Monday, May 31, 2010

A Memory for Monday (with Grandad)

In May, 1982 I was 7 years old.
Seven.
I was very young.

My Grandad, (my dad's dad) was 68.
Now I realize, that too is young.

On May 31, 1982 my Grandad passed away.  I recall very little about his death.  I remember sitting on my couch in my front room looking straight ahead, while I was being told he had died.

I do remember standing at an intimate gathering at the graveside.  My dad was offering a prayer, in which he was dedicating my Grandad's grave to be his final resting place.

Prayers were a common occurrence in my life.  My family prayed frequently, and I knew the rules... one was supposed to close their eyes during prayers.

As I closed my eyes while my dad was praying, tears silently seeped out.  I guess I didn't realize crying was normal at the death of a grandparent, and so, in a brave effort to not let anybody see me cry.  I kept my eyes open for the duration of the prayer.

Though I only knew my Grandad for seven short years.  I think of him frequently.  I have shed plenty of tears at the tender memories I have with him, and I have shed tears at the memories never created.

I think of Grandad at every funeral I attend.
Because whenever I am at a funeral, I do not close my eyes during the prayers.

Friday, May 28, 2010

The Verdict Is In

I have a relationship with...
GUILT.
I'm thinking I feel guilt too frequently.  But in a course of a day...

How can I not feel GUILT when not only is somebody babysitting my children for me, but while babysitting,   the babysitter mom has to wipe my potty-training child's bum?

How can I not feel GUILT when I've told my child "just a minute" and they call for me again in 20 minutes, them having spent the whole last 20 minutes vigilantly keeping time?

How do I not feel GUILT when I look at our toilets and become concerned that a family member could possibly contract a potential disease from exposure to our own bathrooms at any given moment?

How can I not feel GUILT when I look at my children's sleeping faces, give them each a goodnight kiss and  then whisper a silent prayer of thanks that I don't have to see them awake again for at least 10-12 hours?

How can I not feel GUILT when I see an old high-school acquaintance at the store and immediately text an unkind comment a simple observation to my BFF?

Or consider this... Somebody has just called to ask if my only awake child can come and play with her child and she can even pick her up, because she knows my two boys are sleeping.  As I walk back in the house, giddy with excitement to have QUIET time ALL TO MYSELF, I realize I only have 15 minutes until the older two kids return home from school.  And then comes the GUILT... when I begin to get unkind feelings towards her thinking WHY DIDN'T THE WOMAN CALL ME AN HOUR AGO?!?!

But I guess GUILT is good in someways...

I feel GUILT when I drop my Kindergartener off at school for her field trip and see probably every single Kindergarten mother accompanying their child on the Field Trip except...ME.  But then I remind myself that not only am I just finishing up the school year as the PTA President, with one more year to go, but that I'm on my way to Costco (with two-not-easy-to shop-with-little-boys) to buy 600+ drinks and order 600+ popsicles for Field Day for THEIR kids. That's why they have time for a field trip today and I don't.

And of course, GUILT serves a great purpose when it motivates me to DO BETTER.  Feeling GUILT helps when I am in the middle of a temper tantrum and the children and husband are ducking so as not to be assaulted by flying socks, homework papers or the occasional toy.  The GUILT brings a much quicker end to the tantrum and motivates me to do better more than any type of peace or joy ever does.

And now I must go.  Because I can feel some GUILT coming on... my dining room is covered with PTA papers that I promised myself I'd clear four days ago, the Cub Scout shirt is patiently waiting for the silver arrow to be re-sewn on so it isn't quite so crooked that it will embarrass the wearer, and my three year old cowboy is begging for his Wranglers to be moved from the washing machine to the dryer.

Oh great! And now I need to find some tape to fix the drawing that just got ripped because someone wasn't paying close enough attention to a one year old.  Actually, maybe I'll just throw it away and hope no-one remembers about it.

Aagh-the GUILT.
Does it EVER END?!?

