Tuesday, October 14, 2014

Witching Hours

It seemed like a good idea at the time, to turn my 7 year old loose with a butcher knife.

I'd been to Gilcrease Orchard earlier today and brought home three pumpkins.  Sounds like a simple thing, doesn't it?  To carve three pumpkins with three children?

Maybe if my 5th grader hadn't had three hours of homework.  One assignment was to make a bar graph on the computer to display data she'd collected for a science experiment.  (You can whip that out, right Mom?)  Oh yeah, daughter, I make bar graphs in Excel all the time.  So while I'm nursing a break dancing baby and trying to watch youtube tutorials on how to label the axises on the bar graph, the kids continue to beg to get started on those pumpkins. They take them in the backyard to "show to their friends".  I hear the neighbor boy, who is hanging over the cinder block wall screaming and my kids laughing.  Whaaat is happening back there?

Jemma, my five year old,  has dropped her pumpkin from an undisclosed height, splitting it.  And Evan has gone all Norman Bates with a butcher knife on his pumpkin, leaving it fit for a crime scene, not my front porch.  Did I actually tell him to go ahead and carve his pumpkin??  Am I psycho?

The concessions I make between the hours of 3pm and 7pm are sometimes baffling.

Like, if I survive those hours with a meal prepared, homework done and my voice not raising above she-witch decibels, I feel like I need a fat medal.  And a sticker to put on my van.  Something along the lines of "My kids are fed and educated every night between the hours of 3 and 7".  Ragnar stickers?  Marathon stickers?  Mama, please.  Feed and educate four kids between the hours of 3 and 7.  That's a true test of endurance.

I told Jemma to put a show on for the crying baby so I could get dinner going.  (A new recipe of course, on a night when my husband was gone and pumpkins are dying and science experiments are barking orders at me.) I'm just asking for punishment, sometimes.

In the fringe of my consciousness, I think I hear The Hunchback of Notre Dame on.  Something whispers to me, "Isn't that a super creepy Disney show?"  Like so creepy it's the only Disney movie that never made it to DVD?  Like all the imagineers later said, "Yeah.  Never mind.  Our bad."  My whispering suspicion was confirmed when I see Jemma holding up her Elmo plush toy to Luke and making Elmo sing, "FIRE! HELL FIRE!" In a creepy five year old girl Elmo voice. (Smack my forehead)

Truth:  It's a lawless zoo up in here. It's not that I don't try.  My kids are good and they follow rules.  It's just the laws of nature I have no control over.  And four tired, hungry, hyper kids between the hours of 3 and 7 follow the laws of nature, which closely resemble chaos theory.  It's like popping a bag of microwave popcorn and asking the kernels to please pop one second apart and line up by size and saltiness.  Nope.  They pop how dey pop.  They eat stuff off the floor, and they violate pumpkins and they fight and cry and sing in creepy Elmo Satan voices to sad babies.  Freaking chaos.

After things simmered down a bit, I fed them warped Ikea bowls of new recipe food, finished up the last 17 problems of algebra and duck taped a pumpkin back together.  No, I won't be instagramming this year's jackolanterns.  Especially since they are still all stringy inside and are barfing seeds out their noses.

But I hope my kids had fun.  I hope they remember the jokes we told while we tried to carve the most hard pumpkin I have ever carved.  I was grunting and sweating and Evan kept telling me to imagine the lines super long at Walmart...that should give me the wrath necessary to cut through that impenetrable pumpkin skin!  I hope Afton goes to school proud of her science bar graph.  I hope they know I love them and these afternoon hours, though undeniably trying, are the hours that at this time in my life, are making me the mom and the woman I am.  And I hope baby Luke doesn't dream of Devil Elmo tonight.

Thursday, December 12, 2013

Dear Matt Roloff, You Blew It And This Is What You Should Have Said.

