Mommy Rhapsody

Talk about singing my life...




...but in the end, it's worth it.

Happy Mothering Sunday!

At church today one of the speakers talked about how, in England, Mother's Day is actually referred to as 'Mothering Sunday'. It is a day to honor those who mother and care for others - not only those who are mothers in the biological sense of the word.

I really like this definition, as I know of many amazing women who have never been given the opportunity to bear children on their own but have been a powerful influence for good in the lives of many.

To all of you who mother others in one way or another, I hope you had a wonderful Mother's Day.



Here are some snippets of my Mother's Day...

One of the five cards I got from Cowgirl today.

Princess' teacher had them fill these out at school. I'm thinking about changing the spelling of my name to Guburdu now.

A classic picture from Curly which includes every element of her favorite drawing methods.

ElemenoB was able to get him to leave his precious Wii game to come and make this for me. Combine that with the fact that he hates to write more than he hates to sleep in his own bed and this piece of paper is a hot commodity.

Oh, To Be Like A Child!

I recognized the sound right off; it was one of those cries that meant pain.

Curly ran to me, sobbing, and grabbed my leg in a hug.

I knelt down to embrace her and, rubbing her back, asked, "What happened, love?"

When she was finally able to control her breathing enough to speak, she simply said, "Hubba hurted me."

"Hurt you where?" I asked, but she didn't answer.

I pointed to the typical hurt places while asking repeatedly, "Does it hurt here?"

Finally, Curly stopped me and said, "Not on my outside. He hurted me in my heart."

The worst, most painful kind of hurt. Hurt feelings, broken hearts, mental anguish. Hurt brought on by words and actions.

Hubba slowly approached from the other room, looking at Curly and I with apprehension. He went to his little sister, and while wrapping his arms around her, said, "I'm sorry, Curly. I didn't mean to hurt your fee-o-lings."

And then she brought a happy ache to my own heart as she wiped her tears away and uttered these words as she hugged him back, "It's okay. I already forgived-ed you, Hubba."

Already. Before he had even told her he was sorry, Curly had forgiven him.

I recognized that I was being taught something.

Earlier this morning Coolister and I were arguing. I felt that he was being disrespectful and I, in frustration, was yelling at him. I finally ordered him to his room as a way to end the disagreement. All morning I fretted and stewed over the exchange, wondering where I had gone wrong in my parenting and why he couldn't just listen and try to see things my way. When the time came for Coolister to leave for church (he helps with the services at a rest home near our house an hour before our own meetings begin) he acted as if nothing had happened. "I'm leaving, Mom!" he called as he walked out the door. And then added, "I love you!"

It was all just water under the bridge for him. Coolister had moved past the mornings' argument. He had already forgiven me.

I am not proud to admit that I am the kind of person who tends to hold a grudge. If I am offended or have my feelings hurt by someone, I am not so quick to forgive. Instead I let the feeling fester and grow inside of me until it fills a part of me with frustration, anger and hatred. This does nothing to anyone but myself - I am the only one who is harmed by the monster inside as I continue to feed it with resentment and loathing.

I want to be more forgiving and loving. I want to be more like my kids.

And so it goes. I, as a mother, think I am teaching my children all about life. Yet, in reality, they are the ones teaching me what life is really all about.

Yoda One For Me

Yesterday I realized that today was the day for passing out valentines at school... and I had forgotten to buy any.

I rushed to the dollar store in hopes of finding a stray box of cool valentines somewhere but, as expected, all that remained was Power Rangers and Hannah Montana. (*sigh*)

I couldn't bring those home.

Instead I stopped by the craft store and purchased a pack of cardstock so that we could create our own valentines.

First I made All-a-Boy's. He likes Legos and Star Wars so here is what I came up with:


Next was Princess. She wanted Princesses for the girls and Star Wars for the boys. We found some generic printable valentines online to fit both of these criteria and printed them off for her.

Cowgirl came last. However, she insisted upon making her own valentines without any help from the computer... or from me. She disappeared into her room for awhile and then proudly brought out her creations for me to enjoy. It was hard to pick, but here are my favorites...

Pixie stix, pixie dust... pretty clever!

I told her she was not allowed to give this one to anyone until she's at least 25. It's in the back of her pajama drawer until then.

Again... this one was banned from her classroom. Besides, until this person learns to lay off of those tanning lotions, no proposals of marriage are gonna happen.

The high-maintenance stuff comes through at an early age.

This one is obviously for a boy.

Then, seeing how we've obviously got a Star Wars obsession going on at our house, here are the cards for the Jedi in her life...

SO clever!

Again, well thought out and very appropriate.

(translation: 'Leia' on me while we kiss!)
Um... WOW.

