So, I've been thinking.....
I'm on a quest for betterment. I've come to a point where I've realized that rolling merrily along and hoping that life is but a dream aren't cutting it. I feel like I'm the ambulance driver constantly rushing to the bottom of the cliff to pick up the broken pieces of what might have been if I'd only chosen a different career path--- that of fence builder. There's a lot of mixing of analogies that's going to happen here. Now I'm going to mention how dry my well has gotten. When I was at BYU after my mission, I had such lofty ideals and plans for the future. I went to the temple once a week. I read my scriptures daily. I actually was known to study them and find meaning. My prayers were full of supplication (mostly to get married, because I was getting so very old). I wrote in my journal weekly and sometimes daily (mostly about my dreams of being married and the current boy I was so in love with that I knew someday he'd see me and figure out the next step). I'd like to say I had a great work ethic, but mostly I had FUN being (I can really hardly say working) with some of the best young adults in the world as we pretended to own our corner of campus.
Now I know that I wasn't really living and maybe that's why we cling to that lifestyle for so long. I hardly ever write in my journal any more, because I'm living those dreams I had. I should be writing, because my kids do dang funny things and I should be relating my struggles as I try to overcome my anger issues and my complete ineptitude at being a parent. I should be writing down those rare instances when the Spirit overwhelms me and I know the path I should take, or receive the courage I need to create something.
I also should be pondering and knowing the scriptures. I know them. You can't be immersed in them daily for 15 years and not know them. However, I've lost my connection to them after 13 years of indifference because of exhaustion and any other number of reasons for neglect.
Praying comes and goes. Again, exhaustion rears its ugly head and I fall asleep before I can get down to the business at hand.
The last few Relief Society lessons have been aimed at me. Breaking my pride down. Helping me to remember who I am and what the Lord expects from me. Giving me choices on how to better myself. Sister P. mentioned learning to meditate and that it's a lost art. Imagine. Forcing yourself to be quiet. To let everything go. To think about one thing. I haven't done that in so long I wonder if it's even possible. Is it a wonder my life and house seem such a chaotic mess? If I can't still my mind for 5 minutes, let alone 5 seconds, how will there ever be peace? And in learning how to meditate, maybe I'll learn to study the scriptures again without remembering all of the other things calling my name. How about praying sincerely and deeply again, because I know how to be still and know that God is God?
I've also noticed that as of late, many of the messages presented by President Monson in general conference have been about kindness, gratitude, and charity. There is an obvious need in the world for kindness. We've all become so wrapped up in ourselves that it too, is becoming a lost art. All my life I've been seeking for charity. I really am selfish. I've realized that even the good I do is usually inspired by the thanks and adoration I get from others, or the sense of fulfillment I get when I do it. Sometimes I do it because I love the other person enough and don't think of myself. Our home desperately needs charity. I need to feel the love my Savior has for each of my children. I know that if I saw them as He does, my anger issues wouldn't be so consuming. There would be less of the criticising and far more rejoicing. I might even seek to make Dan's life easier instead of waiting for him to make mine better.
Yesterday I had a sudden thought. Charity is a huge goal. It is one of those gifts that must be asked for, begged for, worked for. It is not innate to our mortal selves. Maybe this is why we have been counselled to find gratitude and kindness. They are some of the first steps to charity. If I can be grateful then my heart is softened and I am in a position to love. I think it takes a certain amount of humility to be thankful, because there is something someone has done for you that you cannot do for yourself. If I am kind, then I am learning to put the feelings and well being of someone else before my own. So, maybe charity is too big a bite for me to swallow right now, but I can learn to be grateful and kind.
Another thing that has affected me lately was from the talk (I think) Elder Eyring gave for the Christmas devotional. He spoke of how at the birth of the Savior, the veils of heaven could no longer restrain the angels and they came pouring forth singing of their joy. Imagine. Joy so immense, it can no longer be held to the plane to which it belongs. I want that. For one minute, one second in life, I would like to feel that joy.
Long story, never made shorter, because I simply can't do that, I need to find ways to be better. I need to relearn somethings: meditation, scripture study, prayer. I need to learn somethings: kindness and gratitude. With a faltering sense of courage I say this, knowing it will be hard and will (gasp) take a lot of work on my part.

Gas Works Park Adventure

Seattle Skyline
a bank of outhouses always makes a fun central point

Any day's a perfect day to take Scooby for a walk

Some of the Gas Works machinary

This is backwards, because we went to the Gas Works Park the first week of October and Orcas Island the last week. We started a General Conference weekend tradition when we lived in Idaho. For the afternoon session, we go for a drive and listen to conference on the radio, thus trapping our children. Unfortunately, when we moved to WA, we haven't figured out a way to successfully get reception. It's not on the radio here. We finally thought we'd figured it out-- okay, Dan figured it out. Alas, it was not to be. The signal kept dying out.

Our wanderings took us north, through the lovely rustic towns of Carnation, Duvall, Fall City, and others that I can't remember. Then we turned south to Seattle and went to the Gas Works Park. It used to be an old Gas Works. When the business ceased to be or moved, the huge machinary stayed in place. It's rusty, but well maintained. It's amazing that they made such a lovely opportunity out of what could have been a big hulking eye sore. While we were there, we saw 3 wedding parties, kite flyers, several pontoon planes landing in Lake Washington, a rat creeping down to the water front, and a group of Renaissance knights in armor beating the crap out of each other with swords, lances, and spears. That was Malynn's favorite. They took a minute of their time to talk to us, bless their hearts.

