What Can I Do To Have Today Again Tomorrow?

Start at 5:00 with a baby who slept all night.
Watch rainbows grow in the sky on our walk to school.
Reach the end of the rainbow. Literally.
Fill an Ikea bag full of food and clothes and games for the family whose house burned down last night.
Deliver the bag.
Complete all the errands, even the dry cleaning.
Invite Chas on a lunch date and watch his eyes shine over his worms & dirt dessert.
Laugh together at Calvin & Hobbes with Eliza.
Listen to Naomi's post-Activity Days chatter without rushing her.
Soak in the hot tub so that someone can listen to my chatter.
Discover the secret to making the baby giggle. (a belt snapping on the bed--no wonder it took us so long to figure it out.)

Count the tender mercies of the Lord in my life.

It was so great, I think I'll do it all again tomorrow.

"Life is like an old-time rail journey-delays, sidetracks, smoke, dust, cinders and jolts, interspersed only occasionally by beautiful vistas and thrilling bursts of speed. The trick is to thank the Lord for letting you have the ride." (Gordon B. Hinckley)

What's Up With Moods? (Part II)

crunchy leaves and pink noses
sun on top and fog beneath
sweatshirt weather
a peaceful pace because we're not late
children holding hands
with each other!
and autumn smells
on our way to school this morning

All Is Right With The World.

Now What?

I decided to go with my cousin Jodi's theory.(click here)

And after Star Wars and limitless sugar had induced a catatonic state

I explained the dangers of sugar

to their newly forming grown-up teeth

and to their mental capacity to retain spelling words and

other equally critical scholastic information

and to their athletic prowess on the netball court and soccer field

and to the respiratory and cardiovascular health

of their distant future.

They agreed that the risks were much too great and gathered up all of their sugar and dumped it into one enormous UNICEF bag, which I promised I would, under no conditions, throw away.

So, now what do I do with all of it?

Dallin, hide it from me.

Hide it deeply.

Like, in Milwaukee.

Why Is My Mood Directly Proportional to Hers?

And how do I sever the link?

y=kx

How Did I Get Here?

The short answer is that my mother cursed them on me.

The longer answer is that I arrived at this state--

"No that doesn't count as a bite. I said three bites, not two. A bite means you fill up your spoon. You like carrots. It's just chicken. It's only parsley. Parsley isn't a vegetable, it's a spice. It's just like salt and pepper, only green. If you finish the whole bowl, you can have another biscuit. Yes, of course, including the corn..."

--the longer answer is that I arrived at this ridiculous bite-counting, vegetable-pushing, guilt-creating state out of complete desperation. Tonight at dinner I felt that I negotiated deals more complex than NAFTA. I swore I would never visit this state. I think I said something about not even visiting this country.

I remember being four and watching my brother do the airplane thing with a bite on a fork. He was the best! It had neat "vrrrrrrrrrrr" and "bddddd" sounds, and loops and turns and dives. And I watched it all with my mouth open and I remember thinking, "There is no way I'm going to keep my mouth open when he tries to put the bite in." And time after time I clamped my mouth shut just as the airplane made its final descent to the landing strip.

And later I was eight and left at the table "until you finish your dinner." I think once I sat there for nine hours. I knew my mom was mad. But I also knew I would stay there for nine months if I had to. And finally I would be sent to my room with no supper (which, of course, was exactly the result I wanted.) And then that same wonderful older sibling would sneak crackers and cheese down to me. I think he thought there was a real possibility of starvation.

I entered parenthood committing to myself that I would not get sucked into this picky-eater nonsense. Well, actually, I was not going to have any picky eaters, but since that didn't work out, I went to plan B. Do not get emotionally involved. I knew it didn't work.

A while back a woman with eight grown children told me that if she were to do dinner-times again with her kids she wouldn't fight it at all. If they wanted five buns and no soup that would be fine with her. Everyone could have dessert regardless of whether they ate anything or not. Mealtime was about family togetherness, not about food. Is she right? By the way, all eight of her children have been quite rebellious and the two I know are obese. Does this give her theory less clout?