She was trying to think of something valentine-y that went with "Leia" and this is what she came up with. She was adequately embarrassed when I explained to her how it could be misconstrued, so she changed the words to: 'Princess Leia wants to wish you a Happy Valentine's Day.'

MUCH better.

I just hope that her classmates will appreciate them as much as I did.

Pure Hubba

I love this picture on so many levels.

It shows so much of what Hubba is all about.

First of all, this blanket tied between the posts of 2 beds doubles as a boat and a hanging-sleeping-thing depending on what sort of adventure he has in mind. Here it is obviously a hanging-sleeping-thing. I love this kid's imagination and creativity.

Second, check out the book he has his vice grip on. I am the sort of mom who can't help but giggle over potty humor and love that his current favorite book is all about the adventures of a farting dog. I tried to pry it out of his hands and he sort of moaned in his sleep and held on to it even tighter.

Last of all, he's wearing his favorite pajamas, the "Dark Vader" ones. The Star Wars pajamas that he'll wear for a month straight if I don't hide them long enough to wash them. I love hearing him creep into a room and start with his Darth Vader breathing which sounds like he is saying, "Who? Her. Who? Her."

Little boys are awesome.

My Singing Sensation

The sound was... disturbing.

I was trying to listen to some music as I made dinner, but loud, top-of-your-lungs, off-key singing was coming from the room which my 2 teenage daughters share and, although hilarious, I could not take another minute of it.

"ElemenoB!" I shouted, "keep it down in there!"

"She has her headphones on, Mom," Thumbelina informed me. "She can't hear you. She can't even hear herself, obviously."

And this is when the plan began to take shape in the evil part of my brain that is conditioned to teach my kids their life lessons in a fun (and embarrassing) way.

I grabbed my camera...



...and then played it for her.

"Do you hear yourself?" I asked her. "This is what we get to listen to when you're singing with your headphones on. We can not even hear ourselves think." (Do I sound like your mother, or what?)

Apparently, she did not learn her lesson, because a couple of days later when I was trying to have a phone conversation I was constantly distracted by her much-too-loud singing again...



And I showed it to her. She laughed. I also asked why she found it necessary to stand on her bed while doing her self-performances. She promised to stay on the floor.

I suppose she thought that staying off of the bed was my main point, because WITHIN 20 MINUTES she was at it again. I grabbed my camera... but she had locked her door.

Her confidence in her lock was laughable. Does she think I haven't unlocked her door before? Once the lock was unlatched (child's play!), it was time for another video.

I cracked open the door and realized that she was serenading her sister who was sitting on the floor, her back to me, allowing for plenty of camera time...



This time she was a bit embarrassed because it looks like she is singing to her bed post.

"As long as you continue to sing, I will continue to record your performances for all posterity," I told her. "And don't think I won't post them on Facebook and my blog."

"Yeah, like anyone reads your blog," was her cocky reply.

Did that sound like permission to you? Or maybe even a dare?

Because it certainly did to me.

Quality Time

First off, for some reason I feel like I need to explain that I do not have any favorite kids.

Okay, actually, that is a lie.

The truth is that different kids are my favorite at different times for different reasons. But it sure seems as if I write an awful lot about Hubba on here. This is because he is the oldest of the kids I spend all day with and the brains behind all of their shenanigans.

That said, here is another Hubba story for today.

Yesterday I was on the computer all morning. Hubba does not like days like this because he is a computer addict. Nearly every 5 minutes he would ask me, "Can I play on Lego dot com?" I kept telling him that he'd have to wait. He even resorted to asking, "Can I play on Starfall dot com? It's edja-k-shunal..." And then after a while he switched to, "Would you watch a movie with me mom? Pleeeeeeeeease?"

I started to feel bad. The poor kid just wanted to spend some time with me. So I consented. I asked which movie he'd like to watch and he chose the one movie we had gotten for the older kids. "Seriously, Hubba? We could watch Thomas or UP," I told him.

"No, let's watch the big kid movie. It's a good movie."

So, Hubba, Curly, Little O and I snuggled under blankets and started to watch. About 5 minutes into it Hubba asked me, "Do you like this movie, mom?" I told him it was good but I needed to get something in the kitchen. Usually I can get the kids preoccupied and go back to what I was working on, but no such luck today. "Pleeeeeease watch the movie with us, Mom?"

We settled in. About 15 minutes into it, I was enjoying the movie. Hubba asked again, "Do you like this movie, Mom?"

"Yes," I answered. "It's very good. Do you like it?"

"Yeah," he responded. "But I already watched it before. Can I go play the computer now?"

Can you believe that the entire watch-a-movie-with-me thing was a ploy? This boy has the most devious little mind!




