For two years running now, singing in a community choir has given me my favorite holiday memory. Last year it was caroling and having the recipient close their garage door in our face (which takes a pretty long time and is really awkward. I LOVED it!) This year, it was during a really weird concert out in Sun City West. It's a long way across the valley to get there, all of us fighting traffic the entire way. When we finally arrive and take the stage, the piano is out of tune, the room has no ring to it, and the audience is nearly comatose. Tough performance, but we smile, sing great and soldier on. Then we get to the sing-a-long song (because every holiday concert needs a sing a long song!) Our conductor turns to the audience and enthusiastically says, "Okay! Now it's your turn!" and one old guy near the middle loudly grunts, "Oh, Lord!" so very loudly that it cracks me up. I can barely sing the next song for laughing.
You gotta' love the holiday spirit...
Showing posts with label daily life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label daily life. Show all posts
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Monday, December 5, 2011
Whoops!
My mom missed her flight.
It was a bad moment in my kitchen when, at 12:15 pm she realized that her plane left at 12:25 pm instead of 2:50 pm. I may have heard her curse. Maybe that happened. You'll never hear me confirm it. (Not in front of her, anyway.)
I felt really terrible. I should have double checked, but Mom doesn't like to feel like she is being "taken care of." I wouldn't either. Not after almost 80 years of living. So I try to give her her space. Still, I should have double checked because then it would have kept her from saying, "Well, that's it. I'm done flying. I just can't do it." Four days later I may be close to talking her down from that ledge. Maybe. I can't be sure. I may never see her again.
I credit her overreaction to the two hours we waited in line to REBUY a ticket. That's right. No refunds. No credit. Just forfeit the ticket and start again. It was ugly. And it may have been the wheelchair she had to sit in because her back started killing her after 40 minutes. That hurt her pride. Aging stinks.
But, on the bright side, she was able to spend a few days with her sister and sister-in-law in Sun City. That perked her up a bit. And today I plan to let her beat me in cards. Later I will pray for snow. Lots and lots of snow for Wyoming.
If all goes well, I may see her back down here in January.
(image found here.)
Monday, November 28, 2011
Stick a Fork in Me
 |
| (My brother's going to LOVE this photo!) |
Here's how it went down:
Week before Thanksgiving: Paint 2 rooms. Move furniture, toys and about 200 books up and down the stairs.
Sunday: Mom arrives.
Monday: Shop for an enormous amount of food.
Tuesday: Continue shopping for food. This time braving Costco. It's nuts, but I bump into 2 strangers who exhibit so much kindness that they reignite my hope in mankind.
Wednesday: Clean, clean, clean, clean. Strip 6 beds and make up 10.
Wednesday night: Two of my brothers arrive with their families. That's 12 house guests, but whose counting? Start baking pies at 9:30 pm. Finish at 1:00 am.
Thursday: Put out a self-serve breakfast of bagels and cereal while preparing Thanksgiving for 22 people. It's eaten in half and hour. But it's really good. Enjoy an afternoon of watching football, playing games, and eating turkey sandwiches.
Friday: Waffles, fruit, and vanilla syrup for a late breakfast. Thomas' family joins us, and we enjoy a game of touch football out at the park. Later that night, I sing in a concert while everyone else eats leftovers. After everyone goes to bed, Mr. Wicke and I try to restore some order in the house in preparation for tomorrow.
Saturday: Up early for Griffin's baptism. My brother Ken and his family head back to St. George. The rest of us rush home and prepare a lunch for 30 people. We serve cold cuts, salad, chips, hot spinach artichoke dip, sparkling apple cider, and lemon and chocolate cakes. Our families hang out and play games. That evening I make an easy sausage & broccoli pasta while my brother, Curt, whips up a baked brie as well as another pecan pie. We visit late into the night.
Sunday: Curt and his family prepare to go. We send them off with an egg and ham scramble, toast, and Orange Julius. They drive away, and I put a roast in the crock pot and baked potatoes in the oven in preparation for dinner with Thomas' family. We attend church. My friend tells me I look really tired. She's right. After church I hurriedly prepare popovers and steamed broccoli. After dinner everyone else cleans up while I begin two lemon meringue pies. I don't quite finish before I have to leave for Stake choir practice. I give Mr. Wicke instructions on how to finish. I come home to two delicious pies and a card game of Phase 10. When that breaks up, Thomas' brother stays and visits. We hit the hay at 12:30 am.
Monday morning: I wake up late. Miraculously, we get the kiddos off to school on time and I survey the damage. As my father once said, "I don't know whether we should clean it up or burn it down." All I know is that I'm ready for a nap.
Monday, November 21, 2011
Run, Run as Fast as You Can
I'm running uphill faster than I know how. Anyone else? Yes, it is that time of year again...when the world falls in love and moms lose their minds. (I don't think that last bit made the final cut of the song, but it should have if it was going for truth.)
