Teach's Big News

Teach has decided she wants to go on a mission for our church! We are so excited about this news since she will be the first of our kids to serve. It's bittersweet to think that for 18 months she will be leaving us and living on her own with other missionaries. She can email us once a week, but she won't be able to call except for Christmas and Mothers' Day.

She probably won't leave for several months since there is so much to get ready! Yesterday we headed for the clinic and she started some of the immunizations she needs to have. She also has doctor's and dentist's appointment on her calendar.

She definitely doesn't want to leave until after our trip to Washington DC. (Did you all remember to tweet about the Dog Walker's wish to meet the President?) Some missions require biking or walking, so she is working on physical fitness as well. This is a whole new adventure for us...I'll keep you posted on her progress.

Loving Each Other

We had an interesting discussion at lunch today. We had just come home from church and my sweetie had whipped up a huge batch of his famous German pancakes. As usual, we shared our various church lessons with the family. One of the main discussions in our class was about how to teach kids to get along. So now I figure it's time to pour my heart out.

Now I'm not a pro at this by any stretch, but before my sweetie and I were married, I made it very clear to him that there were a few things I didn't want in our home. Being completely smitten, I think he would have agreed to anything, but I didn't want to take any chances.

When we were kids, my parents figured the best way to raise a bunch of Super-Over-Achievers was to put them in constant competition with each other. And I suppose it worked to a certain degree...except that I always came out of everything feeling resentful and like I wasn't good enough. Or if I did come out on top, I was boastful and irritating. This didn't exactly lend itself to a harmonious home environment.

So one of my stipulations as a brand-new bride was that we would never encourage our children to be better than their siblings. I wanted them to help and lift and love each other, and if the Super-Over-Achiever happened, great. If not, oh well.

Now I don't even pretend to know all there is to know about motherhood. In fact, the older I get, the more I realize just how clueless I am. But people comment all the time about how well my kids get along with each other and that's because in everything we do, family is most important.

I don't put up with fighting, name-calling or belittling. If the kids get caught fighting, they are immediately sentenced to do a job together. If they can't work together, they are assigned separate but much harder jobs. Usually they settle their differences pretty quickly.

On our recent trip to Vernal, we were horsing around in the pool at the hotel. The Prima Donna thought it might be fun to dunk Sport. He didn't think so...he came up sputtering and bawling. My sweetie thought she ought to be sentenced to a deck chair for ten minutes. No way! That was too easy. I told her she had to haul Sport around the entire pool on her back three times. She grumbled a little at first, but by the second lap they were laughing and playing and having a good time.

My mantra has always been to preserve the relationship at all costs. Sometimes saying "I'm sorry," can be as hard as saying "Hippopotamus," but those words can make all the difference.

I also encourage my kids to serve each other. In the book "Cheaper by the Dozen," they talk about assigning an older child to a younger child to make sure things happen. I am a great delegator! For a while we had specific olders assigned to specific youngers, but now I like to mix it up so they all get a chance to help each other.

I am constantly on the prowl for problems and broken relationships so I can help the kids repair them. I want their siblings to be their best friends.

How do you keep your kids from fighting?

Message Received

I have definitely been in a mood today.

My real and actual sock basket.

I spent the better part of the day going through drawers and discarding clothes that were too small for Crafty, Sport, Scout, and Curly. I've pretty much filled the minivan with things to take to the DI. I guess maybe I went a little overboard because when my sweetie got home he came back to the laundry room where I was attempting to fold a huge basket full of socks.

"Maybe we should just get rid of these too," I suggested hopefully.

"How much is it going to cost to buy all new things after you give it all away?" he asked a little too seriously.

Message received...

Guess I'll be folding more socks tomorrow.

47 Years

It's my birthday today.

I'm 47 years old. Where did the time go?

Make a wish!

We've always had chemistry

 


Some days I remember 17 so clearly. I was a senior at Manti high school with an amazing GPA and a small part of myself in half a dozen projects. I was in the chamber choir, a member of the Close Up team, on the youth city council, a writer for the local newspaper, yearbook staff, AND I was also a Sophomore at Snow College leading a totally separate life. I was the Feature Page editor for the school paper we published every other week; on two scholarships while I was still in high school. And I ran myself 20 hours a day...played hard, worked hard, still managed to meet and fall in love with my sweetie, dreamed of running away, and only slept on the weekends.