And I like it.

Regarding Laundromats

Because our clothes dryer's motor decided to make a dramatic exit the week of Christmas, (Dear Dryer, Nice timing, jerk. Sincerely, Gerb) I have recently become well acquainted with our local laundromats. It had been well over 16 years since I had the opportunity of laundering my family's clothing surrounded by strangers and I wasn't sure of where to go.

The first place I tried was like being in a foreign country right within a couple of miles of home. To summarize, I had children getting into my purse, eating my snacks and rummaging through my baskets while their parents sat nearby giving me threatening looks. When I went out to my car to lock my personal items in the trunk, I returned to find the mother of the previously mentioned children going through my clothes in the washing machines. (I promise you, I am not making this stuff up.) When I tried to ask the kids to stop or their mother to explain what in the world she thought she was doing, I was met with blank stares. The joke was on me... no one there spoke English. Needless to say, I did not return to this location.

My next attempt was in a place equally close to home but in a different direction. This place was definitely an improvement but it had the feel of a cowboy bar in the backwoods somewhere with a distinctive smell of chewing tobacco and some twangy music playing overhead... and me without my iPod. I firmly believe that I endured some sort of torture, having nothing to listen to except for the drone of washers and dryers along with sad songs about beer, trucks and boots. A homeless man wandered in, set his knapsack and bedding beneath a bench in the corner and checked all of the vending machines for forgotten change before locking himself in the bathroom for the remainder of the time I was there. I decided not to return here, either.

Allen suggested I try the place we frequented as college students way-back-when. I was skeptical about the location still being a laundromat but I was happy to give it a shot. As I approached the building I noticed that everything around it had changed but the laundromat was still there. Suffice it to say that this is the place I have returned to every time since. Clean facilities, new machines, wireless internet and a comfortable atmosphere made it worth the extra drive.

There are some things to be said for laundromats in general.

First of all, it is awesome to get 8 loads of laundry done in a two-hour time span. It is also fun to people-watch and enjoy some treats all to myself (except at that first place) as the washloads are running. I'm sure it must have saved us some money on our gas and water bill for the last few weeks as well.

However...

It is no fun to load up the clothing and linens of 11 people and cart it into a self-serve laundry, basket by basket. There is also nothing glamorous about folding that amount of laundry in a short amount of time, keeping track of which dryers hold your items, or trying to hide your unmentionables from the people who surround you.

In the end it all comes down to this:

I'm definitely going to appreciate having a working dryer at home again.

Donut Dilemma

Many mornings I choose to forgo a shower simply because I never know what will happen with my littlest 3 munchkins when they have the house to themselves. However, this morning Little O was still in bed and Curly and Hubba seemed preoccupied with Legos so I decided to go for it. I locked the special 'Hubba lock' we installed on the door (even though he's got it all figured out) and went for the shower.

When I stepped out of the shower I almost immediately noticed something was wrong... it was too quiet. If you've ever been around toddlers then you know that silence = trouble. I called for Hubba and Curly but they would not respond. I checked the doors; all were still locked. At least that was a good sign. Then I walked into the kitchen and saw this:
Those little hooligans had gotten into the chocolate waxy donuts and EATEN EVERY ONE! I opened the box of crumb donuts... one left. Little O, who was now awake, held his chubby hand out to me, gave me a cheesy grin and said, "Me?" I can't resist my Little O, so I handed it over. I sighed. Those boxes were still at least half full! But alas, no donuts left for me. Such is life. I reminded myself that I don't really like those boxed donuts anyway and called for Curly and Hubba again. This time they came bounding up the stairs.

"What, Mom?" Hubba asked innocently, arriving first.

"What happened to my donuts?" I asked. "Did you guys eat them all?"

"Nope," he told me.

Curly came up the stairs behind him. Looking like this:

GUILTY!

"Curly, did you eat all the donuts?"

(guilty look) "Nuh-uh."

"Curly, are you telling me the truth? You didn't eat all the donuts?"

(She looks at Hubba, the ring-leader. He shakes his head no.) "Nuh-uh."

"Hubba," I ask, pointing. "What is that on Curly's mouth?"

"Chock-a-lick donuts," he answers me, confidently.

"And you're telling me that you guys didn't eat all the donuts?"

"Nope. We din-it eat them all... there's one crumb donut still. Go look in the box."

I had to turn my back so they wouldn't see me smiling over the pure genius of their devious little plan. And then Hubba had the gall to ask, "Can I have that last donut?"

I am raising rascals.

The Power Of Like

"Mom, WAKE up!" Curly pleaded with me repeatedly the other morning.

She continued to speak to me in her cute little 3-year-old voice as I continued to pretend I was still asleep, hoping she would let me snooze just a bit longer.

