Why going to the grocery store with three children is a joke.

Can you find all four of us in this reflection? Ten points if you can.

Feel free to lecture Grace on safety. I do.

Loony Bin

I think I've decided to homeschool Grace next year.

And I wasn't really expecting it, but I'm getting a lot of negative feedback about homeschooling from friends and acquaintances. Also. Carlsbad is about ten years behind the times, so support groups for homeschooling are almost non-existent. In other areas across the country, homeschool has made such great strides that kids can participate in school sports and even choose to attend some classes.

But not here. I can't even envision when that would be possible.

And I don't like being unconventional. Or being a ringleader. Or an activist. Or proving myself to people. It's not my thing.

I could list a variety of reasons for homeschooling, most of which would be academic. And maybe I'll do that later. But what it really comes down to for me is my guts. I have a gut feeling that I need to try homeschooling Grace. Just try.

Think I'm crazy?

This Mother's Day.

Last year Mother's Day at our house went largely uncelebrated. We were broke. And Brad [who is an amazing gift giver when he has money to spend] didn't have any free gift ideas.

Our family was participating in our post-Sunday-nap ritual. It occurs after church, after a mandatory hour-long quiet time. The girls wander into our room, pile on the bed and Brad tickles them until someone's eye gets poked out. It's fun. You should try it. Anyway.

As he tortured one of our children, I gave Brad a hard time about his observance of Mother's day. "You could have written me a note. You could have at least brought me breakfast in bed." [I am. like. the best wife. ever.]

That must have been the last straw. He ceased his attacks on the girls and instead attempted to tickle me to death. He at least succeeded in getting me to laugh so hard that I had to stop nagging. Which was probably the point.

He stopped long enough for me to catch my breath, and then I felt a little finger tapping my back. I rolled to my other side causing enough motion to almost tip a bowl of Rice Krispies that had just been placed on the mattress. Behind it ducked a shy Grace, waiting for me to gush over my breakfast in bed. I did. I gushed profusely. And ate the cereal. And thoroughly enjoyed it.

And then I felt profoundly guilty for being a guilt-tripping bad mother.

And that is how I feel Mother's Day goes in a nutshell: disappointment, mushiness, guilt. There is so much to look forward to.

And on that note, what do you want for Mother's Day? Or... what do you plan on giving to your Mother?

I'm better now.

I took a nap. The world looks better after a nap.

I woke up to find Wes. He had found the only thing available to pull himself up on in our long hallway. And he was stuck.

His knees are about to buckle, and he is whimpering for rescue, but I had to make him wait while I grabbed the camera.

I ruined Easter.

I don't usually mind giving talks at church. I usually spend a lot of time preparing. Sometimes I fast. I don't usually get too nervous in front of large crowds.

Maybe that's why it was so bad today.

Today, for whatever reason, was a train wreck. I had prepared a little. I had thought a lot about  Resurrection, the Atonement. I had planned to talk about my grandma's death. I had planned to talk about the sorrow that comes in life. I had planned to talk about the hope that Christ's resurrection brings. I had planned to reference Elder Holland and Wirthlin and President Monson.

Instead, I stood up, rambled and blabbered for approximately 5 minutes, and sat down.

I don't know whether I want another chance at speaking, or whether I want to hide under a rock and refuse to ever speak or hold a calling again.

It was that bad.

If you are in my ward, I apologize profusely. If you are not... I'm glad I can still count a few people who don't consider me a complete moron.

The positive news is... Easter did happen. Christ did rise from the dead. The tomb is empty. And that glorious thing is true anyway. Hopefully people remember that. Maybe once I stop cringing over my idiocy I can remember that too.

By plane.

Wes is an awesome travel buddy. I strapped him around me with my Moby, and we strolled the airports passing grumpy, delayed travelers. He's too much for the determined grump. The kid could charm the socks off Oscar the Grouch. Strangers of all types cooed, grinned, and chuckled. I met amazing people with my giggling, bouncing conversation starter.

It probably helped that he didn't make a fuss in any of our four flights spread over 3 and a half hours.

I'm not biased at ALL.

Adoption?

Today Claire and I rehashed a conversation we've had several times.

Claire: Mom, are we still going to keep Weston, our son?

Me: Yes.

Claire: We're not going to give him to someone else?

Me: No. Do you want to give him to someone else?

Claire: No! He's our son!

Me: Oh. Okay.