Saturday, February 14, 2015

A Public Display

On this Valentine's Day, I am going to post something that I started on Valentine's Day, 2012, but never had the guts to post. Because I try to avoid PDA. On the internet. Kissing in public is totally okay with me.

But, in the spirit of the day, I will divulge the half-baked tid-bit I wrote three years ago:
I don't know how to talk about Brad. I have been trying all day and I can't. Anything I try comes out too cheesy, too personal, too braggy. I write strictly humor and misery. I do not deal in joy. And so I have no tools to convey my feelings.
So I will just say this: 
When I started to date, I remember being advised to "date someone that makes you want to be a better person."
I didn't realize that as a guilt-addicted perfectionist, my drive to be a better person was already--by itself--enough to propel me through several lifetimes of improvement. Well, improvement and maybe severe depression. Brad was the only man I dated that made me want to be me. With him I am comfortable in my own skin.
Happy Valentine's Day to the man who calls himself "the luckiest" after he's come home from a long day at work and the kids are running loops around the stairs, screaming, and dinner is not done, and I'm still wearing pajama pants and a sweatshirt.

He obviously has it backwards.

Monday, February 2, 2015

Hide and Go Seek

If you follow me on Instagram, maybe you remember this year-old gem:
That is Rose. At my feet. She is either insisting to be held since the dinner-making which is requiring my attention is significantly less important than her, OR, she is objecting to the disgustingness which she will soon refuse to eat at dinner time.

Either way, it was not super fun. 

These days, Rose has a new tactic. The minute I approach the stove or the sink, or (heaven-forbid) the kitchen-aid, the child runs to my legs. She clings on for dear life. And with a sweet smile she pleads, "Mommy, ho' ju."  It's a pretty hard request to deny. But it's also really hard to ignore the cries of three other starving children waiting for you to cook them breakfast. It's even harder to flip a pancake while holding a two year-old on your hip.


I invented a new game. It's called "Hide Spiderman."


Spiderman hides, and Rose spends 3-5 minutes looking for him (during which I cook, and add ingredients, and stir a little), she finds him and rejoices and jumps up and down, and then I hide him again.

This trick works so well that I'm spending more time in the kitchen. I've baked 6 loaves of bread this week. (The drawback is that I have eaten an entire loaf every day this week. So... I'm also growing a muffin top. Bonus.)

Thursday, January 29, 2015

Why I should probably post more.

Yesterday I was perusing all of my posts living in "draft" land. And I came across this number that I started last year, titled, "A Misunderstanding":
Last week I was standing at my kitchen island with a cup of applesauce in one hand, and a spoon in the other while I held Rose on my hip and tried to feed her. I do not recommend this feeding arrangement. Unless your end goal is to be covered in baby food, in which case, this is the method for you.
In addition to holding Rose while feeding her, I was also attempting to hold her hands to prevent her from glopping fruity handfuls of sauce into my shirt and eyebrows. This is impossible. But I am a mom and so I have to do it anyway.
All Moms should be octopuses.

Anyway, as I was wrestling Rose, I realized that Weston was trying to get my attention. It usually takes me a minute to realize that. I'm really only good at focusing on one thing at a time. Which is w
...and that is all she wrote, friends. And now, a year later, I have no inkling of how this story ends. Or even how that sentence was going to end.

Maybe: "Which is... why I never succeed at watching TV and folding laundry"? or "Which is... why my kids have to repeat themselves 2-3 times before I realize what they are saying"? or "Which is... why I am not the poster-child for awesome homeschooling mom"?

It's time to post more. Before my kids are all grown and my brain cells are gone and I turn around and wonder what the heck happened.

(And, let's be honest, I haven't set the bar too high... posting "more" means at LEAST three times a year.)

Wednesday, December 3, 2014

Just now, in my living room.

Brad has been throwing a ball at the kids. In my house. They are running away, loving to be terrorized.

Claire, watching the scene from our overstuffed chair, asked, "Dad, how do you throw so good?" (As you can see, my grammar lessons are really paying off.)