Thursday, May 27, 2010

If You're Luke . . .

And you need a trailer to transport the homemade Roping Dummie(s) . . .

You build one:

Wednesday, May 26, 2010

Stale Hamburger Buns

 (This photo has nothing to do with the post, but it depicts one of those blissful moments that help make up for the not-so-blissful times...)


The other Sunday I wrestled through my church meeting with five children.  This included a baby who woke up earlier than usual and was far past-due for a nap.  A three year old that had too much energy.  Two sisters wanting to argue for an hour straight and an eight year old who kept asking such questions as, “How much longer?” and “Is anyone coming over tonight?” 

My patience was almost gone.  But as I was trying to settle my fussy baby, I couldn’t help but notice a single lady sitting right by me thoughtfully taking notes while the speaker spoke.  Notes!?  I was barely even aware of what the speaker was talking about, but note-taking?  At that moment, being able to take notes, and internalize the speaker’s message seemed luxurious.    As I felt a brief pang of envy, I momentarily day dreamed about such luxuries as sitting alone in a meeting and feeling motivated and inspired rather than feeling frustrated and weary.

My daydream was soon interrupted by my questioning son, “What are we having for dinner today?”  With gritted teeth and an expression that implied, ‘Do not ask any more questions,’ I whispered, “We’re having homemade hamburgers.”  (We have our ‘Sunday meal’ on Mondays.)  Luke’s eyes lit up, a little giggle escaped and a louder-than-appropriate voice said an exaggerated, “YYEEESSSSSS.”  And then as my pickiest eater child, he added, “Don’t change your mind, ok?”

I smiled.  I even let out a little giggle myself.  My frustration and my weariness dissipated, I looked over at the note-taking lady with different eyes.  Now I felt a brief pang of envy for her, I felt badly that she didn’t have someone to tell “We’re having homemade hamburgers” to. 

A few hours later, when the dinner preparation was beginning, I realized I had forgotten to buy hamburger buns.  The all too familiar frustrating and weary thoughts were about to return, but as I contemplated changing the menu, I remembered the excited plea “Don’t change your mind, ok?”  

As seven members of my family sat around the table eating homemade hamburgers on less than fresh, slightly freezer burned hamburger buns, I smiled.    I looked at the kitchen counter scattered with dishes and hamburger fixings, I glanced at the high chair with a feeding-himself-one –year- old-disaster, and I glanced at the other faces, happily eating and talking.   I was enjoying a very simple, brief moment of happiness and joy.  I knew in that moment that sitting alone in a meeting, internalizing a speaker’s message, even taking notes, is a luxury I’m happy to forgo for now.

Even, if it includes stale hamburger buns once in a while.

Also published, here.

Tuesday, May 25, 2010

No Dummie Here

This is a known as a 'Roping Calf Dummie':
Cowboys practice their roping on such things...


And this:
I'm not really sure what it is called.  I think it is one of those situations where "Luke wants something, but Mom won't buy it for him, so he'll make it himself..."

My mind  took a picture memory tonight (I forgot my camera) at Cub Scouts, when each Cub Scout showed off a display of something they made or are good at.  We saw soccer trophies, school projects and a few homemade crafts. 

And though I may be biased, I do think Luke's 'Roping Calf' was the most unique...

You gotta love Luke.
We certainly do!

Monday, May 24, 2010

A Memory for Monday (with a boy named Mike)

When I was in college, I met a guy named Mike. We instantly became great friends.  He had a best friend, I had a best friend, and the four of us had oh, so many great times together.  We were such good friends.  In fact,  I knew all about Mike's different girlfriends, and Mike would do drive-bys with me so I could drive by 'the boy I loved's' house lots of times in a row, because 'the boy I loved' wouldn't recognize Mike's car.