P.S. In case it wasn't evident, I wasn't planning on getting out of the Suburban, thus our array of picture worthy attire.

Orcas Island

West Beach, Orcas Island

Mom, take a picture of me looking for shells
When you throw these little pebbles into the ocean, it makes a cool sound!

Hats are not for heads, they are for rock and shell gathering

On the ferry.

On top of Mt. Constitution on Orcas Island

Heidi tried to pose like the rest of the girls. She tossed her head and nearly fell off of her perch.

A day of posing!

Five little monkeys sitting in a tree

A friendly passing photo journalist snapped our picture

Gathering precious, precious rocks at Deception Pt. State Park

Love that gap tooth smile!

Ugh! This year has gone too fast. It's already November and then comes December and that only lasts a minute until 2011 and then we'll all die a year later because of the Mayan apocolypse. I don't think I can be ready in time.

A couple of weekends ago we took a ferry out to Orcas Island in the Sound. It was scheduled to rain all day, but it was warm and beautiful. We did a bunch of nice little hikes, went to 3 different beaches (one sandy, one with big boulders, and one with pea gravel sized black rocks) We ate at an old restaurant that smelled like Grandma Hunter's house in Cottage Grove. I found my first piece of sea glass. The kids came home with their pockets and hats stuffed full of rocks and bits of sea shells, because that's what is bred into them. Dan was exasperated. I snuck a few really pretty specimen into my pockets while he wasn't looking. Our neighbor has a rock polisher. I think I'm going to borrow it and make a little sound pollution along with shiny rocks.

It took me two mornings to clean up Malynn and Sophie's room. That's like slugging through a disaster area. I found all kinds of things in there. Three packets of my nice, expensive 12 x 12 cardstock, which mysteriously got there, because Malynn certainly did NOT put them in there. A bazillion candy wrappers. The best was when I pulled the blankets (and ALL of the rest of the garbage) off of Malynn's bed to change the sheets. I found all of her rocks from Orcas Island nestled in the little spot she saves for sleeping in. There was sand too. This morning when she woke up, she was all itchy. I think she may be allergic to cleanliness.
What are your plans for Thanksgiving? This will be our second year on our own. I'm trying to find someone to invite over, because that much food deserves more sharing. We'll have to see. I'm already salivating. Turkey with cranberry sauce. Creamy mashed potatoes with gravy. Sweet potato souffle. Relish and vegetable plates. Everything else is just filler. MMMMMMMMmmmmmm!!!!! And for Dan, of course, there will be at least 5 pies. I think I might break out one of my precious three jars of strawberry rhubarb juice concentrate that I made this summer. I'd better get shopping!

I think the Mayans got it wrong, or at least we interpreted their calendar wrong. How else could this year be explained? Dont' get me wrong-- out of chaos and broken things come order and newer, better things, but still. I'm waiting for something else to say it's tired of the slavery we inflict and jump on a boat to a newer, better place.
Last year we got the nice letter from the HOA.
"Dear person or persons living in our little chunk of heaven. You are sadly lacking in any kind of decorum such as we like to have around here. You do keep your garage door closed as per rule 7742-68 (see p. 92 of home owners manual-- the one in the notebook we thoughtfully provided for you. Yes, the one shoved to the back of the junk drawer. We don't know how you could miss it, the drawer catches on it everytime you open it.) You usually mow the front yard on the very afternoon we decide to send out another carefully typed letter. We forgot to make it a rule that your ragamuffin children had to be confined to the back yard or else you'd be getting a letter about that as well. (We can't think of everything.) BUT, please, please, please (and actually we don't mean the please, it just makes it look like we're being nice, but since we had to take the time to write this letter, thus inflaming our carpel tunnel syndrome, we really are a bit irate) either move or paint the trim on your house. You might want to wash off the spider webs as well while you're at it. It's starting to look a bit creepy and with all of the shrieks and moans eminating from the bowels therein, we're afraid it might be a little bit haunted. You have until October. Get it done.
Thank you.
Your HOA
Dan was going to paint it himself. I thought about it for two seconds and said NO! I seldom win on such matters, because it usually involves Dan buying himself a new toy, like a much longer ladder and repelling gear. He gave in far too easily. I should have known. The plans were bigger than my mind could grasp. I may have won the battle, but it was a war Dan sought.
Late in June, Dan's car stopped starting. It's a valid concern. He was crazy busy at work and brought a lot of it home and didn't have nights to spend with his car and his car fixing toys. He took the truck to work. The day the kids and I left for Idaho, Dan came back 20 minutes after he left for work and 15 minutes before I was going to leave. I really was. I was getting the kids in the bathroom and we were heading out the door. By 8 a.m.. The truck wasn't working right. I couldn't leave him for 3 weeks without a car. So instead of driving to Idaho for 7 hours, we spent 7 hours looking for a suburban. We got it. I don't regret it. It's hard to park and I still haven't figured out all of the buttons, but it's good. I left that with him since it didn't have the back bench and the van was already packed to the gills. I left for Idaho. Half way there the gas gauge on my van went crazy. It did it twice before we got to Weiser. Need I say that swearing was intermingled with my fervent prayers? I took the van in and the mechanic pretty much said unless he caught the van in the act, there wasn't much he could do. She was playing coy. Then the locking mechanism on the sliding door stopped working-- it locks, just manually.
Frustrating.
Long trip later.....
And a few weeks later.....
Funny thing about broken down vehicles. Given a little bit of time, the fix can turn out to be quite easy. A new battery for the car. New spark plugs for the truck. So why was it that we needed a suburban RIGHT NOW? I had mentioned it might be better to have one. Dan obviously struck while the iron was hot. But the car story isn't over yet.
I'm driving the van and the battery light comes on-- you know, like it's dead. But I'm clearly driving down the high way. The van doesn't act up for anyone else. Just me. It's jealous. The big white SUV starts getting the usage and little ol' blue gets jealous and throws a tizzy fit. I'd be jealous too.
We were good for awhile. Yesterday I went out to the garage fridge to get the pork chops. I tried to come back in. Those rotten kids had locked me out. Actually they hadn't. As I sat there, holding raw pork chops in one hand and jiggling the door knob with the other and yelling for Dan with my very loud voice, I realized it didn't feel locked. Sure enough, the knob was broken. Then last night I went to turn on the computer for my daily fix of bright pixalled entertainment and there was nothing. No familiar whir, no red lights, no nothing. The computer was dead. Funny. We'd been discussing not too long ago the need for a new computer. Ours is/was 9 years old and moving in the sluggish way of a 90 year old left in a nursing home for far too long. The power source was dead. It probably burned out because Heidi doesn't like cupboard doors to be left open, so she was constantly closing the computer hutch as I constantly opened it. I'm now writing to you from our new computer. Picked up fresh today.
So, be it the Mayans or fate or Dan's masterful plan, several things are changing around here. Oh, and does anyone want to buy a nice blue van?