Today I made it through getting the kids ready, making the beds, one piano lesson, making lunches, a quick morning pick up, Albertsons, park playgroup, Costco, 2 voice lessons, homework, bathroom cleaning, one bleeding cut on a child's head (no stitches necessary, thank goodness), dinner, children's reading (during which I kinda' sorta' fell asleep...don't tell), family home evening, book before bedtime, one load of laundry, and remaking the bed before I fall into it. And I didn't get to half the items on my to-do list; one of which was
to compose my "Thankful List" this year. Please, Lord, give me time to be thankful.
Here's a short version. This year I am thankful for:
1. a healthy body that works.
2. healthy and happy kids.
3. a solid, supportive, fantastic husband.
4. a mother who still walks the earth to love me like nobody else.
5. vision.
6. a big family that I know I can count on.
7. QT
8. great reads.
9. laughter.
10. hope.
11. dear, wonderful, thoughtful friends.
12. a lovely home.
13. faith.
14. randomly kind strangers.
15. a toddler who is totally entertaining.
16. a son who is inventive, creative, and curious.
17. a daughter who is one of my favorite people to be with.
18. date nights.
19. a Savior who can work miracles.
20. the memory of a wise father.
21. beauty all around me.
22. dessert.
You know there's more. But it's bedtime. I got a lotta' runnin' to do tomorrow. I'm also thankful there are tomorrows.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Things are a Little Off Kilter...
This is not my house, but it feels like my house.
1. My daughter was home yesterday after waking us up at 5:30 am with these words: "I just threw up."
2. My son is home today. I have a sneaking suspicion that he is not really that sick...but I can't prove it.
3. I am in the middle of a giant painting project. Again. I know. Don't say anything.
4. There are two things that make Mr. Wicke grumpy: cleaning the garage and painting projects. I can't explain it, but they do.
5. My mom is flying in on Sunday. The house--which currently resembles a nuclear waste dump (see #3) must be back in order by then.
6. My daughter had to wait for the dryer to finish this morning so that she had something to wear to school. (Again, see #3.)
7. I am feeling my age. My lower back is killing me, and I am sore. (Stupid #3.)
8. Having the kids home from school is not helping me accomplish #3.
9. Quite frankly I'd rather do anything than #3.
10. Wish me luck.
P.S. A giant thank you to a wonderful friend who read on Facebook that my daughter was sick and showed up at our door with homemade chicken noodle soup and hot rolls. She is Wonder Woman and deserves an award.
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Pants
This morning Griffin's pants were too short. And when I say pants, I mean ALL of his pants. What started with "Hey Griff, I have some bad news..."
"What?"
"Your pants are too short. You're going to have to change them. I know. I know. But it's your own fault. You grew last night. Stop doing that."
...turned into a minor fashion show in his bedroom.
"Nope. Those are too short, too."
"What about these?"
"Yeah. Those should work. I think I just bought those...What?! They are too short, too? What size are they? They are size eight. They should fit. Are you pulling them up to your armpits? No? Alright. That's it. You are in big trouble, mister! How dare you grow out of all your pants?!"
At this point, his sister joined us. "Am I in trouble, too?"
"Yes. As a matter of fact you are both in very big trouble because neither of you will listen to me. How many times do I have to say it? STOP GROWING!" They love this monologue. They think it is soooo funny, and what good am I if I can't be funny once in a while.
"We can't help it!" they argue.
"Oh, really! Well then I'll just have to take matters into my own hands, won't I? Maybe I'll make you walk around with something super heavy on your heads. That'll do it. Ooh yeah, and then I'll chain some cannon balls to your ears. So what if you're a hunchback? I gotta' do what I gotta' do if you're not going to listen already..." I could do this bit all day.
Except that I have to go buy my guy some pants...
You know what they say about a joke. That there is a germ a truth at the heart of it? Well, there is that teeny tiny (not so tiny) part of me that really does wish they would stop growing--just for a minute--and let me catch my breath already. Does it really have to go this quickly? Most of the time I feel like their childhood is water running through my fingers, when I just want to catch it, hold onto it, and admire it for a minute.
Last spring, when I attended Women's Conference, singer/songwriter Hillary Weeks shared a little phrase during her performance that has tumbled around in my brain since then. She said that over the breakfast table one morning, the thought occurred to her that we are privileged to know our children as children.
And she's right. I am privileged to know these little people. They will be adults before I know it. They will spend the majority of their lives in big bodies with big problems and big worries. But for now, I get to witness their joy and, perhaps, their spirits in their purest forms, before the awkwardness of teenage years, before the struggle of adulthood. I get to witness hope undefiled. I get to witness faith without cynicism. I get to witness love without conditions. I get to witness their childhood.