"It is DAY so it's time to waked UP, Mom!" she tried reasoning with me.

I groaned and rolled to face her. "Why do you want me to wake up, Curly? Why can't I just sleep a bit longer?"

"P-cuz I like you, Mom," she answered. How adorable is that?!

I smiled, dragged myself out of the bed and jumped to my feet in front of her with my arms stretched high above my head. "I'm UP!" I proclaimed with an expression of joy which was nothing close to what I felt. And that is where she discovered the power in liking me.

Since then, she has used it as her reasoning for every other thing she does. "I'm following you p-cuz I like you," she told me with a smile as she shadowed me throughout the day. When it came time for dinner, she insisted on the seat beside mine. "I want to sit by Mom p-cuz I like her!" she scolded Hubba. He moved.


I wonder if this would work for me like it's been working for her?


(picture me at a Godiva Chocolatier...)

Godiva Lady: How can I help you?

Me: I'd like 5 pounds of your finest milk chocolate covered nuts, please. For free.

Godiva Lady: Huh?

Me: (smiling sweetly) P-cuz I like you.

Godiva Lady: (pushes the button under the counter to summon security)


Okay, maybe not. But it sure is cute when Curly says it.


I'm certain she's going to grow out of this stage in a blink... but for now, I'm going to enjoy it.

P-cuz it sure is nice to be liked.

Overheard

Photo from corbis.com

I overheard a conversation in the copy room at church last week.

It was between two women I do not know very well, but I could not help listening in as they spoke of another member of our congregation.

"She is just the sweetest lady you'll ever meet. So thoughtful and kind! She is always going out of her way to make people feel welcome in the neighborhood. And she is the greatest mom - I love watching her with her kids. She makes everything fun, even her food..."

I couldn't wait to hear who they were speaking of, although I had a pretty good idea of who it was. In fact, I had a great story of her kindness to add to their dialogue and so I made my presence known by stepping into the room.

"Well, here she is!" the one lady said to the other. "Have you met Gerb yet?"

What? I thought to myself. They were talking about me? I am the woman who makes everything from scratch? I am the person who goes out of my way to make others feel welcomed? I am the greatest mom? And so on, and so on. It was kind of overwhelming, to be honest. And it got me thinking about the whole situation for the rest of the day.

Here's what I realized: nobody's perfect, even if others think we are. We all have our faults, our weaknesses, our own little skeletons-in-the-closet. Yet many times we are the only ones who are aware of these flaws. Should we broadcast our personal failings and correct others who put us on a pedestal? I don't think so.

Why?

Because I know that others whom I admire have their own Achilles' heel(s) that I am unaware of. And you know what? I prefer the unknown.

Besides, the people I revere sure look great up on that pedestal.

Treasure

Mother's Day was, in a word, awesome.

I got a beautiful new rosebush with "Our Mother's Day Mailbox Rosebush" labeled on the front.

Throughout the day I found letters from each of my kids nestled in the bush... including this classic from Coolister (who, may I point out, is almost sixteen).
On Monday there was no school and I was surprised with Mother's Day, Part II. I was spoiled so rotten I was afraid I was beginning to stink.

When I went outside I found that Allen had built a planter where the new rosebush could reside.
Throughout the day the kids would ask me, "Did you plant your flowers yet?" To be honest, I figured that if I held out long enough they would be planted for me.

No such luck.

As I washed the breakfast dishes this morning Princess called to me, "Mom! There's a mailbox by your flowers!" I looked out the window thinking that perhaps I'd find the purple Columbine flowers I received from church on Sunday planted by our mailbox.

Here is what I saw instead:
Indeed, a quaint, rustic looking mailbox was there in the flowerbed. And the flag was up. You know what that means...

Mail!
It was a letter from my sweetheart.
I'm not going to tell you what it said. Some things are for me alone. I will say this, though: Boy, oh boy am I a lucky lady.

I decided that after all of the work he put into everything the least I could do was get those roses in the ground.

I left the kidlets in the house with ElemenoB (who was home with a sore throat) and set to digging myself a hole. Almost immediately I hit a rock.

Cursed ground! I thought. I tried to pry it out with the shovel and found that it was not a rock at all...
It was some kind of burlap sack. Buried treasure!

Suddenly the kids' excitement for me to plant the rosebush the day before made sense. I pulled the sack out and unwrapped its contents, anxious to see what was hidden inside.
I grabbed the drill and removed the lid...
Pulled off the newspaper...
...and found my buried treasure.

I am absolutely overwhelmed at the effort that went into making this Mother's Day(s) completely unforgettable.

But you want to know where the real treasure is?

Right here.

