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.

"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?"

Do You Realize That Naomi is Halfway to Adulthood?

I cried when Dallin pointed this out to me. 

 

It's all been too fast.

 

I haven't taught her half the things she needs to know. 

 

I'm behind and I'm chronically bad at catching up. 

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.

Can't We Stop Time? (Part III)

I don't read anymore when I nurse.

I read many books when I nursed Naomi.

A little less when I fed Eliza.

I did finish one book, Peter Pan, while Chas began to grow.

But now, I realize--

it all slips by much too fast
so now I watch every suck and swallow
and the book sits unopened nearby on the table
as if by watching you I will slow the clock
or capture the fleeting moment

It isn't working, by the way,

but I think I'll keep trying.

What's His Name? (Part III)

On second thought,
I think we'll just stick with



"Baby Burrito."

Why Does Nursing Matter To Me So Much?

Naomi was nursed and had formula every day because I was working full-time.

Eliza never nursed once in her life.

Chas never had a taste of a bottle until he was seven months old and I was in the hospital for the second time and I weaned him cold-turkey.

They all turned out bonded to their mother, physically healthy, emotionally secure, and we still have enough money to put food on the table.

So as I enter back into the throes of recurrent mastitis I'm wondering why it feels like it matters so much to me to nurse him.

He seems so little. He's not yet three weeks old. It feels like my breast-milk might protect him from the big, bad world out there. And maybe it will fill his blood with super-duper antibodies, but what I actually want to protect him from (abuse and evil and drugs and bad teenage friends...) Well, nursing doesn't create a shield for those things.

There are breast-feeding die-hards around here. They're shocked when you use the word "formula." I tend to roll my eyes at this attitude. Millions of babies have turned out just fine and were only ever bottle-fed.

Maybe it's the expense? I didn't love the cost of formula, or the midnight store-runs when I realized we were out.

The hassle of bottles? They are a hassle, but then so is a fever of 103.

I do believe that the regular-old-way, in most cases, is the best way. I don't get caught up in new diet fads. I don't buy protein bars or protein powder. I just deliver babies without drugs whenever they want to come. When my kids are sick, I wait and see, and it usually all works out. I believe in leaving well enough alone whenever possible.

Maybe that's it. I just want to feed him the regular-old-way.

Or maybe I don't want to patter across to the kitchen at 2 am to make a bottle.

Or maybe I am one of those mothers who seem to love breast-feeding for themselves more than for their baby's sake and will nurse until the baby is eating steak for dinner and taking piano lessons.

Or maybe I don't want to admit that Mastitis can win. I don't want to be beat.

Answer #9--Life Is Good

there is nothing like

a groggy tiny person

with eyes half drooped

and milk dripping off his chin

his arms raised to their full extent

(which only gets them up to his ears)

making the softest snoring sound

as he's flopped over my shoulder

to remind me that Earth Life Is Good

and that Heavenly Father Loves Me

And then,

as if to demonstrate that

the best is yet to be,

sometimes

he has his head facing this way

and he smiles that gummy

"I-can-still-remember-heaven" smile

and all is right in the world

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?

Answer #8--And His Name Is...

Well,

I bought wood letters at the craft store today,

so I guess it's official.

Mark Gideon Peter Brooks

"Was There Ever a Time...?"

"Was there ever a time when you wished you weren't doing it (giving birth) at home?"

"No, but there was a long time when I wished I weren't doing it period."

What's His Name? (Part II)

"Can I have Mark AND Nathaniel if I let you have Mosiah?"
"No, you get Mark or Nathaniel, not both."
"Please?"
"No way."
"Remember that you were gone for ten days and missed his birth?" (I'm desperate.)
"No."

-----

After spending far too many hours with the computer and google searches such as "cool names that are unpopular" or "top 100 names of the year," Dallin declares, "I've got the perfect name!"
"Oh?"
"Would you rather hear it or see it written out?"
"Whatever."
"OK, ready?"
"I'm ready."
"It's so great!"
"OK."
"Algernon!"
"ALGERNON?!"
"We could call him Algy." (You can't possibly appreciate this conversation without seeing the excited grin on Dallin's face)
"Algae?! Why not Fungus?"

Can't We Stop Time? (Part II)

I didn't want him to come out...

I knew he'd have a ridge on his head and squished ears. He might have furry cheeks and shoulders. He probably wouldn't open his eyes, he would squeak like a mouse, and he would smell like heaven.


And then he wouldn't have an umbilical cord anymore, not even the little purple dead part.

And he would begin to open his eyes and have tears and sound like a baby, not a mouse.

The ridge would go away and the ears would start to straighten out.

The furry, delicious skin would start to be regular human skin.

And soon he won't smell like heaven anymore either.

Oh, stop, stop, stop!

I didn't want him to come out because I've done this before. I knew what was coming.

Let the mourning begin.

Answer #5--Something Is Better Than Nothing (Part II)

And Answer #7--Act To Do Good Quickly

Naomi's friend's mother had a baby a few months ago. I wanted to take her a meal. I wanted to take her kids for a playdate. I waited for the right moment. I wished I had the right food to cook. I didn't have her phone number. I tried to find the day that would work best. And in the end I did nothing. Stink!

I had a baby last week. A friend brought us cheesecake, Frutopia juice, blueberries, a box of individually wrapped snacks and a container of cream cheese. What a strange combination of food. What a gift it was to eat those blueberries by the handful at 5:30 in the morning, and give my kids the snacks when they were grumpy, and have cheesecake for lunch while everyone else was at church. The next day she called to invite all my kids over for a playdate. She said, in her experience, Day 3 was the worst. She remembered and acted before it was day 4 or 7 or 43.

I hope I've learned my lesson: A container of cream cheese is helpful. And act now while it is still Day 3.