I only wish it lasted a bit longer.
"What?"
"Your pants are too short. You're going to have to change them. I know. I know. But it's your own fault. You grew last night. Stop doing that."
...turned into a minor fashion show in his bedroom.
"Nope. Those are too short, too."
"What about these?"
"Yeah. Those should work. I think I just bought those...What?! They are too short, too? What size are they? They are size eight. They should fit. Are you pulling them up to your armpits? No? Alright. That's it. You are in big trouble, mister! How dare you grow out of all your pants?!"
At this point, his sister joined us. "Am I in trouble, too?"
"Yes. As a matter of fact you are both in very big trouble because neither of you will listen to me. How many times do I have to say it? STOP GROWING!" They love this monologue. They think it is soooo funny, and what good am I if I can't be funny once in a while.
"We can't help it!" they argue.
"Oh, really! Well then I'll just have to take matters into my own hands, won't I? Maybe I'll make you walk around with something super heavy on your heads. That'll do it. Ooh yeah, and then I'll chain some cannon balls to your ears. So what if you're a hunchback? I gotta' do what I gotta' do if you're not going to listen already..." I could do this bit all day.
Except that I have to go buy my guy some pants...
You know what they say about a joke. That there is a germ a truth at the heart of it? Well, there is that teeny tiny (not so tiny) part of me that really does wish they would stop growing--just for a minute--and let me catch my breath already. Does it really have to go this quickly? Most of the time I feel like their childhood is water running through my fingers, when I just want to catch it, hold onto it, and admire it for a minute.
Last spring, when I attended Women's Conference, singer/songwriter Hillary Weeks shared a little phrase during her performance that has tumbled around in my brain since then. She said that over the breakfast table one morning, the thought occurred to her that we are privileged to know our children as children.
And she's right. I am privileged to know these little people. They will be adults before I know it. They will spend the majority of their lives in big bodies with big problems and big worries. But for now, I get to witness their joy and, perhaps, their spirits in their purest forms, before the awkwardness of teenage years, before the struggle of adulthood. I get to witness hope undefiled. I get to witness faith without cynicism. I get to witness love without conditions. I get to witness their childhood.
I only wish it lasted a bit longer.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Bookclub 101
Last night was bookclub at my house. I love gathering with smart women and discussing literature. Good food--like Black Forest ham and brie croissants, strawberry spinach salad, and lemon cake--never hurts either. But critiquing plot pacing, character development, voice and learning something about history in the process is enlightening to my mind. It gets those neurons firing again, and I love that feeling.
It almost reminds me of my college days, well...except for the two year old who, in the middle, yelled from the top of the stairs, "I have my shirt! My clothes!" and indeed he did. Many of his clothes in his arms, waving his shirt like a title of liberty.
A few minutes later, disgruntled by my lack of enthusiasm, he was in the middle of the room, "My shirt! I got my shirt!"
"Yes. I see. Go show your daddy!"
He disappeared only momentarily. Next he wanted to show us a giant dog bed that he dragged in from the family room. After that he came in and dropped an armload of his favorite toys in the middle of the floor. "Look!" he crowed.
"Uh, Thomas?" was my reply.
Like I said, almost like my college days. Almost.
It almost reminds me of my college days, well...except for the two year old who, in the middle, yelled from the top of the stairs, "I have my shirt! My clothes!" and indeed he did. Many of his clothes in his arms, waving his shirt like a title of liberty.
A few minutes later, disgruntled by my lack of enthusiasm, he was in the middle of the room, "My shirt! I got my shirt!"
"Yes. I see. Go show your daddy!"
He disappeared only momentarily. Next he wanted to show us a giant dog bed that he dragged in from the family room. After that he came in and dropped an armload of his favorite toys in the middle of the floor. "Look!" he crowed.
"Uh, Thomas?" was my reply.
Like I said, almost like my college days. Almost.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Sometimes, Angels Walk on Asphalt (part 2)
..."What?! Are you serious?!" I said out loud to no one in particular. "They are out of cream?! Are you kidding?!" This could not be happening.
"My husband just went to check," a kindly, older woman responded.
She must have seemed sympathetic because I found myself continuing. "I can't go to another store today. Not with my kids." I wasn't really talking to her. Not really. I think I was really talking to Jesus, as in, "Dear Lord, I am having a really hard time being the mom you want me to be. And, as a side note? Your birthday is really wearing me out..."
"Looks like you're headed for a melt down," she said as she took in my screaming baby.
"Huh? Oh, we're already there. (Sigh.) Well, thanks." I couldn't wait for her husband's return. Besides I had no faith that he would come back with any good news. What? They were stockpiling cream in the back? Highly doubtful.
"Good luck," she called as I walked back to my kids.