Oh we were great friends.  I love to read my journal about what a great guy I thought he was... and how I hoped the girl he married deserved him...how I hoped he married so-and-so because they made such a cute couple...how I admired his strong work ethic...and how I hoped in years to come, we'd still be able to somewhat keep in contact...  (Way before the days of Facebook...)


We were the best of friends.
And then.
After a couple of years,
I decided,
I liked him a little bit more than that.

And then I started feeling a little prompting.  Over weeks, the prompting became stronger, and what I knew and fully recognized as the Holy Ghost, was prompting me to admit my true feelings to this friend of mine.  It was not easy.  Oh it was not easy.  I was scared.  I was embarrassed. I was nervous. But, with REO Speedwagon's encouragement,
I can't fight this feeling any longer
And yet I'm still afraid to let it flow
What started out as friendship, has grown stronger
I only wish I had the strength to let it show
I tell myself that I can't hold out forever
I said there is no reason for my fear...

I decided I couldn't hold out any longer.
May 22, 1996 I told Mike that I liked him more than a friend.
His response?
"You're like a sister. I could never kiss a sister."
I count that conversation as one of the most difficult, raw, awkward, yet honest conversations thus far in my life.  (And I've had plenty...)

And then a week or so later, Mike graduated from college and moved away.
And I, trying my hardest to keep my head held high went on with my life.

Friday, May 21, 2010

All About The Little Things

Lately, I have discovered that so many of the 'everyday photos' I take will never be worthy of their own blog post, their own picture frame, or even their own memory.  But, obviously, if I think to grab my camera, it is because they are indeed moments I want to remember forever.

Daily, (Yes, daily!) I remind myself and try to internalize more and more, one of my favorite quotes,

"Enjoy the little things in life, for one day you'll look back and realize they were the big things."

As I scrolled through our last month of photos, it hit me yet again that the little things really will one day be big things...at least in my mind...it is the little things that make up our days, our laughter, our frustrations, our lives...
I don't want to ever forget ...

That Drew LOVES, LOVES, LOVES brooms (or shovels, or sticks).  If I am trying to get something done in the kitchen, and he is at my feet, I get out the broom and magic-Drew is content and I get something done!

That Drew always wants to be outside...and he rarely has shoes on.
I don't ever want to forget that Megan is probably our goofiest child.  She is always trying to be funny, even when she risks getting yelled at because she's doing it at the wrong times...
 

That Megan performed practically perfectly at her first harp performance.  (And that Mom doesn't need to pack the music next time, because Megan plays perfectly from memory!!)

I don't ever want to forget how difficult it is to keep Ellie on task in the morning.  It isn't that she isn't a morning person, it is that she is stubborn.  (Courtesy of her father and (I'm told) his mother.)
Or, how much Ellie loves to play baby dolls, especially that she carries around a basket as a car seat with a blanket covering the sleeping baby doll. 
I don't ever want to forget that if Luke wants something, and mom won't take him to the store to buy it, he'll always try making it:  (that's a homemade bow and arrow, made in less than 10 minutes.)
Or how often Luke's friends just stand and watch him do things I don't think they or their other friends do...
I don't ever want to forget that Joshua will 'wope' anything in sight, his bike, a chair, his mother, a sister...

Or when a three year old spots a potato bug, it is a big deal for mommy to "Come and see it wight now."


And surely, I will never forget, that those times when I think my life may be just fine and everything is going relatively well and not much is askew...

I will remember that there is always something that may be, not quite right...

Thursday, May 20, 2010

Today is...

Ellie's birthday, shout HOORAY!


And in true Ellie fashion, Ellie has requested a 'Flip-Flop Party.'  Not a Princess theme party, not a Tinkerbell party, not a Barbie party, not any typical little girl party themes, but... a Flip-Flop party.  (Last year was a 'butterfly party' the year before was a 'purse party.')
And that is exactly one of the things we love most about Ellie-she wants what SHE wants.

So...
Let the birthday celebrations begin.


Happy 6th Birthday Ellie!