A Horror Story

Forget Saw 1 through 76. Forget Watcher in the Woods. Today I experienced a real life Horror Story. Skin crawling, near puking, gnashing of teeth and wailing horror story. Here's how it began. Oh, actually, I have to give some background on it. I have a tooth brush holder in my bathroom. Dan has a fancy schmancy toothbrush with it's own holder, so you'd think I wouldn't have to share. No. Heidi has a yellow toothbrush that I keep in there for her to chew on while I'm combing everyone's hair. Morgan has somehow commandeered my bathroom for teethbrushing and has a green toothbrush. I have an orange toothbrush.
So, this morning, I sent Morgan up to brush his teeth before school. (I can sense all of you starting to shudder-- almost as if you know exactly where this road to the creepy house in the middle of the forest dripping with moss on a dark and stormy night leads.) After I got the kids on the bus and had my own leisurely breakfast, I went up to brush my teeth. My reach for the toothbrush ended in accidental contact with the bristles. So much of my life is on automatic. I automatically got my brush wet and squirted toothpaste on and almost had it to my mouth before I realized THE BRUSH WAS WET WHEN I FIRST TOUCHED IT!!!!!!! How long has this been going on?! Orange is not Green. Morgan is not color blind! Was this the first time he'd used my toothbrush? Have we been SHARING a toothbrush?! If this had been the movie Saw (I haven't seen it because it looks remarkably stupid, but I do have a good idea of what it's about) I would have ripped out my own teeth and tongue, but since it's real life and since I love my son and know that mistakes are made, I simply got out a purple toothbrush. He will never mistake a girl color for a toothbrush that he owns, so we should be safe.
Here is the moral of the story-- always confirm toothbrush ownership before sticking the said instrument in your mouth all willy-nilly.

Whew! Long weekend is finally over.
Here are some of the gems:
I finally broke down and hired myself a wife for three weeks. What a boon! Why hadn't I thought of this before? Kara needed a job and I needed someone to help me keep ahead of the hoard. It was funny to see how she reacted to how fast they turned our pristine rooms back into disaster areas. AND I am not used to working for 4 consecutive hours a day. She worked my fingers to the bone-- actually, just until my carpel tunnel flared up.
One day we were working on something and Sophie asked Kara about her kids. Kara is 19 and not married, so obviously, there are no kids. Alison was so concerned that she offered our Daddy to Kara for a husband. Both of us were quick to say "No! I don't think so!" Alison said, "Not for keeps, she can just borrow him for a little while." While I appreciate Alison's empathy and generosity, and while I understand the principles of polygamy, I'm not ready for Dan to have another wife. Unless I'm dead, but I won't die, because I simply don't trust that Dan will make another great catch.
Malynn's baptism was a beautiful event. We ended up doing it by ourselves in Enumclaw (1/2 hour away) because our chapel was being used for youth conference. We had to do it in the morning because Morgan had his 5th grade musical all afternoon. The coordinators in Enumclaw were so nice and accommodating (which reminds me, we have a whole stack of Thank You cards to write). Uncle James and Grammy Lou talked, Morgan and Ryan bore their testimonies, and Dan performed the ordinances. It was nice to have family and friends near us for this special time. The 5th grade musical was wonderful! They did Schoolhouse Rock Live, Jr.. Morgan was one of the chorus. They danced and sang and had a great old time. They are such cute kids. Even though Morgan had a moment of wanting to quit, I'm glad he hung on. These experiences where he can succeed and find a niche are good for him.
Heidi discovered the difference between boys and girls this last weekend. I was getting my nephew ready for a bath and Heidi wandered over. She got the funniest look on her face. What was wrong with this kid?! This was all wrong! You know how she is about broken things. I'm pretty sure Heidi thought he was broken in a serious way. As I was getting her ready for her bath, she checked to make sure she was still normal. Whew! The parts were still right where they were supposed to be and had no strange deformities! While they were both in the tub, Heidi sat on the other side and gave him the stink eye the whole time. It was pretty funny.
And now everyone is home. I love having company, but it totally stresses me out. Ask Dan. He would rather we never do anything or have anyone over because I turn into some kind of monster that he has to live with.

