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.

Listening

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.

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.)

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?