Brad replied, "I'm good at throwing. It's like my second best talent."

Claire quickly responded, "What's your first-best talent?"

"Loving mom," he said.

I die. I love that man.

Friday, July 25, 2014


Tonight was girls' night at our house. Dad and Weston are camping and I decided to take the girls on a rare trip to a fast food restaurant. Living on the wild side over here.

Somehow, with only those three kids, I was more present. More relaxed. And my kids started to talk. And they started to vent. And they started volunteering information that they'd been holding onto for months.

Grace in particular is a story-bottler. She'll tell the most bomb-shell stories during the most unexpected moments. Tonight she told me that while school was still in session (so who knows how many months ago this happened), her class was out at recess, and she and her friend were lifting their shirts up to show their bellies and sticking their stomachs out. (She didn't explain why they were doing this.) As they did this, a kid-who-I-will-begrudgingly-leave-unnamed-but-had-at-one-point-had-a-crush-on-Grace walked up to her and said, "You're already fat without doing that."

Flames. Flames... on the sides of my face...

On the inside, I want to murder that kid.

On the outside, I listened to Grace and then gave a mirthful laugh. And said, "I have never heard anything more ridiculous. Or stupid. Next time a kid says something like that to you, you have my permission to tell him he's stupid."

She was shocked.

I'm usually the parent who assumes that their own kid is to blame for everything. I'm not usually the type to tattle to parents about their children. When my children are mistreated or lightly bullied (don't stab me for taking bullying lightly), I generally tell them to suck it up and figure out a solution. I'm sort of heartless like that. I guess I figure that the world is a mean place and they have to learn to deal with stuff.

But I must be doing it wrong.

I want my kids to defend themselves against this crap.

And I want my kids to feel safe telling me. So I can wrap them up and love them and tell them that things are going to be okay. It's hard to do that when you find out months later.

Sometimes I really hate being an inadequate parent.

Friday, January 24, 2014

Guess who actually did send out Christmas cards this year?

Me. I did.

That may surprise you. Because it's highly likely you didn't get one. That doesn't mean that I didn't put your name on one. What it means is that I am lazy. What it means is that I left for our Christmas vacation, packed my Christmas cards with addresses and stamps.... and then I actually went on vacation. And who remembers to mail cards on vacation?

Well I don't.

So don't hate me for posting a digital version.

If you still want the stamped card I have addressed to you in my still-packed Christmas vacation bags, and you won't call me tacky for sending a Christmas card right before Valentine's Day, leave a comment and I'll pop it in the mail.

Oh. And since I know you're wondering (since how could you not): I did get the bathroom mirrors up, and Brad finished our fireplace. (well, the carpentry, anyway. Nobody has time for paint.)

Tuesday, January 21, 2014

A boring update. And a sad birthday.

I haven't blogged in a long time. I don't know why. I can't seem to make it to the computer. And then when I do, I can't think of anything interesting to say.

I might never have blogged again, except I spent Thanksgiving with my darling grandmother and she asked me why I haven't blogged in so long. She told me she checks regularly for a new blogpost. And then, in an effort to prove that to me, she recited from memory the post below. And, well, that is kind of sad. Especially considering the fact that it was no epic blogpost.

So now that it's two months after Thanksgiving, my guilty conscience has finally kicked in and I am writing.

Wow. This post is so boring so far that I am falling asleep writing it.

What to say.

I know. Rose. Rose turned a year old last Tuesday. Huge hallmark birthday. I have great pictures of all of my kids on their first birthdays. I am a good mom. Let me illustrate:

Grace with GG at her 1st birthday party

Claire eating her first traditional birthday mud pie at Grandma Betsy's

Weston eating a cake (courtesy of the talented Diane Ferguson [and Grandma Betsy who commissioned it]) at his joint birthday/BYU football birthday party (also at Grandma Betsy's)

And now here is our dear friend Rose on her first birthday:

Not even a cake for this one. Poor thing. 

Was I saying something about being a good mom earlier?