movies that make us cry

A couple of days ago Netflix sent us the movie The Velveteen Rabbit. I put it in for the kids and then went upstairs to fold the laundry. Morgan was at scouts and eventually Heidi and Alison came up for their baths. That left Sophie and Malynn downstairs watching. As soon as the movie was over, they both came into my room with tears in their eyes. (It's a miracle! Malynn has discovered empathy!) Being the uncultured swine that I am, I'm not sure of the story, but what I gathered from the girls' tearful explanation is this. A little boy's parents die. He is sent to live with a mean lady (aunt, grandma?), but is somewhere along the line given a well loved and worn Velveteen rabbit which had belonged to his father. He gets sick and in his delirium, enters another world of animals and the rabbit. The rabbit finally sends him back to the real world to get better. However, upon getting better, everything he touched when he was sick had to be burned. Even the Velveteen Rabbit. I'm assuming it was polio since he was in England and that it wasn't cholera which would have created the same need to burn everything. Malynn said it ended okay, because a real bunny jumped out of the flames. It was hard to explain to her about illness necessitating such drastic steps. Another tangent and soapbox I won't go into.

My crying movie is "I Am David". I think it's one of my all time favorites, but I can't watch it very often because I end up sobbing so hard. It's the story of a boy's escape from a concentration camp and his journey to freedom. (I'm tearing up here) I think for me it's an analogy of life. Life is hard. It isn't fair. There are glimpses of bright happiness and friendly faces amidst the unknown and the long, hard road. The friends we make along the way, relief at the end, the stunning revelation of who we really are, and the joy at being home at last make the trip worthwhile. That, and since becoming a parent I worry about little kids on their own. (another soap box and another tangent quickly supressed) This isn't to say I'm a perfect parent or that I don't make mistakes. I spent all of "Signs" worried about the kids and mad at Mel and Joaquin for not taking better care of them. It's a sickness, I know.

So, what's your crying movie and why?

I know it's time to be medicated when....

I think I'm a shoe in for the loony bin. Given enough time I'll pass through those carefully guarded doors-- I'm thinking it's much like leaving the US and going into Canada (because that's closest to us) for a visit. "See ya! Don't let our patriotic door hit you on the way out!" But then, if you try to get out of Canada and back into the US, all kinds of trouble hit the fan. I'm probably exaggerating here, since both times I've been to Canada, the leaving and the coming back were easy. The point is, it's easy to walk into a loony bin. It's not so easy to walk out.
But I digress. This is the second week in a row that Dan has been gone. Things (children) are starting to grate on my nerves. I'm about ready to take a hammer to the fish tank just so I don't have to listen to the steady burbling of the water through the filter. Funny story about the fish tank. When we first got married, we talked about what kinds of pets we'd like. I said a bird or a cat. Dan said, "I don't like birds and I don't want a cat. Haven't you always wanted a fish tank?" I said no, because we'd had one growing up. We'd been married for three years, when for my birthday, he got me a 30 gallon fish tank. "I thought you said you'd always wanted a fish tank." Hmmm..... I should have known that selective hearing would quickly outweigh the romance. We've named the tank Homer and I have yet to clean it. That was my condition. I don't clean it. Ever. So, I stick to my guns and as the water evaporates I go crazy from the running water sound. At night, in the dark, when Dan's gone, it takes on a malevolent chuckle and sounds like men talking in our house. So the hammer. A good idea? Yes, no?

Broken Things

Heidi's afraid of broken things. Is that weird? I noticed it when Alison cut the head off of one of her baby dolls. Heidi went hysterical and couldn't look at the poor flopping head of baby, but couldn't walk away either. I wondered. Maybe she was just mad that Ally had destroyed her doll. Nope. When Ken's leg fell off, her fear was cemented-- the same reaction. Screams of terror. The inability to move away. A couple of months ago, she threw a tantrum at the table, bucking so hard that she sent her chair backwards into the door. Her head hurt and she was upset about that, but nothing compared to when she realized one of the spokes on the back of her chair was broken. When she gets used to seeing it (because in our house we firmly believe in going beyond the "if it ain't broke, don't fix it" to the "if it hasn't stabbed anyone in the eye and can be jimmy-rigged with baling twine and duct tape, don't fix it"), everything is fine. She even willingly pushes the button on the creepy laughing bear now. And Ken (because we only have the one and he's THAT valuable) is a sad amputee that our fifty Barbies gladly consort with and Heidi packs around.
This morning I was playing dead with Heidi-- you know, dramatically falling to the ground, jerking convulsively, and then lying still. What?! You don't do this? No wonder my kids are screwed up. Anyhoo. While she didn't freak out, she reached over and grabbed my face. "You okay, Mom? You okay?" I said I was dead. She said "No. You okay." I'd better start budgeting in for therapy later.