"Alright, guys. Let's get out of here. Stay with me." They sensed my short fuse and obeyed as I moved as fast as I could while trying to distract and quiet a baby who was past naptime.
The checkout line wasn't much better. What I needed was another couple of arms. The baby was still fussing, the others, while trying to help, mostly managed to trip over one another and end up in my way more than anything else. Just then my bishop from church walked by.
"Wow! Just in time. I'm in need of some service!" I was only half kidding.
"Oh, really? How can I help?"
Although I thought the answer was obvious, I said, "I'll let you have my baby today." I was still only half kidding, but he declined the offer by saying he had five of his own or some such nonsense.
Left on my own, I was gearing up for the trip out to the car and trying to figure how I was going to rearrange the entire afternoon schedule to nap the baby ASAP and somehow still get the cream to make the dessert that needed overnight refrigeration. Not to mention the thousand other details of Christmas which I refused to think of just then. Sometimes being a mother is akin to planning the details of a Navy Seals mission with the happy addition of doing it while someone continually screams in your ear.
I could feel my blood pressure rising and the beginnings of a headache coming on, and that's when I saw the stupid firewood. The stupid firewood that I needed to buy for the stupid firepit I had bought for Thomas for this stupid holiday. It had been on the list for days. The list that was still in need of completion. But I just couldn't go back in there. Bone weary, it was all I could do to get the baby to the car. I was desperate.
I turned to my children. "Do you guys think you could buy that wood right there? Take it into the register and pay for it?" They looked at each other unsure. "C'mon. You can do it! Here. Here's some money," I said adjusting the baby on my hip with one arm and digging through my purse with the other while using one foot to keep the cart from rolling away. "It'll be fine...Where is my wallet? Okay, here! Just stay together." They began to walk away. "And watch for cars!" I called after them.
I worried and watched for them while buckling the baby in the car and distracting him with snacks for a moment while I loaded the grocery sacks in the trunk. Relieved, I finally spotted them tugging the bundle of wood between them. "Good job, you guys!" I called across the parking lot. Right behind them I noticed the sympathetic woman from the dairy case. I silently hoped she wasn't judging.
Instead, as they drew nearer she called, "Did you get your cream?"
I couldn't believe it. "No! Did they really have some?" I questioned as I moved to the children and relieved them of their burden.
"They did. In the back."
"Well, wouldn't you know it. Just my luck today," I complained, finishing with the bags and closing the trunk.
"Here. You can have mine," she offered holding a large bottle of whipping cream up high a couple of cars over.
"Oh, that is so nice of you! But no, that's okay," I gushed as I pushed the empty cart to the corral.
When I turned around she was coming toward me, cream still in hand. "No, really. Here take it," she offered again.
My arms shot out reflexively, my hands waving her off. "No, no. That's yours! I can't take your whipping cream! What will you do then?" I asked as she neared me.
"I can get some more. I don't have any kids with me. All of mine are grown now," the kindness in her eyes disarmed me now that I really saw her.
"But I--"
"Take it. It's yours," she insisted and thrust it into my hands. "Merry Christmas," she said, really meaning it.
I found myself hugging the cream to my chest. A lump had suddenly sprung into my throat, and I had to swallow hard to get my thanks past it. She just smiled, and I stood there, overwhelmed, watching her walk back to her car. Unexpected human kindness is a beautiful thing, and on this day, for me, nearly miraculous.
My kids even felt it. When I got into the car we all sat there for a minute until Logan said simply, "That was really nice."
"Yes, it really was," I wholeheartedly agreed, blinking back a couple of tears. "That was a very Christlike thing to do." I started the ignition and slowly backed up.
"She doesn't even know us," Griffin joined in.
"Nope, and we'll never be able to repay her...I guess the only thing we can do is to help somebody else like she helped us."
And as we pulled away, I remembered that I really liked Christmas after all.
"My husband just went to check," a kindly, older woman responded.
She must have seemed sympathetic because I found myself continuing. "I can't go to another store today. Not with my kids." I wasn't really talking to her. Not really. I think I was really talking to Jesus, as in, "Dear Lord, I am having a really hard time being the mom you want me to be. And, as a side note? Your birthday is really wearing me out..."
"Looks like you're headed for a melt down," she said as she took in my screaming baby.
"Huh? Oh, we're already there. (Sigh.) Well, thanks." I couldn't wait for her husband's return. Besides I had no faith that he would come back with any good news. What? They were stockpiling cream in the back? Highly doubtful.
"Good luck," she called as I walked back to my kids.
"Alright, guys. Let's get out of here. Stay with me." They sensed my short fuse and obeyed as I moved as fast as I could while trying to distract and quiet a baby who was past naptime.
The checkout line wasn't much better. What I needed was another couple of arms. The baby was still fussing, the others, while trying to help, mostly managed to trip over one another and end up in my way more than anything else. Just then my bishop from church walked by.