My family teases me because I am an ardent fan of the TLC reality series Little People Big World.  It's about a husband and wife, Matt and Amy Roloff, who are dwarfs, and their kids (one who is a dwarf and three who aren't.)  It's set on their deliciously beautiful farm in Oregon.  I've loved watching it for years because it celebrates overcoming challenges, working together, family values and living a BIG life.  Let's face it, there aren't a lot of shows on t.v. that fit that bill.

In fact, it's the only show that actually changed my life.  I know, I know...commence eye rolling.  The thing is, the mom, Amy, is THRILLED to be a mother.  No, really.  She is thrilled.  I started watching when I had (plural) kids in diapers and was feeling overwhelmed by my duties as a wife and mother.  I often felt sorry for myself and nursed a huge chip on my shoulder.  Too many times I lamented to anyone who would listen, about how exhausted I was.  I survived the day so I could make it to bed time and finally have some time for myself.

Lots of times that time included watching LPBW.  As I watched Amy raise her kids over the years, I noticed that the sparkle in her eye came from being a mother.  It was obvious her greatest accomplishment as a human being was that she screamed at soccer games and flipped pancakes and took hundreds of pictures and hemmed pants and took road trips and counseled and immersed herself body and spirit in the lives of her kids.  My Grinchy heart melted.  She helped me see that my biggest treasures were right in front of me and some of them happened to be standing in crappy diapers.  And that was okay.  In fact, that was great.  In fact, changing that butt bomb and a million other things were the reason I was here.

This attitude I learned from Amy is summed up nicely with this thought, "Motherhood is not a hobby...it is a calling.  It's not something to do if you can squeeze the time in, It's what God gave you time for." -quoted by Neil Anderson.

I'm not perfect. I still get tired and overwhelmed and whiny.  But I never doubt the opportunity I have to mother these kids is priceless.  Much of that assurance, I got from watching Amy.

So now on to why I'm so riled up over an episode of LPBW I recently watched.  It's no secret that Matt and Amy have "relationship challenges".  Actually, from what we see on t.v. they bicker and struggle a LOT.  So much I want to knock their heads together and say, "Get it together, you ding dongs!"  Who knows, an outsider watching me fight with my husband might say the same thing.  I know it feels easy to solve OTHER people's problems.

The episode in question featured their son Zachary issuing a challenge for them to tie a rope to each of their waists, connecting them chain gang style, so that they would be forced to spend 24 hours working together and cooperating.  The challenge began with an agreement to spend the first half of the day on Amy's stuff and then the afternoon on Matt's things he needed to do.  Amy's day started out much like my days do.  Cleaning up after people, throwing in a load of laundry, washing dishes, watering and a plant that's on its last gasping breath of life, taking out trash, setting out things to prep for dinner etc.  She ran around like a chicken with her head cut off. Like all busy moms do.

From my experience, daily mom activities often get mixed up and derailed. For example, when I go to take the trash out and find the dog has peed in the hallway, I stop and clean it up.  And then after I clean that up I remember I was actually just trying to clear off the counters, but there was no more room in the trash for the used paper plates and that's why I had to take out the trash and that's when I found the dog pee.  And that's why someone looking in from the outside might think I'm a hot mess.

Matt thought Amy was worse.  He watched her buzz around and do what we moms do.  He was disgusted.  He commented again and again about her poor use of time and lack of organization.  How her time could better be spent out of kitchen - out of the house.  He thought he knew better. He thought all that she was working on could and should be hired out.  Later in the day when she began making a dinner of delicious veggies he turned up his nose and criticized her meal choice.  Half way through her preparation, he demanded they leave and  go out to eat something he wanted to eat.  My jaw hit the ground.