For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also. -Matthew 6:21

Simple Perfection

Early morning sunbeams
Find my face, warm my skin
A gentle reminder
It's time to begin

Around the house I wander
All things rest in their place
I pause at each doorway
And savor each face

One by one they wake
I greet them with a smile
Or, "Good morning, Sunshine!"
(I'm so versatile!)

We sit 'round the table
Share stories and laughter
Indulge in some pastries
And speak of dreams after

This day then provides
Substantial time for me
To spend with each child
Such grand company!

We have time for writing
For singing and baking
Enjoying the sunshine
And memory-making

There's time for the garden
Even time for a walk
My dear spouse and I find
Some time just to talk

I am not judgmental
There is no time for fault
All negative thinking
Has come to a halt

At day's end the sunset
Is completely divine
Its breathtaking beauty
Is etched in my mind

The children then relish
The stories that are read
And drift off to dreamland
When tucked into bed

I soak in a warm bath
Write words that inspire
Eat something indulgent
And then I retire

Now, candy and flowers
And gifts are all grand, but
My preference is elsewhere
This is where I stand

These earnest words I've penned
Reveal the things I'd say
If asked how I would choose

To spend Mother's Day

Happy Mother's Day to all of the moms who are reading this.

May your day be filled with all of the simple pleasures that bring you happiness!

Not So Super

You like reality T.V.? Here's reality for you: I am no supermom.

Many people believe in this illusion that I am some perfectly amazing mother. Well guess what? I'm human. No cape, no superpowers. And here is the proof:

-My smallest kids don't even get breakfast until 10 or 11 a.m. some days because I'm blogging or checking my email. Don't even get me started on the dishes and laundry.

-When my kids have to turn in their monthly reading calendars at school, I totally make up the minutes they read all month. I mean, I know they read. Probably more than most of the kids at the school all put together. I just don't have time to keep track of it every single day. Are you kidding me? Sometimes I even use two different colors of pen so it looks like I've been doing it all month long.

-Hubba (age 4) had been telling me that his "face hurts" for 2 weeks before I was smart enough to look inside his mouth. His molars are pretty much rotten because I let him brush his own teeth. The dentist was very gracious and said that his having a million ear infections in his first few years was a factor. I appreciate his trying to make me feel better, but the fact that poor Hubba has to be put under and have surgery to fix the problem makes me feel terrible. No more cookies for breakfast, I guess. (Just kidding. We only eat cookies for lunch.)

-If one of my kids wore something all day Friday, slept in it and then showed up at the table in the same clothes the next morning, you better believe I'm going to let them wear it again. It's Saturday! Who's gonna know?

-My husband is a big supporter of hot cereals for breakfast which to me = pasty nastiness in a bowl. So after I force all the kids to choke it down I put on a movie for the ones who don't go to school and have myself a bowl of cold cereal and a slice of cinnamon toast behind the door in the pantry.

-I totally chug milk out of the jug, right in front of my kids. It tastes better that way.

That's right, friends.

No supermom here.

Forget reality T.V. This is MY LIFE.

Choosing

My new "job" at church on Sundays is to teach a class of 4-year-olds in the Primary, the organization for all kids ages 3-11. I started yesterday.

The reason I have this new job is because Hubba is not a big fan of going to his class on Sundays. The thinking was that if his mom was his teacher, he'd go. Sounds reasonable, right? I thought so, too.

We underestimate Hubba.

I came prepared and excited for my first day with Hubba in tow. At first, he seemed excited.

"You are my chee-cher, Mom! You will be my chee-cher all the year!" he happily chattered on the way to the Primary room.

After 5 minutes of sitting on my lap, it started.

"Mom, let's get out of here."

"Where should we go, Hubba? I am your teacher now, remember? I am the teacher for the other kids, too. We get to be together all the time on Sundays now! Let's listen to the new song!"

"No, Mom, you don't look like my chee-cher no more. You're just a mom. Let's go to nursery."

(Nursery is the class I used to teach - the 18 months to 3 years old class. In nursery they have puzzles, trains, books and treats. Hmmm. Wonder why he likes it there.)

"Hubba, I am not in nursery anymore, and you are a BIG boy! Big boys don't go to nursery!"

"Yes they DO! And Primary is DUMB! And I want a DRINK!"

"Hubba, we will get a drink when we go to our class. Not right now."

And so on.

When we finally went to class, things started off well. The lesson was on choosing the right. The kids all sat in their chairs and listened well. Except Hubba.

Throughout the lesson he did all sorts of things.

He walked over to the light switch and flipped it off.

Then on.

Then off.

He tipped his chair upside down and sat on it, making train noises.

He kicked the divider that separated us from another class. Repeatedly.