"Wow! Just in time. I'm in need of some service!" I was only half kidding.
"Oh, really? How can I help?"
Although I thought the answer was obvious, I said, "I'll let you have my baby today." I was still only half kidding, but he declined the offer by saying he had five of his own or some such nonsense.
Left on my own, I was gearing up for the trip out to the car and trying to figure how I was going to rearrange the entire afternoon schedule to nap the baby ASAP and somehow still get the cream to make the dessert that needed overnight refrigeration. Not to mention the thousand other details of Christmas which I refused to think of just then. Sometimes being a mother is akin to planning the details of a Navy Seals mission with the happy addition of doing it while someone continually screams in your ear.
I could feel my blood pressure rising and the beginnings of a headache coming on, and that's when I saw the stupid firewood. The stupid firewood that I needed to buy for the stupid firepit I had bought for Thomas for this stupid holiday. It had been on the list for days. The list that was still in need of completion. But I just couldn't go back in there. Bone weary, it was all I could do to get the baby to the car. I was desperate.
I turned to my children. "Do you guys think you could buy that wood right there? Take it into the register and pay for it?" They looked at each other unsure. "C'mon. You can do it! Here. Here's some money," I said adjusting the baby on my hip with one arm and digging through my purse with the other while using one foot to keep the cart from rolling away. "It'll be fine...Where is my wallet? Okay, here! Just stay together." They began to walk away. "And watch for cars!" I called after them.
I worried and watched for them while buckling the baby in the car and distracting him with snacks for a moment while I loaded the grocery sacks in the trunk. Relieved, I finally spotted them tugging the bundle of wood between them. "Good job, you guys!" I called across the parking lot. Right behind them I noticed the sympathetic woman from the dairy case. I silently hoped she wasn't judging.
Instead, as they drew nearer she called, "Did you get your cream?"
I couldn't believe it. "No! Did they really have some?" I questioned as I moved to the children and relieved them of their burden.
"They did. In the back."
"Well, wouldn't you know it. Just my luck today," I complained, finishing with the bags and closing the trunk.
"Here. You can have mine," she offered holding a large bottle of whipping cream up high a couple of cars over.
"Oh, that is so nice of you! But no, that's okay," I gushed as I pushed the empty cart to the corral.
When I turned around she was coming toward me, cream still in hand. "No, really. Here take it," she offered again.
My arms shot out reflexively, my hands waving her off. "No, no. That's yours! I can't take your whipping cream! What will you do then?" I asked as she neared me.
"I can get some more. I don't have any kids with me. All of mine are grown now," the kindness in her eyes disarmed me now that I really saw her.
"But I--"
"Take it. It's yours," she insisted and thrust it into my hands. "Merry Christmas," she said, really meaning it.
I found myself hugging the cream to my chest. A lump had suddenly sprung into my throat, and I had to swallow hard to get my thanks past it. She just smiled, and I stood there, overwhelmed, watching her walk back to her car. Unexpected human kindness is a beautiful thing, and on this day, for me, nearly miraculous.
My kids even felt it. When I got into the car we all sat there for a minute until Logan said simply, "That was really nice."
"Yes, it really was," I wholeheartedly agreed, blinking back a couple of tears. "That was a very Christlike thing to do." I started the ignition and slowly backed up.
"She doesn't even know us," Griffin joined in.
"Nope, and we'll never be able to repay her...I guess the only thing we can do is to help somebody else like she helped us."
And as we pulled away, I remembered that I really liked Christmas after all.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Sometimes, Angels Walk on Asphalt
"I hate Christmas." It wasn't necessarily true, but the words fell out of my mouth before I could stop them. Maybe it was the surrounding chaos or maybe it was something akin to understanding in the eyes of the other mother trying to contain a baby that inspired the confession in the middle of aisle 8 at Fry's Grocery Store.
She gave a tired laugh. "I know. And I have to go to Costco after this."
"Ugh. I just came from there. It's a madhouse." Our conversation was cut short when my toddler threw a fit again, this time as my nine year old attempted to keep him from overturning a number of canned goods from their shelf.
It was the day before Christmas Eve, and the store reminded me of fighting traffic on the 405 in Southern California. The same miserable traffic that I do not miss, and yet there I was bumping cart to cart in a very similar version. If I hadn't needed a large bottle of whipping cream I would have taken one look at the parking lot and forgotten shopping altogether, but I was in charge of dessert for Christmas Eve dinner, and that required whipping cream. Lots of whipping cream, as only the very best kind of desserts do. Having only too late realized that Costco doesn't sell whipping cream, there I was with one fraying temperament in store number two with three kids in tow. It was enough to make me hate Christmas, and as evidenced all around me, I wasn't the only one.