His behavior was one of the worst messages I've seen on t.v.  And it is SAD that I'm not exaggerating. As he watched her labor for the family, this is what he should have said.  "Thank you, Amy for all that you do around here.  I know it must not be easy to pick up after people who leave their messes.  Thank you for the clean clothes on my back.  Thank you for your desire to gather us around the table to talk and enjoy a healthy meal.  Thank you for prioritizing time spent in this house so that when one of our children log off of the Xbox or their Iphones and wander through the kitchen for a snack, you are there at the crossroads to talk, and check in with them.  Thank you for making this house a home with your love, your presence, your food, and the work of your hands.  You are my greatest treasure.  May I give you a kiss?"

As much as I mourn the fact that he didn't uplift, encourage and praise his wife for the little and big things she does to serve her family, I am volcanic about the ripple effect.  How many mothers or wives were watching and felt the sting of his words?  How many of us felt a devaluation of our life's work?  How many battles do we fight that try to beat into us that being a mom and wife isn't a real job?  How many television shows tell us to be truly powerful we must seduce, deceive, fight and scrape, put off a godly life, demean ourselves and toss away anything ladylike?  How many shows devalue qualities such as patience, tenderness, femininity and old-fashioned work?  These messages scream in my face at every turn and I can't help but to scream back.

It is good and lovely and virtuous to honor and hold dear my role as a wife and mother.  The work of my hands and the fruit of my loins are known by God and they mean something.  I do not need any worldly power, because as the poet William Ross Wallace said, "The hand that rocks the cradle is the hand that rules the world".

So please, Matt.  If your wife values time spent in her home taking care of the family in the way that she sees fit, let her.  In fact, praise her.  She does not spend every minute in a way that you would, but isn't that great?  Isn't it wonderful that the sexes are driven to care for their families in such different ways?  You are a giant among men with your abilities and imagination.  You have built a monument of beautiful success your family will always enjoy.  But so has Amy.  In pondering all of the big things you have done, consider these words from a wise man, "No success will compensate for failure in the home." - David MacKay.

 And you might be fed up with the way Amy does or doesn't value your life's work. And I know it takes two to tango.  And I know it's a t.v. show that may edit words out of context.  And I know I'm writing a blog post to a celebrity who will never read it.  But I had to say what I said, because for all of the power and ability you have to spread a message, most of which has been wonderful and inspiring, this time you blew it big time.

Tuesday, February 26, 2013

Love Your Man

I was a mean little ninny when I married Nic.  I was a selfish person.  I had all kinds of ideas on how to be a good wife, but often gave in to a sour temper and worried mostly about myself.  Almost 12 years have passed, and I've learned a lot in that time.  I have observed others, experimented myself, learned from my good husband and studied bits and morsels of information from all kinds of sources on how to increase the warmth and mutual love in marriage.

I think there is a fallacy out there that your man has to be perfect for him to deserve your best effort in loving him. It's a lie.  Give him your best.  Be the initiator, and if he isn't a jerk, or abusive or a mistake, I'd bet he will reciprocate in ways that will surprise you.

 I've been thinking about two topics.  How to treat HIM and How to be a WOMAN.  I'll write about the first topic today and tackle the latter later.  I like saying that...latter later.  Heh heh.  Anyhoo...

How to treat your MAN.

Ever felt ambivalent in your marriage?  I think it is not uncommon to have that loving feeling ebb and flow.  Don't panic, it is just what happens in direct result to how we treat each other - not some sad nonsense the world tells you about "falling out of love".  No such thing.  The feelings we have for each other are always our fault, good or bad.

I love these ideas on how to make your man feel your love and how to make YOU feel love for your man:

- Never speak badly of your husband to anyone, ever.

-Compliment him in front of his friends and family or even your friends.  Complement him in private. Compliment him in front of his children.  Say something like, "Kids did you know your dad is the best ______?"  or "Do you know why your dad is so awesome?  Because he ______."

- Put a hand on his shoulder or face and tell him he is handsome.  You might be in a place where it is hard to think of a compliment.  Start small - start anywhere. If he isn't used to you doing that, he might be taken aback a bit.  But he will feel good-whether he admits it, or not. Find a way to compliment him every day.