Oh, shoot! I hate it when this happens

I hate it when I realize that I've missed something as a parent. Like three years ago when Morgan confided in us that his best friend was the recess teacher. My heart broke in two. Or like when I realized how many things Malynn had come home with that friends and stores "had given her." Or now when I realize that the very thing that makes us say "Sophie is the good child" will be one of her biggest struggles in life. With most of life's traumas, time and prayer heals a lot. Morgan has made some good friends. His self- confidence isn't what I'd like for him, but that's mostly because he's our oldest and we've broken him with our parental ineptitude. Time and prayer will continue to work their magic on him. Malynn's foray into the criminal set is petering out. She had quite the little racket between 5-7. As she nears the time of her baptism, I can see a new girl surfacing. She visits our house once a month-- kind of a reverse PMS. Again, time (cognitive development) and prayer are helping. She understands the new responsibilities she will be accepting. I'm afraid that life between her and I will always make me want to tear out my teeth and make a mosiac out of them, but there are moments when we can both put aside our stubbornness and get something productive done.
Sophie is our most current realization. We've always thought of her as the good child. From the time that she was a baby, she was easy going and self sufficient. That was a good thing. She and Ally are only 14 or so months apart and I couldn't have dealt with another Malynn at that point. Neither Morgan nor Malynn watched tv until they were at least 2. Here was a baby who would sit and watch cartoons and stay where I put her. She never tried to kill herself by jumping off of the top of the toilet. Amazing. What a good child.
Even though her birthday is just a week or two before the cut off date, I had no problem sticking her in kindergarten. I'm not really the type of mother who can't let her kids go. I want them to. Don't get me wrong (or on another tangent) I adore my kids, but we all need a little space. She had gone to pre-K the year before, for four days a week, and thrived. Now I realize I jumped the gun. (Darn it! How is a parent supposed to know these things?!) From the start, her teacher said she could tell that Soph was the youngest in the class. Sophie also tends to be slow-- not mentally, but she dawdles like you can't believe. So she's cognitively not where the rest of the class is and she takes so much time to get anything done that she's fallen behind the group. I know these things in the back of my head and think, "Boy, I should do something about that." But I haven't. But I'm going to. I even did it today instead of waiting for tomorrow. So now we amp up the prayer and count on time to do its work. We get busy and help her as best we can.
So many things about parenting are hard. If they are sick, do you take them to the doctor? The minute you do, you know it will just end up being a virus and you have to wait it out. If you don't, it will be some dreaded disease normally only found in the wilds of Borneo, but somehow this kid has contracted it. I now know why my Mom was always crabby. I know what makes me crabby. The frustration of not knowing what I'm doing and then the guilt for making a mess of it. Realizing too late that I should have made the NO! stick from the get go so I don't have to listen to hours of whining. Not getting enough sleep. Nobody listening to me when I'm pretty sure I'm right and even if I'm not, I'm the parent and that should be enough.
Sorry. Hard moment in time. Not as hard as some, but enough to set me complaining as a defense mechanism.

I'm of two minds

Since this topic is in the air, I'm going to add my 54 cents to the issue. I know no one cares what I think, but it will help me to analyze my own feelings. Phoebe...... where are the parents?! It's all fine and dandy to blame it on the school, but where are the parents? I see 9-10 year olds walking around town and think, "Where are your parents?" I come home from shopping on Saturdays and find my kids running around in the culdesac, with no shoes, barely covered and think, "Where is your father?" Today Heidi came down coated from head to toe in an entire tube of toothpaste and I thought, "Where is your mother?!" (her breath was not minty fresh, so I'm pretty sure she just smeared it in her hair, on her face, on her neck-- that's burned bright red from it-- and down her tummy. Geesh! Where was her mother?)
I watched Disney's new made for tv show "Harriet the Spy: Blog Wars" yesterday. It disturbed me. A lot. Harriet was portrayed as a completely selfish, self- centered girl, the odd one out, but still self assured with angst for her teenage nemesis, the vindictive and stereotypically popular Marion. Usually, the heroine is likable, despite her flaws. I didn't find this one so. Through her actions, she nearly ruined an actor's sanity (sure, he was an idiot anyway), almost got her father fired and landed him with a lawsuit (from said idiot actor), turned her back on her friends, and spitefully ended her relationship with her best friend, the nanny. The mother was a twit and a great original for what her daughter was becoming. In the end it was all okay, though, because Harriet was a great writer. Dad didn't mind facing potential job loss and a crippling lawsuit. Mom saw the light and decided to pay attention to her daughter. Golly, the nanny, was proud of her. The actor got a better acting job because he showed a different side. Vindictive girl gets in trouble and loses the blog war. La, la, la, la, la. What the...?! Are you kidding me? Who wrote this?
No wonder kids are confused about limits and their rights. The scriptures aren't far off when they speak of it being a bad idea for children to be in control. I know I often feel overwhelmed and throw my hands up in the air and say, "I'm doing the best I can." Am I really? Really, truly? Am I making the sacrifices to get into my children's classrooms so I am aware of what is going on? Am I listening when they talk endlessly of nothing in particular? Am I teaching them good life skills? So many things side track me. TV, my sweet, sweet mistress and on call babysitter. The computer, saucy little minx vying for my time. I say I don't have time for things, but if I were to cut my obsessions out, I bet I'd get more done and lose weight while I'm at it.
So here's where my two minds come in. Where is the fine line between hovering and quality parenting? Three of my kids are high maintenance children. If they don't have something to do, every minute of every day, they will find themselves in a boatload of mischief. Sometimes it's harmless, but other times it ends in tears and Malynn in the emergency room. I am only one person. I cannot be everywhere for them, making sure they aren't gluing their fingers together nor can I think of everything to put on a list of "not to dos". The other two learn by watching and making wise decisions.... sometimes.
The dangers our children face are different from the ones I did. I grew up terrified of "kidnapper vans", but seriously, that wasn't a threat in the sticks of Idaho. We roamed our home acreage at will, jumping off of things that would make me wet my pants now (although that's not a measurement of terror-- I wet my pants whenever I sneeze), playing in ditches, and throwing objects at each other. There are a few moments of those growing up years where I think "Where was my mother?", but mostly we took our freedom for granted and lived the high life. Okay, so there was the forced labor that took up most of our summer days, but still.... we had time by ourselves. We all turned out to be okay.
How come I can't let go of my kids? Is it healthy the way we cling to them and protect them? Is this part of the reason young adults are having such a hard time growing up and taking responsibility for themselves? I don't know. I do know that there is a strange car always parked by the nearest play area with people approaching it and walking away after a moment's conversation. Transients live by the trail that meanders right behind my house and in past summers, there have been fight clubs on that trail, not 500 yards from our house. So when I tell that certain daughter of mine to be smart and not dance on the street corner or sell her toys to strangers, I think there is a reason to fear. However, my fears turn into micro-managed family outings that end with me angry (because no one listens to me) and everyone else upset (because they can't listen to the voices in their heads suggesting that they dance close to the open fire pit while we are camping).
What to do?