Me with Little, Snoozin' Drama Queen. 

 
When I was 27, I was working three jobs and had 4 little ones at home. I hardly saw them. I worked for 8 hours in the office, then ran home to grab a bite, say hello to the tiny strangers around my dinner table, kiss my sweetie in passing, and then it was off to a Tupperware party, some training meeting, or a writing class I was teaching. At the very least, I was making cold calls and trying to keep my business afloat and take care of the 50+ consultants who were on my team. We just couldn't risk losing the van Tupperware had given us. Sleep was precious and I loved snuggling with those little ones on early Sunday mornings, still dreaming of running away together, but then the phone would ring...

Look at my teeny Prima Donna!

By 37 I was much older and wiser. I was up to 8 kids and enjoying motherhood, even the teenager part. Bossy was the senior in high school. Crafty was 1. I had shed the jobs one by one and even most of the volunteer positions. My sweetie sat me down and taught me how to say the word, "NO!" when someone asked me to run the PTA, the Reflections program, or the Girl Scouts Service Unit. Involvement was good, but only up to a certain point. My kids were no longer strangers (a little strange, maybe), and we loved just playing and being together. We figured out the running away part and enjoyed our first real family vacations by taking a trip to San Francisco. Sleep was still elusive, but then I wasn't quite so tired either.



And now here I am at 47.


A grandma, momof12, blogger, Tupperware lady (again!), wife, daughter, scout leader, coach, teacher, friend. I think my personality requires many hats and many activities. I still don't know if I'm doing it right, but I'm doing it! I hate dragging myself out of bed every morning, but I'm grateful that I CAN still get out of bed every morning. I love being a mom and I wish I would have learned at 27 that family was the most important thing. I'm pretty sure I always knew, but somewhere along the line my little ones were simply another box to check off on my to-do list. Thankfully that was a short lesson that I have mostly learned. (Although late at night when I am checking in with my blogging friends, I kind of wonder if I've really learned it that well...).

I still dream of running away, but now I always want to take everyone with me. And I still love snuggling in bed on a cold January morning. And I don't care if the phone rings...

Wonder Mom

Fort Douglas Museum...the fam and our guide, Patrick

When we first started going to church with this neighborhood, one of the ladies called me Wonder Mom. It kind of irritated me because I certainly didn't see myself as anything special. I was just a mom like everybody else trying to figure out how best to raise my kids. So when I typed the title for this post, I giggled a little. I still don't see myself as special, but I think I am a little crazy.

One of my favorite things to do is run away with the kids and do something we haven't done before. That's why on Thursday we made our trip to a THIRD museum! This one was at Fort Douglas and yes, it was for another scout patch. We drove up to the University of Utah campus and then into Fort Douglas. It was a slow day and we were able to park right in front of the museum.

This was nothing like the Museum we went to on Monday. There weren't any interactive exhibits and Curly kept asking when we were going to go to the museum. We took Grandpa because he is a veteran and he enjoyed showing us the badge for his group. The museum itself was pretty awesome! It housed all kinds of old uniforms and memorabilia from the various wars. Each display had signs telling about the battles or the soldiers. They had tons of old guns and models of ships. We had a guide with us the entire time to answer questions and point out the things that would interest the kids the most.

After we toured the inside, we went out to the gardens and wandered past all the tanks and big guns. They even had some helicopters out there! That's about the time Curly finally got excited about the museum.

As we wandered back inside, I asked our guide to pose with the kids for a picture. He was happy to do it and I told him I wanted to post it on my blog. He was all for it! And he wanted me to invite all of my bloggy friends to stop by the museum...so I am. It's another freebie (worthy of a scout patch) and a great place to wander for an afternoon.

The kids go back to school on Tuesday, so I guess that will end our adventures during the day.  I'll have to come up with another way to be crazy...any ideas? Especially FREE ideas?

Ghost Story

Our Home Teachers came over tonight to give us our favorite lesson of the year. Every October, we get to hear about the naughty little ghosts who ate the wrong foods because they didn’t obey their mommy and they turned different colors. I should have gotten a copy of the story from them, but since I didn’t, you can find a slightly different version here. (I like this blog, btw. Take a minute and look around a bit.)