Note:  This is my 29th birthday celebration of one of my children and I have made every cake but one (the one my mother made for Joshua 10 days after I had Drew.)  This morning, while making the flip-flop cake I officially decided, I hate making cakes, yet I still do it.  And will keep doing it.  Especially when my children say such things as Megan did this morning, "I think it is really special that you always make our cakes and have never bought one."  
Oh-the pressure....
 

Tuesday, May 18, 2010

Forgiveness

This is the face of a boy whose mother has been on and off the phone for seven hours straight.
This is the face of a boy whose three year old brother decided to 'style' his hair with MILK while mother is on the phone for seven hours straight.
This is the face of a boy who is searching for more food, with milk-styled hair, while his mother is on the phone for seven plus hours straight.

This is the face of a boy who got a much needed bath, who finally got some attention from mom, who loves her still, even if he had to search for food in his nose, with milk styled hair, while she was on the phone for seven hours straight.

Monday, May 17, 2010

A Memory for Monday (with The Queen)

As a child, growing up in England, my dad worked for Thames Television, which, while at its prime was one of the top three channels offered in England.

As an adult now, I hear my dad tell lots of fascinating stories from working in television, and the different jobs he worked on.  But you know how it is as a kid?  All you know is that your dad goes to work and that's about that.  (Although, it was very cool as a kid to occasionally see my dad's name on the television credits at the end of the television show we were watching...)

There is one job however, that my dad worked on that I will never forget . . .
It was April 1986.
I was 11 years old.

April 21, 1986, was Queen Elizabeth II's 60th birthday.  Of course her birthday was celebrated in a big way.  (Good for her!) And Thames Television was going to be there to broadcast the celebrations.
For some reason, kind of last minute, my dad invited me to go to work with him that day.  What excitement!  First of all, I was getting the day off school.  Secondly, I was going to London...to quite possibly see The Queen.

It was very exciting when a few minutes later, my friend Matthew James, appeared at my garden gate to meet me to walk to school and I enthusiastically announced to him,

"I'm not coming to school today.  I'm going to London to see The Queen."
"Could you give this letter to the teacher, please?"

I remember distinctly, the letter read, "Please excuse Tiffany from school today, she is going to London with her dad."  (My mother ignored my pleas to write, "... She is going to London to visit The Queen.")

So, that April day, twenty four years ago, I spent the day in Covent Garden (London) with my dad. Among other things, I watched the Royal Ballet practice, browsed a flea market, received a new t-shirt, and sat in some type of rig amidst television controls reading 'The Secret Diary of Ann Frank.'  I was anxiously awaiting the hour that I would see Queen Elizabeth II.

Before long, the awaited hour arrived.  The Queen was momentarily to arrive in the plaza.  And, I had a front row view standing behind the barricade.   From the sound roundabout us, I knew I was mere seconds from seeing The Queen.  I was so excited, I had butterflies in my tummy.  I was about to see THE QUEEN!

When suddenly, what do you know?  The police started removing the barricades and instructing the children carrying flowers for The Queen to come forward.  The children would personally be able to hand the flowers to the queen. 

Except.
I didn't have any flowers.  

What kind of parent doesn't buy flowers for their child to give to The Queen?  Especially on THE QUEEN'S BIRTHDAY!? And most certainly, if it means a personal handshake with The Queen of England!?

I have no suitable answer to these questions.

If you are interested, you can read an article herePlease note the paragraph that reads:

"Before the program....Elizabeth will walk about the plazza, meeting people and shaking hands, a practice she began so she could have a closer, more personal contact with her subjects."

Guess my dad wasn't too bothered about The Queen having closer, more personal contact with ME.

Oh well. I love my dad.
Always have.
Always will.
Even if I never got to meet the queen.

Thursday, May 13, 2010

Age or Comfort

I have had a secret wish for quite some time now.  I mentioned it in passing to my BFF a year or so ago and she about laughed her head off.  She thought I was joking.  I was not.  I have never brought it up again since.  Until now...

