I always tell myself it will?

I am ready to throw in the towel.

Why Are My Armpits So Itchy?

Surely it couldn't be my deodorant!

I've used the same kind since I was thirteen and my super-cool older cousin took me into the drug store and told me that "Ban is the best because it has aluminum chlorohydrate." I just nodded, trying not to look as young as I felt. We also looked at lipstick that day. I nodded and tried to act as mature and cool as I could. And if she saw right through it, she didn't point it out to me.

By the way, Katie, I think of you when I buy deodorant. I should have included you in this post.

How Dare They Say All Those Things About Me?

And why the CRAP (the harshest, filthiest word I use) do we buy it?!?

I stood in a long line at the grocery store the other day. (and I had the back of my grocery list and a pen in my pocket.)

During that time I was told that I...

...should "Be Happier"

...could "Lose Weight While I Eat"

...can "Get More Out Of My Life"

...and ought to "Make My Man Happier."

Apparently "It's Time To Reinvent My Rooms" and "Lighten Up My Comfort Food."

I should have "Banked My Baby's Cord Blood," should be "Planning Ahead For Halloween," and can achieve "Body Bliss By 42."

And it seems that my sex life may not be "Normal."

Magazine after magazine tells me they have the "secrets," "tips," "tricks," and "inside scoops" to my life. Really? Well, that would be worth $3.95.

I won't even bother to include all the criticisms that are insinuated by the pictures in my tirade.

What gives Magazine Publishers the nerve to criticize, accuse and demean women so blatantly?

But the bigger question is, Why the HECK (another good swear word) are we stupid enough to buy it!?

(Mom, there's an article about "Curbing Your Child's Swearing" on p. 98 of Today's Parent Magazine)

Where's The Soother?

It has become the constant, perpetual, ubiquitous, pervasive, endlessly chronic daily question. (Thank you thesaurus.com)

I'm going to the store tomorrow and buying 10 more.

American Translation: Soother = Pacifier = Binky = Fafi

Is It Cruelty That My Kids Went To School Today Without New Shoes?

I walked the kids to school today. We were surrounded by shiny new shoes and pristine clothes too warm for the current weather.

I had a pang of guilt over last week's decision that they didn't need any new clothes. They don't need any new clothes. They have more than enough, even considering how rarely I do laundry, and they're all in good condition.

But new school clothes is part of the childhood experience, and now, year after year, I am denying my kids of it, because we have lucked into a few good hand-me-down gigs.

My kids seem oblivious to most material things, including this, so maybe I should just count my blessings and sign off this post. But sometimes kids seem oblivious to things, but are really keenly, internally aware.

Or, maybe I'm sending a much more important, lasting message, of priorities that rank clothes, money, shopping, and all that goes with it on the bottom rung?

But, oh dear, there was a pinch of guilt.

What's His Name? (Part IV)

On third thought,
let's go with

"Mark Daniel Peter Brooks."

You know the story of how we learned

the name of the Brother of Jared?

Well, let's just say I am grateful that

it was Daniel, not Mahonri Moriancumer.

Should I Bother Buying a Baby Book?

Baby Burrito began to smile yesterday.

I realized that a dutiful mother would write this down somewhere. Does blogging count?

Naomi has a baby book. It is 3/4 full of humorous anecdotes, critical-to-remember dates, and adorable pictures.

Eliza has a baby book because I was not going to be one of those mothers who only kept a record of her eldest's life. I feverishly wrote in Eliza's baby book every possible moment so that it would be robust like her sister's. Somehow it still only ended up about 1/3 full.

Chas has a baby book because when Eliza was born I was given two. It has three entries, and I don't know where it is. I comforted myself over the last five years by saying that, Although, I was not keeping a record of his life, I was doing the things that really mattered, like snuggling with him and drawing with chalk on the driveway. I also committed to memory every significant date so that I could go back in and fill out the baby book as soon as I had a minute. Needless to say, all those life-altering milestone dates have long since slipped into brain oblivion.

So, do I even bother buying Mark a baby book? I know I won't fill it out. The real question is, Will the guilt be greater if I don't buy the book at all or if I own it and it sits unused on my shelf?

This time I'm going to console myself with, Boys won't care about their babyhood the same way girls do. (If you disagree with this statement, you are invited to keep your comments to yourself.)

What Would We Do Without Her?

I was 11, sitting on my bed in Grandma Barbara's house reading the New Era. It was the issue with the annual writing/photo/music contest winners. The article was written by a sister in a family full of adopted kids. She described making 18 peanut butter sandwiches in the morning. I felt the smallest stirring in that moment that said, Adoption is a good way to form families.

That feeling came and went for more than a decade, all the while growing in intensity and clarity.

By the time Dallin and I were dating I felt a certainty that our family would be formed by adoption. Dallin had a similar journey with the Spirit.

When I became pregnant with Naomi I felt shocked. What about all of those feelings about adoption? Wasn't that all preparation for forming our family in a different way? But by now the stirring turned feeling was a yearning.

I went to the library and checked out books on adoption. I read websites. Dallin and I talked. And we prayed. Always we prayed.

Then suddenly, in a whirlwind of decisions piloted by Providence we found ourselves settled in Canada and seated in a chapel with a woman talking about adoption at the podium. Every feeling of 13 years culminated in that moment. When she finished and slipped into the hall, I chased her down. Literally.

No longer a stirring or a feeling, the yearning became a consuming, rushing, driving force. From that moment until nine months later we filled out paperwork, took pictures, met with social workers, dug money out of the woodwork, and prayed. Pleading, yearning, guided prayers.

And then it was August and she was coming. And she would be ours. And then it was September and she was born. And she was ours. And all the thoughts and longings of more than a decade were satisfied with this one miraculous child.

What a long, careful road we were led down to find her. For so many years. Why was it so important to have this child in our family? Why did she come to our family in this way? Why was Heavenly Father so involved in getting her to us?

Within moments we knew that Eliza would change our family dramatically. She is a peacemaker. She is an optimist. She has a magnetism unlike anything I've ever seen. She never forgets to pray for Chas, long after the rest of us have become complacent. She softens conflict. She brings hope. She restores the Spirit to our home. She is a gift to us. It's no wonder we call her, Grace. It's no wonder the Lord knew we needed her!

How Can I Possibly Have a Fever on Day 6 of Antibiotics?

I woke up yesterday with a fever of 100.2.

I took Motrin and Tylenol all day long.

I went to bed with a fever of 102.6.

And now it is 103.5.

I am so mad.

And sad.

And hot.

And cold.