You all know my mom passed away five years ago, but every time I hear this story, I still think about her. I have to wonder when I didn’t listen to her and things went horribly or maybe just a little wrong. I’m pretty sure she was right about sewing too fast (most of the time). And driving too fast (especially when you get caught!). Wanting to grow up too fast, and staying up too late…no wait, I got that bad habit from her.

One thing I did appreciate was her willingness to just drop everything and spend time with us. I’m starting to wish I would have learned that lesson a little better. I watch the kids growing up and changing right before my eyes from babes to adults. That’s one great thing about blogging, I get to record some of that. Then maybe my kids can gain a little insight from my accumulated wisdom…obviously Baby Doll needs some; she doesn’t listen to her mama very well either.

Pumpkins

Teach is so talented!

Halloween has always been one of my favorite holidays. The best part is the chocolate, but there are other things I enjoy too. I told you last week about the Dog Walker’s corn maze. I love the decorations as long as they don’t get bloody or gory. Except for the crowds and the parking, I love going to the parades at the elementary school. My kids line up in grade order and walk through the entire school, including the gym (where they cram in all the parents and grandparents).

But when I was a kid, the Halloween parade was an actual parade! We gathered the entire school, marched right out the doors and down main street. Shop owners and workers stepped outside to watch and wave as we crowded the sidewalks and pushed and shoved our way down to the city building where our parents found us and picked us up. In the 1970s we didn’t worry about being kidnapped or checked out. It was a small town and everyone knew everyone else.


One thing we didn’t really do as kids was carve pumpkins. My parents had a garden, but we never had pumpkins growing in it. Occasionally we were given some near Halloween, and then Mom might carve them, but she always used the leftover pumpkin to turn into something delicious to eat.

I personally don’t like carving pumpkins. The one time I do remember trying it as a child, I totally messed it up. No one explained that you had to cut the top on an angle so it didn’t fall in. And I hated that messy, sloppy, seedy glop that you have to pull out before you screw up the cutting part. I still pretty much feel that way.

Thankfully, my sweetie loves this particular activity and he is happy to teach the kids. Some of my older kids can cut amazing designs! Last year Bossy made one with a pic of Lightning McQueen carved into it. It was amazing! I will take some pics after we carve (well, I watch) them this weekend.

But that’s not the story I wanted to tell you. I wanted to tell you about our first Halloween together. We had been married for about six weeks and we lived in student housing at the University of Utah. Our little circle of apartments had a Halloween party and they had a contest for the best pumpkin. My sweetie was all over that. Even though we were broke, we invested a couple of bucks in a medium-sized pumpkin. My sweetie did a good job with the face and then we decided to dress it up. We added a baseball cap and my favorite mitt. In our humble opinions, it was BY FAR the best pumpkin in the contest. We were so bummed when we didn’t win! It was years before my sweetie would agree to enter another carving contest. He was certain that all of them were rigged.


Look at this huge pumpkin we grew in our own garden this year! It’s about 15 inches high and very heavy. Suggestions on carving patterns? Maybe I can find a contest…one that’s not rigged…

Snow Camping

By now everyone knows that Nate (the Dog Walker) earned all 132 Merit Badges that were available to him. And we are so proud of him! But it hasn’t always been easy. There are some things about autistics that will drive you crazy. I’ve mentioned before that he was scared of fireworks and he doesn’t understand sarcasm or French…(check out those links for some fun stories). But one thing he does understand is camping. He loves to camp! He will even camp in the craziest of circumstances. Every year the scouts go on a Klondike which means they camp out in the dead of winter. They build snow caves and snowmen and sometimes they even ice fish.

So the Dog Walker went on his very first Klondike when he was 12. He still wasn’t very vocal or social with the other boys or the leaders. I was worried for him! I carefully helped him pack his bag with warm clothes and snacks and hand warmers. I wanted him to be comfortable without having to bother anyone else. I slipped some extra fleece blankets in with his sleeping bag and we packed his big poofy warm coat. We fondly call it the “marshmallow coat” because it looks like something the Pillsbury Doughboy might wear.