If you remember, I already surmised here  that I am not exactly the most fashionable girl on the planet.  Feeding and clothing five kids takes a fair amount of our income,  not to mention the logistics of wearing clothes that led me to such dismay after watching a television segment that prompted this post.  Dry clean only, needing-regular ironing and expensive clothes are not high on my priority list right now

As everyone is already well aware, I also am not a huge fan of jeans.  BUT, you will be proud to note,  I limit myself to wearing sweats only once a week.  In the evenings, I frequently change into my pajamas early, as they are far more comfortable than most clothes (barring sweats)... 

The other night, I visited my grandma.   Yes. Granted she is almost 77 years old, and was just a few days post-major surgery.  But as she sat  in her bed, kindly taking turns talking to each of my children, I could not take my eyes off of what she was wearing...

 A housedress.  Not only was it one of my favorite colors, it had cute polka dots and it looked very, very comfortable.  My mind suddenly imagined warm summertime evenings when I am tired of wearing my jean capris/shorts, etc.

Except...my daydream took me back to when I mentioned it in passing to my BFF... and she about laughed her head off.  And even when I added  I wouldn't want one until my 50th birthday, she was still not nice very supportive of the idea.

Now friends, look at this photo.  Every 'house dress' Google link I followed, showed women certainly younger than fifty wearing them...

So I need some advice, other than my BFF's.
Are they really only intended for 'older women'?
And would you laugh if you saw me in one?


(Told you I should have been born in a different time period, no one would have given it a second thought if I was a housewife wearing one in the 1950's!)

Wednesday, May 12, 2010

My Day

 Even though Mother's Day is a few days past, and I already did a pre-Mother's day post, I don't want to forget what made this Mother's Day one of my most favorite ever.

This year, I specifically said, I didn't want to receive anything that cost any money (except some good chocolate)...

I loved my (HATES TO GO TO A STORE husband) who at 9:50pm on Saturday night, climbed out of bed, sheepishly started getting dressed, and when questioned replied, "I forgot the chocolate."

I loved seeing the proud grins on my children's faces as paper flower bouquets, school crafts and hand-made cards were carefully torn open.

I loved watching three of my children singing with the Primary in Sacrament Meeting.  I loved how even though one had to peek at me through the choristers armpit,  another had to twist their head, and another had a perfect view, they all kept making sure I was looking at...THEM!

I loved the heartfelt letters that my three older children and Mike wrote to me.   These were my favorite excerpts...  I loved being told I am 'The best mom in the whole world because I wash Wranglers and make cakes.'  I loved being told I am 'Always happy (almost always, but that's OK).' I loved that someone said, 'I like you wehn  you take me on dates.' and I love that my dear husband, told me (amongst other more gushy things), 'I reckon I'll keep you around.'

I loved that I had an hour and a half to myself (even with too many a few minor interruptions) to write a letter back to each of my children to put in their letter boxes they each have, to open when they are older.

I loved that  Joshua kept saying, "Happy Easter" to me throughout the day.

During my quiet time, I loved eating the chocolate truffle I received from Sacrament Meeting. (Saturday night, I had physically restrained and begged my husband to not join the hordes of men that would surely be perusing the store aisles at 10pm on Mother's Day Eve.)

I loved detouring to drive by my dream house, that I pass almost daily, that has all the charm and authenticity of a time period other than this one, yet loved returning to my driveway and realizing I love being home.

I loved Megan's smiling face when she had produced a beautiful Mother's Day cake she made and decorated BY HERSELF,  that makes some of my cake attempts pale in comparison. (Even though throughout the process there was some less than stellar mothering patience coming from my end...)  Not only did it look great, it tasted great; white cake with strawberry filling. 
I loved sitting on the couch at bedtime in the loft with Megan and discussing the way her toenails grow.

I loved sitting out on the front porch with my husband, with four children tucked away in bed and one snuggling on my lap, we reviewed the day.