Everyone in the store seemed slightly short tempered as we impatiently maneuvered around one another through the too-tight aisles, our plans too often at odds with one another. "Excuse me. Sorry. Can I just get around you. I'll just be a second. Sorry. Didn't see you there..." The bare minimum etiquette didn't quite make it to the eyes of most shoppers. There, one could see the stress, the impatience, and the frustration. More of which I would have noticed had I not been chasing my 20 month old who refused to sit in the fancy toy car/shopping cart that he had insisted upon only moments before, the monstrosity which I was now left maneuvering in this mess while trying to contain him at the same time.
"Logan! I need your help!" I begged as the baby darted around the giant soda display. "You go that way!" As I rounded the other side, I heard screaming. Familiar screaming.
"Mom. He won't come!" my daughter whined.
"Okay, I got him," I responded while rounding the corner and picking him up. Putting him in the cart and buckling him in I said, "Now you have to sit!" He didn't like it. The screaming escalated. At this point I thought it was possible that the entire city was in this store, and they were all watching me. It really was a shining moment.
"Okay, guys, stay close!" I commanded the other two. I had had enough. It was cream time. Anything else would have to wait. Upon nearing the dairy section, I found it so crammed that I had to abandon the cart momentarily. "Watch the baby, and don't move!" I ordered.
I weaved my way to the refrigerated door. "What?! Are you serious?!" I said out loud to no one in particular. "They are out of cream?! Are you kidding?!" This could not be happening.
(to be continued...)
She gave a tired laugh. "I know. And I have to go to Costco after this."
"Ugh. I just came from there. It's a madhouse." Our conversation was cut short when my toddler threw a fit again, this time as my nine year old attempted to keep him from overturning a number of canned goods from their shelf.
It was the day before Christmas Eve, and the store reminded me of fighting traffic on the 405 in Southern California. The same miserable traffic that I do not miss, and yet there I was bumping cart to cart in a very similar version. If I hadn't needed a large bottle of whipping cream I would have taken one look at the parking lot and forgotten shopping altogether, but I was in charge of dessert for Christmas Eve dinner, and that required whipping cream. Lots of whipping cream, as only the very best kind of desserts do. Having only too late realized that Costco doesn't sell whipping cream, there I was with one fraying temperament in store number two with three kids in tow. It was enough to make me hate Christmas, and as evidenced all around me, I wasn't the only one.
Everyone in the store seemed slightly short tempered as we impatiently maneuvered around one another through the too-tight aisles, our plans too often at odds with one another. "Excuse me. Sorry. Can I just get around you. I'll just be a second. Sorry. Didn't see you there..." The bare minimum etiquette didn't quite make it to the eyes of most shoppers. There, one could see the stress, the impatience, and the frustration. More of which I would have noticed had I not been chasing my 20 month old who refused to sit in the fancy toy car/shopping cart that he had insisted upon only moments before, the monstrosity which I was now left maneuvering in this mess while trying to contain him at the same time.
"Logan! I need your help!" I begged as the baby darted around the giant soda display. "You go that way!" As I rounded the other side, I heard screaming. Familiar screaming.
"Mom. He won't come!" my daughter whined.
"Okay, I got him," I responded while rounding the corner and picking him up. Putting him in the cart and buckling him in I said, "Now you have to sit!" He didn't like it. The screaming escalated. At this point I thought it was possible that the entire city was in this store, and they were all watching me. It really was a shining moment.
"Okay, guys, stay close!" I commanded the other two. I had had enough. It was cream time. Anything else would have to wait. Upon nearing the dairy section, I found it so crammed that I had to abandon the cart momentarily. "Watch the baby, and don't move!" I ordered.
I weaved my way to the refrigerated door. "What?! Are you serious?!" I said out loud to no one in particular. "They are out of cream?! Are you kidding?!" This could not be happening.
(to be continued...)
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
All I Wanted Was a Family Picture on Mother's Day
It should have been easy. Just set up the tripod and use the camera's self timer to take a quick picture after church, right? How hard is that? Well, between Mr. Wicke's tie, Griffin's silliness and sibling bickering, it frayed my nerves. Who would have thought our two year old would be the most cooperative?
Here's the final product:
Here's the rest...
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
On Becoming More Acquainted with Apple Juice
Yesterday, as I wrote that little blurb to post, I thought my baby Lincoln was quietly playing in the other room. And he was...just with a 2 quart bottle of apple juice unbeknownst to me. Do you know how sticky apple juice is? I do. It's really, really sticky. So sticky, in fact, that you will have to mop at least three times and then once more just for good measure.
And of course you'll have to wash and wipe the counter at least that many times as well.
And then, when it drips into your drawers, you will have to remove all of the utensils, give them a good going over, wash the trays and mats, and thoroughly wash and wipe out the drawers.