At one point, he kicked the chair of the girl next to him. She raised her hand.

"Yes?" I asked, smiling.

"Hubba is kicking my chay-uh. I dough wanna sit by him any mo-uh."

Hubba sat in his chair again for about 20 seconds. In this brief window of time I passed out CTR rings. I told the kids they could look at them as a reminder to choose the right every day. Each child was excited and proud to wear one. Except Hubba.

He threw his at the window. Repeatedly.

And then it started. One of the kids in my class said, "Hubba! Choose the right!"

Another child chimed in, "Yo mom is tee-ching us to choose the wight! You are choosing the wong!!"

And another, "Look at your wing and wemem-buh!"

Hubba then proudly proclaimed (while laughing) "I don't choose the right! I choose the POOP!"


The way I see it, it can only get better from here.

Ask And You Shall Receive

I have recently become reacquainted with an old friend from high school who now lives in Germany. (Hi Stephanie!) She was curious as to what my daily schedule is like with 9 children. In fact, she says she finds things like that "fascinating".

Regardless of how mundane my daily schedule seems to me, I like to appear fascinating to others. So Stephanie, this post's for you! (Grab yourself a snack, it's pretty long...)

6:30 am - Coolister wakes me up almost every morning. (I'm lazy that way.) I like to prepare a real breakfast for the family every morning. This varies from hot cereals (oatmeal, germade, cornmeal or rice) to scrambled eggs to pancakes or waffles, baked oatmeal or breakfast sandwiches... the possibilities are endless but vary depending on the actual time I wake up. We eat cold cereal most Sundays, which the kids consider a treat.

6:45 am - I start making lunches and check that everyone who has to go to school is awake.

6:50 am - Breakfast is served! The kids eat in waves. Usually Coolister and ElemenoB eat at this time.

7:00 am - Coolister leaves for the bus stop. I am still making everyone else's lunches. ElemenoB changes her outfit for the 3rd time then gets in the shower.

7:15 am - Lunches are done. Go tell Thumbelina that her bus leaves in 15 minutes so she had better get out of bed!

7:25 am - Thumbelina, All-a-boy and Cowgirl eat breakfast. I tell All-a-boy that he can NOT wear that same shirt again. He rolls his eyes and goes to change.

7:35 am - ElemenoB and Thumbelina should leave for their bus stop, but Thumbelina usually can't find her shoes or her math homework or her jacket. ElemenoB acts annoyed but secretly revels in the fact that she can check her hair in the mirror one more time.

7:37 am - The girls bid me farewell.

7:40 am - I do Cowgirl's hair. All-a-boy shows up in the shirt I told him to change out of. I state his name and give him 'the look'. He rolls his eyes again and heads back to his bedroom.

7:41 am - All-a-boy comes up in a different shirt... with shorts. I remind him that it is about 40 degrees outside. More eye rolling, more clothing changes.

7:45 am - I brush down All-a-boy's cowlicks with plenty of water and hair gel. He requests 'spiky' or 'flat' and I comply.

7:50 am - Last minute (frantic!) scramble for jackets, homework, backpacks, lunches, shoes... All-a-boy and Cowgirl watch out the window for their carpool and slam the door on their way out.

Sometime between 8:00 and 9:00 am - Princess, Hubba and Curly wake up and eat breakfast. Princess throws a royal fit if it is "oatmeal again". I sit down and eat with them.

Whatever time I sit down to eat - Baby O wakes up. I feed him then finish feeding myself.

Around 9:15 am - Wash breakfast dishes.

9:45 am - Get kids dressed. Let Hubba stay in his pajamas, since he's going to change back into them anyway at some point in the day. Get out Legos or K'nex or Furryvilles or trains for them to play with. If I want to take a shower, I put in a movie for them downstairs with strict instructions not to answer the door while I am in the shower! Princess does not get this, as she is fully capable of answering the door without my assistance. Luckily, we have not had many visitors at this time.

10:15 am - Make my bed, put in a load of laundry, then get on the computer. Check Google Reader for new blog posts. Mull over what comments to leave. Read my email.

11:00 am - Put the laundry in the dryer. Put Baby O down for his morning nap. Back to the computer to see if I got any new email or comments on posts. Read the local news online at KSL and Herald Extra. Begin to compose a blog post if I feel so inspired.

11:20 am - Lunch for the kidlets. Princess usually requests not a sandwich. Quesedillas or cheese and crackers are regulars, along with some form of fruit or vegetable.

11:30 am - Clean up lunch, do Princess' hair according to her specifications: "Two braids today, mom - in the back." or "No ponytails, just a clip with a flower." or "Two big ponytails". Or, if we are in a hurry, it just gets brushed. Last minute search for show-and-tell items, homework, and jacket - despite Princess' declarations of 'I like cold!' and 'I get too sweaty in my jacket anyways, Mom! Geez!!'