I loved a quick read I read before bed that had me determined to begin the next day 'engaging' with my children rather than simply be on 'auto-pilot.'

I loved sitting on my bed recording some of my deepest Motherhood feelings at the end of the day.

I loved the house peaceful and quiet with five children slumbering, and a husband silently snoring as I turned off my lamp and laid my head on the pillow.

It was a good day.
And even though motherhood is certainly not an easy job at all, I reckon I'll keep doing it!

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

A Kid's Life

At what point in life do we begin to care about social protocol and care about what other people think?



Monday, May 10, 2010

A Memory for Monday (with Kenny)

A few years ago, a local news show would randomly find people to 'do a story on.'  They would ask people at stores, gas stations, etc. to pick numbers of left or right turns to randomly come upon a house.  They would then do a short news story on 'that person's story.'

Each time I would watch it, I'd say to Mike, if they ever came to me, I wouldn't have a story to tell...  He (remember, ever the optimist) would always encourage me "Of course you would.  Everybody has a story" he'd faithfully answer each week.

Just the other night, I stood in the kitchen dancing and singing with Joshua, the song playing from the i-pod was 'The Gambler' by Kenny Rogers. And oh boy, do I have memories and stories with that song.   I sang (of course, loudly) along, kindly sharing the spatula-turned-microphone with Joshua for his turns to sing.   While singing, I suddenly realized, that though my journals from my junior high/high school/college/dating days are plenty, they record a lot of 'feelings' rather than events.  What about the old 'everyday' memories that I may forget, or my children may never know?

I love that I kept such good journals, but like I said, they are mainly my thoughts/feelings. And I love, that I keep current on my blog to remember the day-to-day joys/tears/struggles/laughter while my children are young.  But I want them to also know some of my random memories.

Big or small, significant or insignificant... I finally agree with Mike.  Just like the random people found for the news stories all those years ago, I too have a story to tell.

 (Trying to teach Drew to sing along as the others do.  He doesn't understand yet about sharing the microphone, thus his sad face wanting the spoon for himself.)

And so, beginning today, Monday.  I am beginning 'A Memory for Monday'

They may go back 30+ years, or be as recent as last night.  Some may make me laugh, some may make me cry...  And as for you readers, they may bore you or entertain you.  But they are memories and stories I want to tell.

As this song, started this idea, I better start here...
'The Gambler' by Kenny Rogers.
I honestly can't tell you when I started loving Kenny Rogers music.  I think it was in high school.  I have several memories of riding in my friend, Kiera's car and singing loudly to 'Islands In The Stream' by Kenny and Dolly.  Somewhere along the way, other Kenny songs must have snuck onto my tapes of 'mixed songs.'  (That alone is a trip down memory lane... )

Fast forward to my sophmore year as a student at the University of Utah.  My BFF, Melanie and I had a 'Fine Arts' class.  At the end of the quarter, each student was required to do a oral and written report featuring a famous artist.  People did their reports on anyone from Walt Disney to Liberace.  The reports were given over two-three different class periods.  Each report probably lasted about 8-10 minutes.  Some were ok to listen to...some were quite dull.
It was all about P-R-E-S-E-N-T-A-T-I-O-N to me!
(I'm not sure if Melanie and I got special permission to do ours together or what.  But it was by far the best report given.)
And all I have to say about the memory is this.  We obviously didn't really seem to care what other people thought about us.  We had no embarrassment or shyness when it came time to give our report, and we passed out copies of 'The Gambler' words to each student in the class.  Then we turned on the tape player, and there in a college level Fine Arts class, stood no other than (not blessed with any singing talent) Mel and Tiff leading our class,
"On a warm summer's eve, on a train bound for nowhere...."

We were not embarrassed then, but I do have to admit I am cringing slightly as I recall that memory and a few of the looks I think we got.  What were we thinking!?!?  