Well, as of tonight, I am currently touring this miserable state, but I think I'll take the next plane ride home. I hope it makes neat sounds and loops and dives. And I hope it finds a place to land.

How Much Avatar Can My Children Watch...

...Before Their Brains Turn To Complete Mush?


There are three seasons. Each season has 5 discs. Each disc has 99 to 148 minutes of action-packed video adventure. All three seasons have a Bonus Disc. That totals 2025 minutes of brain-mushing movie-watching. Or 34 hours.

And my children have watched the entire collection 3 times since the middle of July. (Thank you, Uncle Nathan.)

But, as we drove to church on Sunday and they were all chattering about how Katara and Saka found Aang and how Aang discovered that he was the Avatar and what the monks taught him and how he was going to save the world and how Zuko became a good guy... And I saw my three children's shining eyes and exuberant smiles and realized that Avatar is a uniting force in my children's lives. Go figure.

Is it worth mushy brains in order to have children who all want to pretend the same game, name the cat Katara, watch the same movie, and talk about the same topic at the dinner table?

Why Does Everyone Wet The Bed When Dallin Is Out Of Town?

And did you have to be sharing a bed with your brother and get him soaked too?
And why did it have to be on the makeshift bed on the floor made out of seven throw pillows and four blankets?
And why is it always on the bed that I just forgot to put the special water-proof pad on?
And if I'm going to stay up until 1 am reading, couldn't you wet the bed at 12:30 instead of 1:30?

And why does it feel better when it happens when Dallin is in town? Maybe it's the ounce of sympathy, the teaspoon of gratitude, the dash of pity, and the trace of a grimace that he gives me in the morning.

Should I Feel Guilty for being Thrilled...

...that there is No One in my House for the Next Two Days?

How about guilty over the fact that I'm going to leave the dirty dishes, laundry, bills, bathrooms, vacuuming, and Church work for some other time?

I do feel guilty, but it seems insufficient to dictate a change in course.

I'm off to read a book.

Why Does Every New Plan Eventually Die?

And why does "eventually" come so soon?



Another Chore Chart bites the dust.

We're on to piggy banks, tokens, and Mom's Store which is working brilliantly for two whole weeks now. (The greatest feature is the 1 token for every time they respond with, "I'd be happy to, Mom." Chas has mastered this better than anyone, and he ends up with a truckload of tokens at the end of each week.)

How Much Longer Will We Have A Full Moon?

Its been weeks of werewolves in kids' clothing. Aren't they supposed to revert to children when the moon wanes?

Shouting from top stair to bottom and from bottom stair to top. Shouting with tears.

And owies that are invisible and have not been mentioned for days, but now make it impossible to sleep. Owies that bring tears.

Tantrums over two measures of music. More tears.

Plastic cups, golf balls, and books ricocheting off heads. At least they all got a turn to cry.

Reminder medicine daily. Gagging. No tears.

Time outs every afternoon. No tears, maybe it's not working?

Miserable at the park, miserable at the party, miserable when there's a sub at school and they watch a movie. Tears all the way home.

I'm going to bed. I think I'll have a good cry and return when there's a total lunar eclipse. Apparently that's December 21, 2010.

What's My Favorite Sound?

Several months ago I read that Sister Hinckley said that her favorite sound was the sound of the screen door slamming. She said it was summer and children playing and family.

I thought that was so beautiful and I had an immediate wash of guilt because I am sure that I would not love the sound of a screen door slamming if I had a screen door to slam. The same way I don't love sand in my house and melted freezies stuck to the couch.

So, I've been thinking ever since about what my favorite sound is and what it says about me. For months the top ranking sound has been the kutookitookishoo of junk being sucked up into the vacuum. Especially the guilty liberating KACHANKITANKICHOO of sucking something up that I didn't want anymore anyway, like playmobile pieces, toy money, and hair elastics. What does this say about me?

Finally, though, I've realized that my actual favorite sound, although the vacuum is running a close race, is my children laughing. Especially with each other. That's the greatest sound in the world.

And by the way, one of my favorite sights in the world are "summer legs," complete with their black and blue patches, skin-missing knees and mosquito bite scabs torn off. I'll post a better picture if I can capture one in the coming months.