Let this post serve as a reminder to me

to never have an opinion. Or at least not think I ever know what someone else could or should do.

I was a newly wed. I had money for cute haircuts. I was working for way more money than I needed, and considering other jobs with much lower salaries just for the potential enjoyment of them.

I stood in the doorway of a mid-life accountant, with a couple of teenagers at home, a too-large mortgage + reno payment to make, and a straggly no-style haircut adorning her worn out face. She told me of the great retirement package that kept her in a job she disliked. She told me of how it was too late to make a career change, or even a job change. She described trapped, stuck, discouraged feelings. She sounded hopeless.

I cheerfully explained to her how it was never too late to change where we are. I encouraged her to leave her dissatisfying job behind and strike out into something she would enjoy (I didn't bother with the arithmetic that would leave her without mortgage payment every month.) I threw together trite phrases about worlds and oysters and admonished her to live the Nike slogan.

As I walked away, I left very saddened for her limiting mental state that kept her caged in an unhappy life, and grateful for my much better way of viewing the world full of endless potential for me to be successful on every path.

Now, as I get closer and closer to mid-life land, with a too-large mortgage payment, and a no-style haircut, I'm sorry I ever opened my naive know-it-all mouth. I get it now. And I would gratefully trade my life of exciting potential success (rife with business loans that can use the word "million" in them) for a boring, trapped, great-retirement package job.

But our decisions have a way of putting us on a path that goes only forward, even if it's off a cliff. Backing up is great in theory but doesn't always work in reality.

Loveit, I'm sorry I ever gave you useless, demeaning counsel. I hope you've gone on to a comfortable retirement full of grandkids and dandelion bouquets and it is all the sweeter for the thorny path that led you there.

"Did You Wash Your Hands?"

"Yep. I did it while I was going to the bathroom.
I can reach the sink from the toilet."

"You mean, before you wiped?!"

"Uh-huh."

Efficiency gone wrong. Gross!

"Why Are You Throwing Away My Picture?"

This is my least favourite question in the whole world.

And the silver medal for least favourite question goes to...

"Where's My ________[e.g. brown puppy with the white spot that I won at the fair two years ago and have never ever mentioned or played with and looks like all of the other stuffed puppies in this house]?"

I always answer with a vague, "Hhmmm, I don't know where it could be or how it got in the garbage." But I believe there will be a day of reckoning where I will have to own that they all went to Salvation Army and the trash as soon as I could possibly sneak them out of the house.

I think that will be a bad day for me.

"Why Are You Crying About This?"

"Cuz if I keep crying then you'll make me sit on the stairs and I won't have to finish unloading the dishwasher."

I think this indicates a breakdown in my parenting strategies.

"Do You Remember The New Year's Resolution You Set This Morning?"

"No."

"To be nicer to your sister?"

"I didn't say I was going to start right away."

"Today is New Years Day. This is when it starts."

"I'll start for sure tomorrow.
I'll be nice to her for a whole week.
Starting tomorrow."


Oh dear. This must be a genetic flaw.

Answer 14--God Answers Children's Prayers Quickly

and then as we grow, He stretches the distance between prayer and answer.

It's an exercise program for our spirits. It starts with one lap and slowly adds a lap here and there until we have great endurance, strong faith, and a bit of patience.

At 5, with a panicked heart, I prayed in a rack of clothes at the department store that I would find my mother. Immediately, she called my name in the way only she does, with the I long and a soft Y in the third syllable.

At 7, when pulling and lotion and my mother did not extricate me and I was still hanging by my entrapped knee from my bunk bed. I prayed. And it simply slipped out.

At 11, I prayed for a friend, and I prayed a second time, and possibly a third time before Melissa Mitchell came along and we worked out a Paula Abdul dance for the school talent show together.

At 17, I had to study it out in my mind. I had to weigh the many college and scholarship decisions that lay scattered across my bed in glossy brochures of smiling undergrads. I had to sense a direction and ponder it and confirm it with the Lord.


Naomi, this week, decided to add fasting to her ongoing prayers "for a friend at school." The waiting period for a trusting 9 year old these days is about 48 hours. And the answers are as clear as glass, so she will have no chance of missing the connection.

Tuesday, through a misunderstanding in gym class, she found herself in the locker room amidst, "Nobody likes you," "You're so mean," and whispers that included her name.

Her one "hopeful" for a friend offered, "I'm sorry about all this," and walked out. But another girl, not even a playmate of hers, stayed.

Then, to make it clearer she said, "You're my friend." 4th graders don't generally talk this way, but Heavenly Father makes the connection very clear for newbies. And so, she said a second time, "You're my friend."