When I finally dropped him off at the church, I was hopeful that he had everything he needed to have a successful campout. Because of the extra blankets in the garbage bag with his sleeping bag, there wasn’t room for the coat, so I simply tossed it in the back of the pickup with all of his other stuff. After a quick hug and a few whispered words to his leaders, I drove back home, praying that he would be warm and safe during the two-day trip. I waited out the trip at home, just dreading that phone call from one of the leaders telling me that he had frozen to death or that he was lost in the blinding snow…none of those calls came.

So at the appointed time, I headed to the church to pick him up. I got there just as they were throwing the last of the equipment from the back of the trucks. The Dog Walker’s bag and garbage bag were sitting in a heap on the snow-covered sidewalk. He was standing beside it, shivering in a thin hoodie I had packed to go under his warm coat. “Why aren’t you wearing your coat?” I asked. He simply looked at me and then headed to the back of the truck. After stirring through what was left, he triumphantly held up the coat and then slipped it around his shoulders.

His scout leader looked up from where he was checking equipment. “Nate,” he called, “Is that your coat?” Nate nodded as he gathered his bags and headed for the van. Bruce, their fearless leader just shook his head. “What’s wrong?” I asked. “We’ve been trying all weekend to keep him warm,” he answered. “I even gave him my jacket at one point because he couldn’t remember bringing one.” By this point I was getting pretty excited. “Did you seriously think I would send my autistic son up the mountain for two days with just a hoodie?” I asked. He shrugged. “We’ve got to get better communication going,” I suggested. By then I was more than a little irritated. Thankfully, that was the first and last time we had issues. And now the Klondike and snow caves are one of his favorite camping memories.

Pulled Over

Pretty sure I’ve told you before that the Dog Walker is in the Marching Band. Yesterday they had a competition at BYU. I knew they would be getting in late, so even though he had his car parked at the high school and could drive the six blocks home, I stayed up and tried to be mostly productive. OK, I was blogging! I admit it!

Anyway, midnight rolled around and there was still no sign of him. It was a school night after all. About 12:30, he finally stumbled through the door. He was NOT happy! “What’s the matter?” I asked. “I got pulled over!” he complained. This didn’t sound good. “Did you have your license with you?” I asked. I knew his license had been sitting on my desk for most of the summer after Baby Doll dumped his wallet and I gathered up all his stuff. “Yeah, I put it in my wallet a couple of days ago,” he confessed. “Well that’s good,” I responded. He was obviously agitated.

“So tell me what happened,” I encouraged. “Well, I was taking my friend home and the police officer turned on his lights.” He squirmed a little. “I pulled over and he came to the window and I said, ‘Is something wrong?’ and he said, ‘Is there?’” This exchange seemed very confusing to my poor autistic son. He paused for a moment and then said, “I was respectful, Mom. You always have to respect a police officer.” Such a good boy!

“Then what?” I asked. “Well, he said, ‘Let’s see your license and registration.’ and I got out my license but I didn’t know what the registration was. My friend thought maybe it would be in the glovebox so he pulled out some papers until we figured out what it was.” I hope the officer was a patient man! He checked the documents and handed them back to my son. That’s when he asked my son if he had a medical problem and told him he was driving with his brights on. Then my son thanked him (no ticket!) and he said, “Drive safe!” and headed back to his patrol car.

Our city has a curfew for kids under 18 unless they are returning from work or a school activity. I’ve worried about this day ever since the Dog Walker got his license a year ago. He is a careful driver (almost too careful), but there are so many things he doesn’t understand about the world and relationships and conversations and sarcasm. One thing I’m glad he does understand is respect. I’m so proud of him for holding it together and remembering that one simple concept. Especially since neither one of us can afford a ticket.

Tonka Trucks

I’ve told you before that I have a church pew in my living room. It’s handy for extra seating and it’s always a great conversation piece. One thing I hadn’t anticipated when my sweetie insisted that we place it in the living room was that it would be a great place for storage! With all these kids, we have LOTS of toys. Some of their very favorites are these big yellow Tonka trucks.

They are the old-style ones, all made of metal and virtually indestructible. As you can see, even Sport can still fit his 8-year-old bottom in one without it falling apart. As soon as the kids are big enough to walk (and sometimes before), they start pushing around these trucks. By the time they can walk, the trucks zoom round and round the circle that is my living room and kitchen.