-BEST question to melt an icy heart..."What can I do for you today to make you happy?"  Mean it and do it.
Offer a foot rub with lotion while you watch t.v.  Ask what he would like you to cook for him one night.  It doesn't have to be a huge thing...you know your guy.

-If you are a spiritual couple, pray as a couple at night, hold his hand when you kneel and express to God your gratitude for specific things your man has done, such as provide for your family, help with the kids- anything you admire or would miss about him if he were gone.  On your own, pray for your husband, mention his specific challenges.  You might mention to him he's been in your personal prayers.

-Think kindly of your partner and have a forgiving heart.  If you find yourself silently arguing with him while you do the dishes, or wish he were THIS or wish he were THAT or why can't he just....Stop it.  Appreciate the good he does and leave the fault finding behind.  Ruth Bell Graham said, "Marriage is the union of two good forgivers".  True that, Ruth.  True that.

These are a few things I've learned and try to do...I'm not perfect at any of it...but when I do it, it brings my heart to a warm and loving place.  It makes my home happy.  What do you do to make your husband feel special and loved?  I seriously want to know!

Next time, I'll share some thoughts on How to be a GIRL! :)

Friday, January 25, 2013

A Surprise at Smith's

  I was at Smith's and I had just hefted the car seat onto the shopping cart.  I wiped down the parts of the cart with an antiseptic wipe that I or Jemma was likely to touch.  I squatted down, carefully as not to hurt any still sore muscles or wounds from the delivery three weeks ago.  I fished out my grocery list from my absurdly large diaper bag.  It was written on the back of an ABC tracing practice page.  Jemma had traced A through E with a blue crayon.

Then I had the most wonderful experience.  It was neither sought after or contrived.  It just came.  As I unfolded the list, I had the most clear impression of how much I do as a wife and mother is not a thankless job.  Many images ran though my mind at once.  The time I've spent helping an emerging reader sound out the same words over and over.  The third round of teaching ABC's to the third child.  The extra effort I put in this week to make a healthier grocery list and not throw any old sugar-junk thing in front of the kids.  The midnight trip to the store to get medicine for my fevered husband.  The scriptures read at the table while I made a peanut butter sandwich for the cold lunch.  I felt acutely how much my Father in heaven notices my efforts.  I felt so loved and so gratified. I squatted there at the basket area and cried for a second.

Sometimes it's easy to feel like we run from task to task.  No one notices.  No one cares.  We mop the floor and a dog runs in and does a lap around the table with muddy feet.  We bathe, we comb, we correct, we listen, we cook, we wash, we tidy up.  There is no glamour in these things.  It won't land us on the cover of any magazine.  Honestly, I have wondered from time to time when I'm very tired, what's it all for?

But today I felt it.  What an unexpected tender gift.  It all matters.  The smallest things matter.  The clean, combed, well fed, taught, loved and corrected child is His child.  He thanks me and he loves me for caring for them.  There is no other thing that would matter more.

Tuesday, September 4, 2012

Rant-a-roonie and a happy ending.

Rant-a-roonie.  You've been warned.

If I told it to you in reverse it would go like this:

 Nic walked in the door and all the kids ran to him and said, "MOM BIT HER TONGUE AND SHE'S CRYING!"

Before that I popped Tylenol for a booming head.

Before that, the container of play-do toys fell out of the cupboard and spilled all over the floor.

  Evan went limp and cried and slid out of his chair about 400 times during the 45 minutes it took to write four words for his homework.

The air conditioner broke.  That's right.  (I can not name any higher level of rudeness than to have the AC crap out on a pregnant woman.)

I did a Scooby-do like slip on some spilled dog food.

Jemma fell asleep at school pick up.  It was 100 degrees and I had to carry her to the ends of the earth (the very last line at the playground) to pick up Afton.

Evan kicked my toe with his fat shoes and ripped my big toenail off.

I discovered a week of bronchitis is not kind on the pregnant bladder.  Over and over again.