11:50 am - Wake Baby O. Load the smallish ones into the suburban. Chase Hubba and Curly around the house a few times, screaming threats of no more milk today! if they don't get in their carseats RIGHT NOW.

11:58 am - Leave for kindergarten. Sing the 'Bob the Builder' theme song and 'Thomas We Love You' 3 times on the way while looking for large machinery to point out to Hubba. As in, "Hey, Hubba - there's Scoop! Do you see Roley?"

12:04 pm - Drop Princess off for kindergarten. She is always at least 3 minutes late, so I figure I'm being consistent.

12:10 pm - Back at home. Throw in another load of laundry, fold the dry load. Vacuum the floors so Baby O can soldier crawl to his heart's content amongst the discarded Legos and trains.

12:30 pm - Turn on www.starfall.com to occupy Hubba and Curly. Try to eat my lunch somewhere that I won't be discovered.

12:31 pm -
Hubba: "Mom, can I have a bite of yours?"
Me: "But you already ate lunch..."
H: "But not yours lunch."
Me: "Mom needs to eat lunch, too. Do you want a sandwich?"
H: "I want yours lunch."
Me: "I'll make you your own bowl of soup, ok?"
H: "Can I eat yours soup? And you can make the other bowl for you?"
Me: (thinking) Could he possibly know that mine is really ice cream?

12:45 pm - Put the laundry in the dryer. Finish my blog post, if one is started. Check my email again. (Hmmm... I'm sensing a pattern here...)

1:00 pm - This varies, depending on the day. It includes: Start to think about dinner. Pay bills. Compose email replies. Make phone calls. Clean bathroom. Vacuum. Screen phone calls. Try to come up with a more creative answering machine message. Look at old pictures. Read old journals. Leave comments on blogs read earlier. Transfer pictures from camera to computer. Put on some music and sing really loud. Dance a little if alone. Dance a lot if the kids are watching. Check the calendar for what else is coming up this week. Take a kid to a doctor's appointment. The list goes on for miles...

2:30 pm - Start getting the kids in the vehicle to go pick up the elementary school kids. Try to find shoes. Tell Hubba socks are good enough. Try to be systematic about this - Put Baby O in the suburban. Go get Curly. Buckle her in. Go get Hubba - who has escaped from the house and is running down the street in his socks and pajamas, laughing his head off. Try to stifle laughter when I capture him and tell him he should not run from me.

2:45 pm - Buckle Hubba in. Count the animals we pass on the way to the school (horses, sheep, cows and goats).

2:50 pm - Pick up at the school of my 3 plus 3 others. Drop others off.

3:05 pm - Home again. Homework starts immediately or else I will forget to make them do it. Everyone had to read at least 20 minutes every day. There is often also spelling and math involved.

3:15 pm - ElemenoB and Thumbelina get home. (except for the days when they have play practice. Then they get home at 4:30 pm). ElemenoB goes to babysit. Thumbelina locks herself in her room with a book and says, "I'm doing my homework!" when I knock. "Homework at the table!" I yell back. I can feel her eyes rolling at me behind the door when I hear the exasperated sigh.

3:30 pm - Run a few errands now that I don't have to take the whole gang with me. Last-minute groceries, the bank, the library and stores with supplies for school projects are the top 4 destinations. The local bakery is often right on the way, so I have been known to stop there on occasion. I am a firm believer in supporting local businesses, you know.

4:30 pm - Coolister calls and wants a ride home from cross country practice. If I am already out running errands, I oblige. If I am not, he gets more running practice in as he makes his way home.

5:00 pm - I am home. I marvel over how the kids can undo what I have done in the house throughout the day and pick up some things, enlisting the help of the slaves. I start getting out what is needed for dinner. I help with unfinished homework. I read to Princess and Cowgirl.

5:30 pm - Put dinner together. Let it cook. Pick up more stuff off the floors, counter tops and couches.

6:00 pm - ElemenoB gets home from babysitting. On a good day, someone sets the table and dinner is served. Dinner is served between 6:00 pm and 9:00 pm. I hate the 9:00 pm dinner days, but when it's a day for grocery shopping that's what happens.

Everything gets crazy at this time of day, depending on the day of the week.

Mondays we have "Family Home Evening" which is where we sing songs, play games and have a short lesson about something, followed by a treat.

Tuesdays the oldest 3 kids go to church at 7:00 pm with the other youth in our area. The boys play basketball or Frisbee and call it "scouts". The girls do various things from cooking to sewing to having a little lesson.