When Sport was younger, he took a pic of Curly “riding” in one when he was just a few days old. It won a couple of levels in the Reflections contest I told you about a few days ago. Maybe I can get Teach to find it when she gets home. Baby Doll also loves riding in the trucks as long as she is being pushed by someone who isn’t a crazy driver. (Note to Dog Walker: take it easy on the corners…)

Even though the noise level rises a couple of decibels, I love it when they chase the trucks around and around. I think it’s fantastic exercise. It teaches them how to handle a roadway and get along. I’ve seen many cases of “road rage” and it isn’t pretty, but it is resolved quickly…wih NO guns! Just a pinched finger or two.

Eeeww de Toilet

Curly had a little lamb...

Not the real blue comb

I was “working” on my computer today…ok, I was blogging…when I heard the toilet flush. About 30 seconds later, Curly came in. “M..o..m?” he sort of whined. Distracted, I turned to reach for him and he placed a wet pair of underwear in my hand. I immediately dropped them to the floor as he said, “These fell in the toilet…”

Now how many kids do you know that drop something in the toilet and then fish it out? I only know one…

Most of mine drop something in and they holler for Mom to do the dirty work. I remember once when I was in high school, I was getting ready for a dance. I’m not exactly sure how the comb fell into the toilet since I have always been pretty good about shutting the lid, but the next thing I knew, my favorite large blue comb was sinking to the bottom. And I did exactly what you would expect. “Mom!” I yelled. Only she didn’t come. After a moment or two I tried again. I knew she was in the house, so I went to search for her.

When I finally found her, she was calmly folding laundry. “Can you come and get the comb out of the toilet?” I was pretty frantic by then. What if somebody used the facilities without seeing it? What if they flushed it? This was a disaster. Mom’s eyes were still on the TV show she was watching. “You can do it,” she responded. I was NOT happy about this turn of events. “Ewww!” Then she looked at me. “What are you going to do when you are the mom?” she asked. “I’m not coming over to take care of it for you. You just as well get used to it now.” Then she turned back to her show.

I stomped out of the den and back to the bathroom. Angry, I plunged my hand into that toilet water and retrieved my comb. And you know what? It wasn’t that bad. I turned on the sink and ran the water straight hot. I scrubbed my hands and my comb with soap and soon everything was back to normal. (Now, I’m pretty sure I would have just thrown the comb in the trash, but that was not an option then. I wouldn’t have had the funds to replace it.)

picture credit

But that whole experience taught me a lesson. I didn’t need my mom always bailing me out of hard situations. If I was in hot water (or toilet water) because I had made bad choices (like leaving the toilet seat up), then I needed to just take care of myself. It was a bit of a turning point for me. In one single moment, I suddenly became much more independent and maybe a little more grown up and a lot more careful about always shutting the lid.

A Spoonful of Sugar helps the Medicine go Down

I’m pretty sure I told you that Baby Doll has an ear infection. That’s another sure sign of fall. With all these kids, I rarely go a week in the winter without visiting the doctor for something or another. And Scout managed to get strep, so both girls are on antibiotics. It’s rather amazing to see the difference in their willingness to take their medicine. Baby Doll has no problem at all just chugging down whatever I give her. Maybe that’s because when she was tiny she had reflux, meaning syringes full of medicine every day.

Scout, on the other hand, hates medicine of any kind! I have finally convinced her that vitamin gummies are OK, but it took a while. The only way I can get her to swallow anything is to mask it with root beer or chocolate milk. And then I still have to threaten her with stuff I probably wouldn’t do (I can say that because she can’t really read yet). Like yesterday, even though I mixed her medicine into chocolate milk, she messed around for half an hour pretending to drink it. Finally it was time for her to leave for school. I told her that if she didn’t drink the entire cup by the time we got to the school, I wasn’t going to let her get out of the van. Three minutes later we pulled up in front of the school. She gave me a look and finally drained her cup.

She isn’t my only child with issues. I’m still not sure the Drama Queen (at age 22) can swallow a pill, and I know Prima Donna can’t. I have personally witnessed her chewing up an Ibuprofen caplet or spreading the powder from an antibiotic capsule over a tablespoon of applesauce.

But my very worst was Crafty. Even as a tiny girl, her gag reflex was so bad that any kind of medicine would just come right back up. (She even puked on the dentist once, but that's another story.) Mixing with root beer or chocolate milk didn’t help either (except that she now has a healthy hatred for chocolate milk!).