I spent a day in the emergency room trying to figure out why I can't eat without pain and nausea for days on end.

I moaned and bawled all night while telling Nic, "I'm not going to the hospital!  They never find what's wrong with you!"

I held the breathing treatment mask over Afton's face and a bucket under her chin for three nights in a row.

Oh yeah, I've been nauseated every single day since Mother's Day.

So when I bit my tongue, I cried.  Sue me.

BUT!  If I could have the opposite experience...

I would drive to Disneyland and check into the Grand Californian Hotel.  I would have breakfast at the Storyteller's cafe.  I would order Caramel stuffed french toast with scrambled eggs and ketchup, red potatoes and milk and o.j..

I would ride Pirates first, Haunted Mansion second, and then Pooh Bear.  I would stop for a caramel apple with peanuts at the Pooh Bear store.  I would make sure to watch the senior citizen swing dancers at the plaza at night.  I would also eat a pineapple float from the stand by the Tiki Room.  (Disneyland is always about the food for me...not just when I'm pregnant:)  I would have Nic push me in a wheelchair the entire time.  When is somebody going to invent an adult stroller?

After my fill of Disneyland, which I'm sure would take at least 6 or 7 days...I would go to Ikea.  To fuel up my body before my shopping, I would eat the Swedish Meatballs with lingon berry sauce.  (Okay...maybe my pregnancy is influencing my food fantasies a tad...)  I would buy window coverings  for my whole house and soft cotton covers for fluffy duvets.  I'd buy huge impractical tropical plants and over-sized art.  Nic would still push me in a wheelchair.

Then I'd drive home to my beach house that was conveniently purchased by surprise for me while I was at Disneyland and unpack my wares.

I'm done crying now.

Wednesday, August 1, 2012

I was going to, but...

Do you have a favorite ice cream or candy you cannot trust yourself around?  Like, you know you will eat the entire thing and loathe yourself for it later?  That's how facebook was for me when it first came out.  I was coo-coo.

I've finally found a happy balance.  I don't look at it every day.  Sometimes not even every week.  But I do enjoy it.

I have a friend, Stacie,  in my ward who I enjoy too.  She kept posting things about her California vacation with some fun looking ladies.  When I saw her in Sunday school I told her that I'd like her to take me on her next vacation and introduce me to her people.  She laughed and said she had a good time and then she mentioned something that has happened to me before and it kind of bugs me.  She said when she got together with all of her girlfriends, the conversation had to be worked on a little because each new topic that was brought up ended with someone saying, "Oh yeah, I already heard about that on facebook."  Has that ever happened to you?

It got me to thinking.  I think facebook is fun, especially to keep in touch with old friends you don't see on a regular basis.  But I will say, I kind of miss old fashioned chatting.  And I do HATE that when I'm trying to share some juicy news and everyone already heard it on facebook.  Kill joy.

Well, on Monday I found out the sex of my baby.  I have to admit, my facebook finger was kind of itchy to post it right away.  But I'm not going to.  Not for some self righteous lesson to teach the universe, but as a way of SEEING the smile on the faces or hearing the voices of those I tell.  If you wanna know, ask me next time you see me:)  I look forward to chatting.

Friday, May 4, 2012

That's What I Thought

I picked Afton up at the church the other night.  It was a gorgeous evening, so I rolled the windows down.  The fresh air blew in and YUCK!  The smell of it was so disgusting!  That was my first clue.  Fresh air should not smell disgusting.

Then I felt scatter brained and overwhelmed for no identifiable reason.  I thought my thyroid medicine was wonky.

Then I felt like a 500 lb woman just trying to make it up the stairs. 

The last straw was the 15 minute bawl session I had on the freeway for no reason yesterday.  Nic had that little twinkle of fear in his eye.  That one that silently screams, "Oh my Heavens, WHAT did I marry?"

Sho' nuff.  I'm pregnant.