And when it drains into your cupboards and pools in the center, you will have to pull all of the small cooking appliances out and give them a good washing, sop up all the excess and give the cupboards a good wipe down as well.
And then, you will have to do a load of laundry to wash the myriad of towels you have used to clean up the incredible mess that a 21 month old can make without making a sound.
That's a lot of sticky fun.
And of course you'll have to wash and wipe the counter at least that many times as well.
And then, when it drips into your drawers, you will have to remove all of the utensils, give them a good going over, wash the trays and mats, and thoroughly wash and wipe out the drawers.
And when it drains into your cupboards and pools in the center, you will have to pull all of the small cooking appliances out and give them a good washing, sop up all the excess and give the cupboards a good wipe down as well.
And then, you will have to do a load of laundry to wash the myriad of towels you have used to clean up the incredible mess that a 21 month old can make without making a sound.
That's a lot of sticky fun.
Monday, December 6, 2010
Sounds of the Season
I say it every year: "Christmas is eating my lunch!" Every. stinkin'. year. And here we are again. You won't believe it (but you really might) but my tree is now up but not decorated. We haven't started adventing yet. Remember those Christmas cards? Not out yet. Nope. The shopping is somewhere in the middle of completion.
Here's what I've been doing instead.
See that person in the middle with her arms up? That's me leading our primary children in song. They sang three numbers for our church's Christmas party, and they were fantastic!
Here's what I've been doing instead.
See that person in the middle with her arms up? That's me leading our primary children in song. They sang three numbers for our church's Christmas party, and they were fantastic!
And I got to sing with these guys for their holiday concert because I rejoined this choir which means I get to sing really great music with really great people, and despite not having my tree decorated and my shopping not done and my cards still sitting on my counter, I have really felt the Christmas spirit. There is nothing like singing "Hallelujah! Hallelujah! For the Lord God Omnipotent reigneth. Hallelujah! And He shall reign forever and ever! King of Kings and Lord of Lords. Forever, and ever, and ever. Hallelujah!" to joy in the Season of His birth, and watching children sing with their sweet innocence, "On this night a King is born in a cattle shed," to really feel what it means.
And last night, while we were singing Silent Night with the lush sound of a full symphony orchestra accompanying us, I looked out into the audience to see a man quietly weeping, tears just running down his face. Immediately, I was reminded what it meant, personally, that our Savior did come on a silent night, most holy night. And then my heart rose up in a simple prayer, "Thank you, Jesus. Thank you."
And now...for your listening pleasure....
And now...for your listening pleasure....
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Ready to Order?
I woke up today with the realization that it is December 1st. I'm not ready. I say that every year, despite the fact that every year I really try to get ready. This year, as you may recall, I even ordered my Christmas cards early. But they are not done yet. This year, I even started shopping earlier. It doesn't mean I'm any closer to being finished. In fact, I have not yet even decided if we are going to give Logan and Griffin the cornsnake and tortoise, upon which decision the pattern of Christmas shopping depends.
However, I am glad I started earlier this year because if I hadn't I'd really be in the weeds. Just to make myself crazy, I took on two enormous projects: Writing and editing a family cookbook for the holidays and repainting my kitchen and family room. Finally I got rid of that gold paint that has been really bugging me. I spent Friday and Saturday after Thanksgiving painting my guts out while Mr. Wicke entertained the kiddos. I'm not sure about the timing of the whole effort, but I did it, and I love the new color.
Now if I could only get my house back in order and feel ready for Dec. 1st.
However, I am glad I started earlier this year because if I hadn't I'd really be in the weeds. Just to make myself crazy, I took on two enormous projects: Writing and editing a family cookbook for the holidays and repainting my kitchen and family room. Finally I got rid of that gold paint that has been really bugging me. I spent Friday and Saturday after Thanksgiving painting my guts out while Mr. Wicke entertained the kiddos. I'm not sure about the timing of the whole effort, but I did it, and I love the new color.
Now if I could only get my house back in order and feel ready for Dec. 1st.
Friday, November 12, 2010
Holiday Progress
So you know when I'm freaking out about how much there is to do for the upcoming holidays, the only thing that can be done is to get started and check some of those items off the list. That's what I've been doing. Let me give you one example to illustrate how well it is going.
I ordered my holiday cards from Costco this year. Homemade was not going to happen. Something's got to give. AND our picture does not look holiday-ish at all--I don't care. Got it done. So I order them to pick up the next day. Of course there is no school, but being the unrealistic-optimist that I am, I think I'll kill two birds with one stone and grab a quick Costco lunch and pick up the cards. Bwahahahahahaha.
Nothing happens quickly with kids. Nothing. Especially when they bring a friend. And especially when the snowbirds are out in abundance giving you very dirty looks about said kids who have the audacity to dance around, and get excited, and don't look where they're going. Basically acting like kids. I guess kids annoy a lot of old people. Whatever.