bla-bla-bla-bla-bla-bla-blog

Today I got lost in the blogosphere. I started following links on peoples' blogs. I became seriously intimidated. Here I was thinking I was kind of cool. Actually, there are at least a bazillion other people who do what I do and they all post every bitty little step they do to make their hair bows/whatever else I thought I was clever enough to do. For just a moment in my life I am feeling like I'm back in high school and not popular anymore. Not that I'm popular now-- it's just that feeling ......
Then I got to looking at their followers.... they have as many followers as I have friends on face book. For a minute I felt desperately co-dependent. Why don't I have 256 followers?! Then I remembered.... oh yeah. I don't care. This is a writing outlet. I love writing. Sometimes I have something to say, but most of the time I don't feel the need to be blogging about everything that goes on around here. And a lot goes on. Life never stops no matter how constipated I get.
I also love sharing the lives of my actual friends through their blogs. My friends are charming and delightful and I enjoy the snapshot of their lives a blog provides. I guess a blog can be whatever you want it to be. Okay, world. You have my permission to blog the way you want. I'll stick to my style and won't feel guilt or subpar.
On a different note all together, tonight we discovered Morgan and Malynn's ties to the black culture. Here's the latest schoolyard chant and I LOVE it:

My momma gave me a penny
and tol' me to get a henny,
but I dinint git no henny,
Instead, I got some bubble gum
Bazooka, zooka bubble gum
Bazooka, zooka bubble gum
Bazooka, zooka bubble gum.

You chant through a nickel/pickle, dime/lime, quarter/water, dollar/collar until you get to a five:

My momma gave me a five
and tol' me to stay alive
but I dinint stay alive
Instead, I choked on bubble gum
Bazooka, zooka bubble gum
Bazooka, zooka bubble gum
Bazooka, zooka bubble gum.

All this must be done with the proper attitude and a lot of clapping, stomping, and fist pumping. Malynn can show you if you have any questions.

Musings on family relations

A couple of weeks ago my mind that never stops working (despite the vacant look on my face) came up with yet another epiphany. Men always say (note the usage of always) that women never fight fair--- we're always dragging up the past and trying to fit it into the present scuffle. I realized as I picked up Dan's pants (again) and the socks from around his side of the bed, it's not that we don't fight fair, it's that we are long suffering. By that, I mean we put up with a lot with out saying too much. ...okay, so I murmer a little bit... but maybe the rest of womankind doesn't. We finally sigh and take out the trash that sat there for a whole day overflowing. We clean the grease mess out of the bacon pan when we didn't even cook the bacon. We pick up socks. We pick up dishes from the upstairs tv room. We pick up the computer bag that was left down again where the kids like to use it to climb on the couch to perform daring acts of acrobatics. We pick up all the little pieces left over from the science project that since didn't get used ceased to exist in the mind of the everlovin'. Suddenly, it comes down to one small straw that broke the proverbial camel's back. It could be something as simple as a misconstrued comment or it could be that darn bed that is still in my loft and hall after 6 months of being asked to pay the darn $60 to take it to the dump, I'll even go without a birthday present just to get rid of it. (***breathe*** and let go) See, it's not that we bring up the past, it's that we live it. All of these past events/behaviors are part of our everyday lives, so when we finally blow, the blowing is big and it involves all of these offenses against the state. At least for me, after the boiling point is reached and a few hours of simmering, I'm better and can get back to the long suffering lifestyle.
Little girls, little girls, everything around me is little..... and girly. Lessons I've learned from my little girls. I know nothing about "fashion". Plaid and floral prints DO go together if there is one simillar color. A torn and ratty dress up princess dress IS a perfectly acceptible outfit to go to the grocery store with, especially if accompanied by mismatched rainboots-- preferably two left feet. Crowns CAN be worn to church on special occasions. Just because there was a lot of screaming and refusal to get out of the van because the hair that I patiently took a precious half hour out of our allotted 2 hours to get ready for church time to fix, but it was all wrong.... (*** breathe***) DOESN'T mean that another time, rolling out of bed and going to church/school without even running a brush through it, isn't a great hairstyle. A microphone is a great accessory, especially if you sneak it out of the house and take it along. Shirts make wonderful skirts, or better yet, pants if you run your legs through the sleeves. Pants make awesome hats. The more bows you wear, the better. Lip gloss and glitter go with EVERYTHING. These are just some of the tips my girls would like to pass on to you. Meanwhile, Morgan has learned to keep his door shut at all times. Does anyone blame him?