When she was three or four, she got a cold. It wasn’t long before that cold had settled in her ears. She was ornery and miserable, but refused Tylenol. I finally took her to the doctor and she confirmed a double ear infection, complete with antibiotics and numbing drops for her ears. Getting the Amoxicillin down her was brutal and even though we wedged the syringe between her teeth, she managed to gag until she brought it all back up. We were tired and frustrated, but we still hoped the numbing drops might help us get a little sleep.

My sweetie grabbed the cotton balls and the tiny bottle. As I tried to hold her in a semi-comfortable position, Crafty screamed and thrashed and pulled away. My sweetie broke the cotton ball and unscrewed the cap on the drops. As soon as he approached her ear with the bottle, sweet little Crafty started choking and gagging. Somehow she had it in her mind that she could force those drops back out of her ears…maybe we should have named HER the Drama Queen. PS I would love it if you have tips to share on how you get your kids to take the meds. I don’t think this problem is going to go away anytime soon!

PPS I guess I shouldn't have brought up the nasty phone call. It was from some random dad who also has a scout who just completed all the merit badges. He was angry with me because Nate's story is all over the web and his son's isn't. There are 153 confirmed cases of scouts who have all achieved this goal throughout the hundred years of scouting. Nate is the only one that I know of who is autistic. We are just hoping that he can inspire some of these kids with disabilities to work a little harder. In his words..."Stop slacking and get on with it!"

The End of the World

Picture Credit

*Sorry the pictures look ridiculous!  The computer is having issues, but hopefully I will be able to crop them in the morning!  ~Teach*

You ever do something, knowing that it is likely a waste of time, but you just have to do it anyway? My sweetie and I have been struggling with a hard question involving Crafty. For a 10-year-old (almost 11), she is quite tall and a beautiful dancer. This past week we had to decide if we wanted to allow her to try out for Ballet West’s Nutcracker.

Three years ago we were faced with the same dilemma for Princess. Except we were told that the effort was probably futile but that it was a good experience for her to try out for a real ballet, she could put it on a resume…you get the idea. Basically we were coerced into giving her an opportunity we were pretty sure would turn into heartbreak. Imagine our surprise when our almost 12-year-old Princess landed a part as a red soldier!

The commitment was grueling. She had to be pulled out of school on several occasions for rehearsals and performances. She had to miss dance classes and the entire experience was very expensive! She needed professional pictures, a warm-up outfit and a t-shirt all emblazoned with “Ballet West.” There were dance bags and luggage tags. And don’t forget that I had to buy 15 tickets to the show! But even from our nosebleed seats we could see her dance her heart out on that amazing stage in the Capitol Theater…we were so proud.

So that brought us back to today. We decided to let Crafty audition, even though we didn’t have the time or the funds. We also didn’t want the guilt. At noon today, I took her down to the theater. She stressed with me for 30 minutes after she checked in and then she disappeared with over a hundred other girls into a practice room. After an hour of intensive rehearsal, they strutted their stuff on the stage.

As parents, we hung out in the lobby, sweating it out as we mentally tried to guess who might get in and who might be cut. Crafty and I were both pretty pragmatic. Even though she wanted to be like Princess and dance with a big-time ballet company, she knew she would have to give up things to participate. I knew that if she made the cast our lives would become incredibly complicated. But still, there we were, putting it all on the line.

They called the five-minute mark. All girls who came out would be cut and those who stayed in would make the cast. Five minutes passed, ten…after twenty stressful minutes, the doors opened. Little girls spilled out, most in tears, looking for parents and consolation. I strained my eyes, trying to see my girl. For one brief moment I thought she was not coming out and then she fell into my arms in a puddle of tears. For the third year in a row she had been cut.

We stood for a moment, arms around each other. We both knew it was not the end of the world, although for some of these girls it obviously was. One of Crafty’s dance teachers also had her daughter there for the audition and she hugged my girl and assured her that she was an amazing dancer. Then arm-in-arm, Crafty and I slipped passed the happy girls who were just released to happy parents with a folder welcoming them to the Ballet West family. It only took us halfway to the parking lot before she was talking about next year…she would have her pointe shoes by then…she would be almost 12…yeah, not the end of the world for us. Not by a long shot.