And they sat on the top of the monkey bar dome and planned their school talent show duet. And they ate lunch together. And they had a playdate.

And Naomi sees the Lord's hand in her life.


I see the Lord's hand in my life. But it is slower to see than it used to be. I search more and wait longer.

My muscles are growing.

"Mom, Are We Christian or Mormon?

Janie asked me and I didn't know."

Shoot! I wish we'd had this family home evening lesson a week sooner.


Mormons are Christians.

Mormons believe in Christ.

I believe in Christ.

I am a Christian.

What Are We Having For Breakfast?

Cold Cereal.

Is it Sunday?

Uh-huh.

Awwwwww.
Do we have to go to church?

Of course we're going to church.

I hate church.

Remember our family home Evening lesson with the Smarties? Remember why it is so important to keep the Sabbath Day Holy?

So that Heavenly Father can bless us.

That’s right and we really need those blessings right now.

But Heavenly Father could have answered
our prayers a long time ago.

I know that Heavenly Father listens to us and will bless us
with what will make us happy. He wants us to be happy.

It would make me happy not to go to church.
Does Heavenly Father want me to be happy?


Why do I always get trapped
on these kid logic conversations?

"What's The Hokey Pokey?"

Chas asked this morning. Eliza didn't know either. Nor Naomi.

Last week they wondered what sparklers were.



I rectified the sparkler problem on Halloween and the Hokey Pokey ignorance this afternoon in our living room.

They don't have a clue what's on TV. The only music they're exposed to at home is from before I was born. We had to Google the 4th grade music craze, Demi Lovato. They don't know what's playing at the movie theatres or the name of anybody famous except Obama. I'm not sure they know that video games exist.

What a deprived existence I'm carving out for our children.

The same one my mother created for me. The one I'm so very grateful for.

Does It Really Matter If Kids Close Their Eyes During The Prayer?

We've been fighting this battle for 5+ prayers a day for 8 years. (That's 14,600 prayers)

Sometimes we're mad

sometimes we whisper gently during the prayer

sometimes we ignore it and hope it will go away

sometimes we have powerful Family Home Evening lessons on respecting our Father in Heaven

sometimes we have close-your-eyes contests

sometimes we recite the five things we do during a prayer preceding every prayer

and sometimes I wonder why we bother at all.

Isn't it only really about creating a personal relationship with God? Can't that be done with their eyes open?

When do we declare defeat?

Can I Have A Horse?

Remember that Naomi negotiated for a cat? (click here)

Chas tried for a horse.

The horse was a no, but he did secure himself a pack of Bakugan cards in exchange for the bloody thrill for Dad. (To my own dad, It was all I could do to resist saying that "The horse was a nay.")

Then, that night, the Tooth Fairy comes too!

Our kids have got a smokin' good dental plan over here.

Naomi has even begun to gamble on the US/Canadian exchange rate. Last time she was in Utah with a lost tooth, the Fairy delivered 5 Canadian Dollars. We haven't figured that one out yet, but Naomi informed me this morning that she will be banking her next lost tooth to take with her to the US where the going rate is better. Maybe the tooth fairies in the US are unionized.

It's no wonder my kids won't ever do a "pay job," just wait until the next wiggly tooth, and you're set.

And What Do You Do About The Kid

who is suddenly too sick to go to church
but has shown no sign of illness all morning?

Tell him he's fine and send him anyway?
Trust his own judgement?

Call Daddy and say, on second thought, he can be the one to stay home with the hypochondriac kids (now that a majority of them are here) and I'll go to church, instead?

Why Do Kids Always Seem To Recover Right After...

...You Tell Them They're Too Sick To Go To Church/School?

And then I find myself in the ridiculous predicament of,

"Well if you're not going to act sick,
you'd better go to school/church, after all."

I'm creating Ferris Buellers.

How About A Primary Song?

It was a tender moment. Chas and Mark and me.

Mark looked at us with peaceful newborn eyes.

Should we sing him a song, Chas?

Yeah.

What should we sing him?

How about a primary song?

OK, what Primary Song?

"She Keeps On Talking"

If you aren't familiar with this 1980s winner, click play below.

And Question #195--How come you can't post just a song to a blog? Why does it have to be a video?

Who Takes These Pictures?

What Are You Thankful For?

We are so thankful that you are a dodib, too.

"How Come They Only Have One Kid?"

Me: "I don't know."

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

"What Does 'Angelic' Mean?"

"What do you think 'angelic' means?"

"I don't know."

"Can you guess?"

"Ummm."

"What does it sound like? An--gel--ic.

It means like something. Like a what?"

"Like a Jelly Bean?"

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?