Too much TV and other thoughts

Alison spends the majority of her day watching TV, because that's the kind of quality parenting I do. There are good and bads to the story. While she often catches me off guard with some of the things she's pulled from her "stories", most of the time it's just white noise to her daily ramblings. Today was one of those days where she kept me in stitches as I listened to her play. When I told her that the bubble gun was broken (i.e. batteries dead and out of bubbles), she walked off, holding her cheek, while saying "I-yi-yi!" in a believable forlorn Mexican accent. I can't even begin to imagine where she got that. Later, we were waiting in the van while Malynn was in swimming lessons. Alison had her Ariel barbie and the Ken/Eric doll (need I say that both were stark naked, except for Ken's one black shoe?). Ariel was weeping because Eric was dead. Suddenly Ariel said, "My tears brought you back to life! All I needed was magic water, and my tears made the water." And then she continued crying for joy at their glorious reunion. Silly little girl.
Last weekend, Morgan went to a birthday party for a friend. He picked out a Star Wars Lego set to give. Oh, but it was just too much to have it in his possession for those few minutes. I let him get the same one for himself with the understanding it would have to wait for his birthday. The day after the party brought about a sudden urgency for good works in my boy. While we went on a date with my visiting parents, Morgan cleaned the main floor of the house and vacuumed. When we pulled up to the house, he was out in the garage sweeping. Amazing. It dawned on me that he was looking for a very particular reward for his diligence. I asked him if he knew what "goodness is its own reward" means. He didn't. The bargaining continued.
Tonight on the way home from the Blue and Gold Banquet for Cub Scouts, Morgan said he'd figured it out. He had been helping to clean up and wanted to sweep. He said that as he swept he realized that Christ was always good and never got a reward. That's what it means. To be good and not expect anything for it. It made me want to cry with joy.
At times I have thought about Joseph Smith and the many things he was able to accomplish at such a young age with little academic learning. It seems impossible. And then I think of a 14 year old spiritual giant that I had the priviledge of teaching on my mission. And now I get to watch my own boy put out spiritual tentacles which will build in him the strength to become something great-- and maybe not great as the world sees it, but a great man who is honorable and brave and steady. That's all that I hope for him to be.

Going gray

I'm going gray. It's becoming a serious condition. I noticed a few hairs last year-- back an inch or so from my forehead, all in one spot at about the right-side part. Now it's descending and spreading. Only on one side. I'm going to look like Cruella DeVille. I've always thought Medusa from The Rescuers was my favorite Disney villian. I'm even built like her and every time I take off my false eyelashes, I want to say, "Come tell Auntie Medusa all about it...."

In response to a facebook post

Ahhh..... the best laid plans of mice and mommies. I've learned the hard way how not to be structured. I thrive on a thoroughly planned schedule. I am happiest in a clean house. I had decisions to make-- do I make everyone's lives (including my own) a complete hell by forcing the better of my inclinations or do I wait until the time when I don't have a clingy baby, or I've had more than two consecutive nights of 8 hours of sleep in over eleven years, or when they are old enough to be helpful. Admittedly, no one needs to follow my pattern of completely giving up (except when company's expected), but there are happy mediums. Oh, and I remember the days I could do it all in one day. I think that's what finally finished me off. 30 loads of laundry-- and that's nothing fancy. Dishes three times a day. Two levels. See, it looks like I'm complaining and justifying. I probably am. After all, they're my kids and I happily had them.
I think part of my problem is that I'm still anal enough to want what does get done accomplished in a certain manner. I just did it all myself until it was apparent that I couldn't do it anymore. Then I asked Dan to help. While I adore the man and he is incredibly helpful around the house, he still retains some vestiges of a previous era. He passed the buck to the two oldest. He was probably right, but there was no training involved. Now the plates are shoved helter skelter into their place. Cups are stacked without care to the best positioning and matching styles. Bowls are thrown into their cupboard. Silverware.... eh, that's actually not bad. The table gets "washed" less frequently that could be desired. And I guess this is one of my downfalls as a parent. I just expected that the correct way (and yes, this would be MY way) would be apparent. Really, if you'd never seen any other way of stacking plates, wouldn't you automatically stack them that way?! But then you can read and reason. My children, raised in a barn as they are, love the splendor of chaos. And I'm becoming accustomed to it's charms.
So, for all those who look at my house and cringe and wonder if I do indeed own a broom (yes, I do. I'm just waiting for someone else to sweep), I apologize. I have surrendered to the natural man in me.