(And while I'm at it, one more Kenny Rogers story.  When my same BFF and I attended a Kenny Rogers concert we of course (as we both LOVE to do) were singing along.  What nerve someone sitting closeby had, to tell us to be quiet as they had come to hear Kenny Rogers sing, not us!?!)

Wouldn't that make a great News Story?
Ok, maybe not. But it's a start.

Saturday, May 8, 2010

What I Love About...

 (I know it is kind of an unflattering photo of me...but doesn't that face scream, 'excited mother moment?')

If you remember this post, I wrote about my childhood wish, to grow up and be a mom. And of course, I am living out that wish.  Mother's Day is just around the corner, and sometimes there is so much negativity that surrounds it.  So many mothers feel inadequate, and less than worthy to receive the accolades that are given them.   I even admit, there have been a few Mother's Days in my mothering career where I have felt that way.  But not this year.  This year as Mother's Day is here I am looking at it with completely new eyes.

A day of celebration.
A day of joy.
A day of accomplishment.
A day of recognition.
A day of accolades and honor.
A day to recognize my wish come true.
I love being a mom...  (most of the time...)

I love the little art projects that children make at school, church, or on their own.  I have a box full of them.  It is filled with misshaped crafts, hand-prints, drawings, and their own little interpretations of love.

I love that it is 'Mmoooommm' that my children yell first.  (Ok, there have been times I've yelled back, why doesn't anyone ever say, 'Daaaaaddddd first?')

I love as soon as my kids walk in the door from school/play they seek me out wherever I am in the house or yard. 

I love the words 'thank you mom.'

I love that I was blessed to experience childbirth five times.  Those five births have been the most painful, spiritual, joyful, peaceful and empowering experiences of my life thus far.

I love the obvious displays of love, like hugs and kisses that are shown to me daily, and the more subtle displays that still speak love in volumes.

I love weekend mornings when seven of us lay squooshed in the bed together, no one quite wanting to leave.

I love sleepy eyed children that want a lap to sit in.

I love when I drive into the garage after being somewhere, at least one child usually greets me there.

I love the reminders of being a mom when I find myself clapping and cheering when someone's underwear is dry in the morning,  or when I tear up with pride when a well-practiced music performance goes well.

I love holidays, vacations and birthdays that would seem dull without a houseful of noise.

I love....
I love...
I love....

And of course, I love that I have a wonderful husband to father along with my mothering.

Happy Mother's Day
You are some of the best!

Thursday, May 6, 2010

Mistaken Birth

(My brother Casey, with a proud computer game score in 1987)

The other morning while ironing, (remember, I iron on Tuesday mornings), I had the television on listening to a local show.  It made me CRAZY.  It made me begin thinking about all the things I don't have/don't do.  Recipes for this, crafts for that, gifts for this occasion, styles for that.  It was overload...

After ten-fifteen minutes, I turned it off.  And as I ironed shirts, with no television distraction, I thought about what has been on my mind a lot lately...
 