Wednesdays All-a-boy has cub scouts.

Thursdays Allen has church meetings all night.

Fridays are often date nights. (I like Fridays.)

Weekends are a completely different story.

Around 8:00 - 9:00 pm, or whenever everyone is home, we read scriptures together.

Bedtime is somewhere between 8:30 and 10:30 pm, though we have been doing much better lately and getting to bed closer to 9:00 pm. This routine includes drinks of milk, bathroom reminders and empty threats before everyone is finally asleep somewhere. Hubba has a very nice bed but usually chooses to sleep with the "big girls", Coolister or right between Allen and I.

Once the kids are in bed Allen checks sports scores, peruses You Tube videos and does some work on his laptop while I head to the desktop for more blog surfing and email checking.

There are various things mixed in on different days, but that's about it. Pretty exciting stuff!




See what you get when you ask? Anyone else?

(I'm taking requests.)

What Are YOU Worth?

In the past 3 days I have done 14 loads of laundry, a tiresome task to say the least.

But HOO-BOY, look at the tips I've collected from the washer & dryer!

Brownies For Everyone!

ElemenoB asked me a question last week - a question that isn't asked around here too often.

"Mom, I'm going to whatshername's house to watch a movie. Is it okay if we watch thatonemovie, even though it's PG-13? Whatshername said it's only PG-13 because there's some blood. It's really a good movie."

My answer: "Want some brownies?"

A smile, an eye roll, and that was the end of that.

First off, let me explain. Awhile back we decided as a family not to watch PG-13 movies. All of us. Even Allen and I, because can we expect our kids to live up to something that we do not? Anyway, we kicked off our non-PG-13-watching with a little story that many of you may have heard. It's one of my favorites. For your reading pleasure I bring, "Special Brownies".

A family had a rule that they could not attend PG-13 or R rated movies, but two of the teenagers wanted to see a particular movie that was playing at local theaters. It was rated PG-13. The teens interviewed friends and even some members of their family's church to find out what was offensive in the movie. They made a list of pros and cons about the movie to use in convincing their dad that they should be allowed to see it.

The cons were that it contained only 3 swear words, the only violence was a building exploding ('and you see that on TV all the time', they said) and you actually did not see the couple in the movie having sex - it was just implied sex, off camera.

The pros were that it was a popular movie - a blockbuster. Everyone was seeing it. If the teens saw the movie then they would not feel left out when their friends discussed it. The movie contained a good story and plot. It had some great adventure and suspense in it. There were some fantastic special effects in this movie. Many of the members of their church had even seen the movie and said it was really good. Therefore, since there were more pros than cons the teens said they were asking their father to reconsider his position on just this ONE movie and let them have permission to go see it.

The father looked at the list and thought for a few minutes. He said he could tell his children had spent some time and thought on this request. He asked if he could have a day to think about it before making his decision. The teens were thrilled. They thought, "Our argument is too good! Dad can't turn us down!" So, they happily agreed to let him have a day to think about their request.

The next evening the father called his teenagers in to the living room. There on the coffee table he had a plate of brownies. The father told his children he had thought about their request and had decided that if they would eat a brownie then he would let them go to the movie. But just like the movie, the brownies had pros and cons.

The pros were that they were made with the finest chocolate and other good ingredients. They had the added special effect of yummy walnuts in them. The brownies were moist and fresh with wonderful chocolate frosting on top. He had made them using an award-winning recipe. But...

The brownies only had one con. He had included a little bit of a special ingredient. The brownies also contained just a little bit of dog poop. But he had mixed the dough well - they probably would not even be able to taste the dog poop and he had baked it at 350 degrees so any bacteria or germs from the dog poop had probably been destroyed.

Of course, none of the teens would eat the brownies. Now when his kids ask permission to watch something he is opposed to the father just asks, "Would you like me to whip up a batch of my special brownies?"

Works for me, too.

Redemption!

Do you remember the witchy note I received from my little cowgirl? I figured I should let you see her other side, too. She redeemed herself with my favorite valentine this year:


Add this note to the one in the last post and I'm feeling pretty good!

Whew.

It's All Worth It

Some days I think I am pretty stinky when it comes to mothering. Especially when I am pregnant and feisty (not a good combination). These are the days that my evening prayers include tearful pleas that my kids will all turn out fine and not need years of counseling when they are grown.

I seem to have been having many of those days lately. Sending myself to my room seems to help some, as do rewards for good behavior (like cream puffs and chocolate) but I still feel terrible that they have to endure me.

Today I received confirmation that I may not be as bad as I often think:


This little unexpected love note was just what I needed today. It's things like this that make motherhood all worth it.

P.S. Is it bad that I was so excited about the "You look good" ?