Let the Holy Spirit guide

Last night I was feeling grateful. Heavenly Father has always watched over me and mine. Here are some of the miracles that I have had the opportunity to be a part of. (and these don't include the countless hours my guardian angels have had to spend on my account because I was doing something incredibly stupid)
When I was about 8, we had a microburst go through our small town. On our property alone, it pulled up an enormous old tree and flattened our grain. I was in the house with Mom and the little kids. She sent me to close the front door which had been open to let in a breeze. The storm door was banging back and forth and with my 8 year old strength, I couldn't pull it shut. I called to my Mom to help me. After we got the door shut, she said something like, "Well, you could have just shut the inside door." Crash! At that moment, one of the railroad ties that had been on the roof (Dad's quick fix to a hole in the roof-- tarp and railroad ties) rolled off of the roof and through the kitchen window above the sink where Mom had been washing dishes before she came to answer my call for help. I remember when I related that story to my primary class, they said it wasn't the spirit at all. I disagree. I distinctly remember knowing at the time it happened that my Mom had been saved by promptings from the Holy Ghost.
My brother Mark was 18 when he was hit by a harvesting truck while he was on the motorbike. I was getting ready for mutual and stirring the stroganoff for dinner. There was frantic knocking at the door. I opened it to find our neighbor Mrs. Ferrell panicked on our doorstep. "A man riding a motorbike has been hit by a truck! We need to call for help!" I let her in to use the phone and then she left. After she left, I realized that I had heard the motorcycle leaving our house about a half hour before. I ran to get Mom because I was afraid it had been my Dad going out to change water. We found Dad, but he said he'd sent Mark out to do the water. My Mom was able to go down the road to the corner and be with Mark-- he was pretty mangled and broken. Several things came to my mind that night after we'd watched life flight take him to the trauma unit in Boise. There are four houses (in fact a house at the intersection) and at least a half mile between where the accident happened and my house, yet Beverly came to us. I remembered the motorcycle. Mark was able to get a blessing quickly because she was there and other neighbors who held the priesthood were there as well. His life has never been the same and maybe protection from that accident wasn't as important as the lesson the rest of us are supposed to learn. However, I knew once again that the presence of the Holy Ghost was there.
I was great with child with Malynn when I got an old sewing table from my Grandma. I wanted the table, just not the old machine that was bolted in. I'd asked Dan to take it out, but of course, he never got around to it and of course, I'm impatient so I took matters into my own hands. Feeling incredibly handy and independent, I got out my screwdriver and proceeded to undo the screws while laying on my back under the table and machine. A sudden thought came to my mind. "Uh, Jill you're dumb. Get out from under that table." It wasn't quite as easy to get the last two screws out by reaching underneath and my big belly got in the way. I was glad for the warning though, when once again.... Crash! The sewing machine that had to have weighed about 30 pounds of solid metal fell right where my head had been. It's amazing how quickly Heavenly Father lets me know that He has just saved my life.
Malynn was a pesky little girl. She wouldn't go to bed at night, so we took to locking her in her room and just let her play herself to sleep. One night I checked on her-- she had the usual plethora of toys surrounding her; the tea set above her head, 20 books beside her and her dolls on the other side. (She doesn't move when she sleeps, because of this early training). She was sleeping, so I left quietly. Then I was told to go back and check more closely. Sure enough, that little buggar had wrapped a string or a rubberband so tightly around her thumb that it was purple. I frantically pulled it off-- she slept through the whole thing.
Last year we went swimming with some of Dan's family while we were in Utah. Valerie and I had all of the little kids (Sophie, Alison and Aaron) in the fountain pool while Dan and James had the three older kids. There was a lot of trading off and running around. I watched Sophie go over to the swimming pool where Dan was with the older kids. Even though I kept up a running check where everyone was, about a half hour later, I felt a need to find Sophie. I looked over at Dan and he didn't have her. She wasn't in the play area. I was scanning the swimming half of the pool we were in and my eyes were drawn to a head bobbing in the water-- mostly under the water. I had Alison, so I couldn't just run over there without her following in a panic. Thank heavens Valerie was there and could get over there quickly and save Sophie. Sophie had tried to go into the big play pool-- only 4 feet deep at it's deepest part, but still when you are 4 and not quite 4 feet, that's too deep. Dan assumed when he let her go that she would come straight to me. She has always been our quiet wanderer. When Valerie gave Soph back to me, Sophie cried, "I was yelling for you to help me and you didn't hear me and I was drownding!" I couldn't hear her over the splashing of the fountains, but the Spirit did and sent the warning forward.
When Malynn gave her experience (that she slept through) for a little talk during the last primary program at church, she ended it with (this was in her own words) "and my Mom thanked God". I do. I thank God that He provided such an audible source for our protection. I know the Holy Ghost has many roles: Comforter, Testifier, Protecter, and bringing things to our remembrances to name a few. Today I am thankful for his presence in my life. I'm thankful that on occasion, he prompts me with such strength that even in my less than spiritual moments, I can be aware. I don't think the knowledge that I am given after the event that there has been divine intervention is a way of Heavenly Father saying, "Look what I did for you." I think it's His way of saying, "I love you and want the best for you. I need you to know that I am a part of your life so that when you do forget and move far from Me, you can remember these experiences and come back."