Sometimes I think I was born in the wrong year.  That perhaps, somehow, some tragic mistake was made and I was supposed to have been born in a different time.  A different period. 
  • I would love to wear a dress everyday and not have people ask me why I'm dressed up.
  • I own no i-phone or laptop and I don't really know what an i-pad is. 
  • I love food and would love to not know about calories, heart disease or exercise.
  • In social settings, when people are discussing television shows, movies or celebrities, we don't have a clue usually what or who they are talking about.
  • Sometimes I get bogged down by all the 'stuff' we think we need and would much rather a life of simplicity.
  • If my children are given the choice to decide how to spend an evening together as a family, it usually is the same kind of thing families would have been found doing 30, 75 or 150 years ago.
  •  I love the old fashioned ideals of male/female roles.  
  • On car rides (short or long), we actually listen to music or talk to each other!.
  •  Driving and flying give me anxiety, and though the only time I have been on a horse, I swore and demanded to get off after thirty seconds, I think I could quite enjoy traveling by horse and buggy.
  • The majority of my children were born without any medication.
  • We own no video game system
  • When a friend recently blogged about her new Kindle, I had to google the word to see what it was.
  • We finally got a converter box for our main television when this current season of American Idol started. (My husband is a big AI fan.)
  • I often daydream about crossing the plains as a pioneer, living with the Amish or living in the slower paced 1940's.
  • When a child gets to messing with the computer and the start bar somehow disappears or ends up in the wrong place, or something is amiss, we have to wait until either of my brothers or my BFF's husband can come correct the problem.
  • My husband does not know how to turn on a DVD for the children.
  • I learned last week that if I take a photo with my cell phone, it can actually get onto the computer.
  • As I type this, my husband and three of our children are gathered around the piano taking turns playing songs... 
    Reality:
    • I love my dishwasher, the two weeks without it a few months ago was a pain.
    • I love, love, love disposable diapers.
    • I love the convenience of email vs 5,000 phone calls.
    • I love always having music in my kitchen playing from my ipod.
    • I love not having to wait weeks to see if a photo turned out.
    • I love watching the evening news.
    • I love being able to connect with old friends across the ocean on Facebook
      And off I must go,  I have a dishwasher to go load, my dryer just buzzed that it is finished, I'd like to skip the song I hear playing on the ipod, I have some PTA emails to respond to, and I need to go turn down the tv that Joshua has turned up way too loud...

      Mistake or not, I live in 2010. 
      It is good and bad, just as 1820, 1850, 1925, 1950 and 1980 surely would have been...

        Wednesday, May 5, 2010

        Around Here

        We've reached a couple of major milestones around here these past couple of weeks.

        Any guesses what they are?




        (No bittersweet feelings with this one...)

        Tuesday, May 4, 2010

        Brothers vs Sisters

        I often hear friends, or cousins, or sister-in-laws, and even strangers talk about how much fun they have with their sisters.  They take trips, they go to lunch, they go shopping, or just hang out.  Well, I have no sisters and honestly, I feel a pang of jealousy when I see these sister-get-togethers...

        Recently I planned a 'let's get together and work on some projects' day with my BFF, two sister-in-laws and mom.  And even though they all have sisters to do all of the above with, they spent a day with me.


        I loved it and not just because...

        Megan and Ellie each have a new home-sewn skirt, thanks to Aunt Cindy.


        And Luke and Joshua each got some new cowboy pajamas thanks to Nana:



        I didn't even sew a stitch.

        But I still wish I had sisters. Although I love my brothers...but really, how many posts have I written about how much we love to get together? Oh yeah, none...

        I think I am really missing out.

        Monday, May 3, 2010

        Too Good To Be True

        We have a bench that sits in our kitchen, that Luke made last summer.  Though I have a 'interior decorating friend' who frowns upon it, Luke made and presented it with such love, enthusiasm and pride, that it will always be one of my most prized possessions.

        The bench is really quite 'unsittable', and not frequently sat on.  Yet, for some reason on Saturday morning when the children were called downstairs for 'Saturday Cleaning Hour' instructions, they randomly ended up sitting on it together.  There was no negotiating, no arguing and no complaining.  Four children sat lined up on the bench, listening intently to my instructions.  It was so endearing, so novel, and so rare, I just had to grab my camera...

        Luke was horrified I was taking a photo of him in his underwear...

        I think it was Mike that joked about the photo probably ending up on the blog, so Megan also quickly exited...

        And that left Ellie, who suggested I take a photo of just her.

        And actually, that is kind of how our cleaning hour went this Saturday...

        Luke disappeared.
        Megan got distracted
        And Ellie, I think stayed on the bench...

        I should never have grabbed the camera...

        Sunday, May 2, 2010

        Eight and A HALF


        When you are 8 1/2 at least you get a new fish tie to wear to a two hour meeting you have to sit through at the LDS Conference Center.




        Happy Half Birthday Luke!

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