So we finally get the lunch, go to get the pictures when Griffin informs me he has to "go." Number two. Fantastic. Did I say we were going to get this done quickly?
After the bathroom we finally we get through checkout. The line out the door is forever long. Baby is now melting down in the cart. I'm just trying to keep track of the other three, when I look down and see that baby has spilled soda all over the Christmas cards.
Yup.
That's how it's going.
I managed to salvage them, but if you get a card with a little soda stain on the envelope, you'll know the rest of the story.
I ordered my holiday cards from Costco this year. Homemade was not going to happen. Something's got to give. AND our picture does not look holiday-ish at all--I don't care. Got it done. So I order them to pick up the next day. Of course there is no school, but being the unrealistic-optimist that I am, I think I'll kill two birds with one stone and grab a quick Costco lunch and pick up the cards. Bwahahahahahaha.
Nothing happens quickly with kids. Nothing. Especially when they bring a friend. And especially when the snowbirds are out in abundance giving you very dirty looks about said kids who have the audacity to dance around, and get excited, and don't look where they're going. Basically acting like kids. I guess kids annoy a lot of old people. Whatever.
So we finally get the lunch, go to get the pictures when Griffin informs me he has to "go." Number two. Fantastic. Did I say we were going to get this done quickly?
After the bathroom we finally we get through checkout. The line out the door is forever long. Baby is now melting down in the cart. I'm just trying to keep track of the other three, when I look down and see that baby has spilled soda all over the Christmas cards.
Yup.
That's how it's going.
I managed to salvage them, but if you get a card with a little soda stain on the envelope, you'll know the rest of the story.
Monday, November 8, 2010
Holiday Hyperventilation
I woke up at 6:15 am on November 1st in a panic. My eyes flew open before the alarm and my heart was already racing. I don't know what kind of dreaming was going on, but I was half-way through making my holiday to do list.
The panic has not yet subsided.
There is so much to do at this time of year. Not only do we have Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas, but three birthdays, and--Hey!--let's throw in Veteran's Day! Why not! We need one more holiday packed in there. Between that, Thanksgiving, and professional learning days, my kids don't have a full week of school the entire month. That's messing with my schedule.
If I think of everything that needs to be accomplished, I start hyperventilating, so I try to limit that to just once a day, just to get the plan in motion. The rest of the time I am just focusing on the task at hand.
This week? Finishing Christmas Cards and Mom's exciting but enormous Christmas project.
We can do it. Right?
The panic has not yet subsided.
There is so much to do at this time of year. Not only do we have Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas, but three birthdays, and--Hey!--let's throw in Veteran's Day! Why not! We need one more holiday packed in there. Between that, Thanksgiving, and professional learning days, my kids don't have a full week of school the entire month. That's messing with my schedule.
If I think of everything that needs to be accomplished, I start hyperventilating, so I try to limit that to just once a day, just to get the plan in motion. The rest of the time I am just focusing on the task at hand.
This week? Finishing Christmas Cards and Mom's exciting but enormous Christmas project.
We can do it. Right?
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
The Bargain's in the Eye of the Beholder
I thought it was a joke when I saw the giant produce box of over-ripe bananas sitting on my counter. I really did. But I should have known better.
"Only a dollar!" Mr. Wicke brags. There is nothing my man loves more than a good bargain. A close second is food. Now you put those two together, and we are talking about a heady kind of euphoria.
He shops a grocery store as most women browse the mall, picking up whatever catches his eye. There are things I never, ever buy and yet we are always stocked (or overstocked) with cold cereal, ice cream, jello, cake mixes, canned frosting, cottage cheese, cool whip, and Kool-Aid. Some of these items don't even register in my consciousness, but one look at my pantry would convince you otherwise.
Stopping by the grocery on a whim or to pick up a real steal, Mr. Wicke will return home from work with bags of goodies; then the real fun begins. We get to play the game, "Guess How Much This Cost?" It goes something like this:
"Guess how much this cost?"
"Uhhhh, $25.00."
"No!" he crows, joy radiating from every cell in his body.
"Uhhh...$18.00."
"Lower!" he nearly sings.
"I give up."
"$3.00! And guess how much I saved?!"
"I don't know."
"Four hundred and eighty-three dollars and ninety two cents!"
Something like that, anyway. And then the real fun begins because I get to play, "What the Heck Can I Make With This Stuff Anyway?" Inside the bags will be rice, motor oil, nutmeg, Jell-o, and Kool-Aid, of course. So then I have to go to the store and spend the $400 he saved so we can actually eat. But it makes him happy, so...whatever.
But the bananas?
"A dollar?" I repeat far less enthusiasm. "What am I supposed to do with an entire box of rotting bananas?"
"Banana bread?" he gapes as though the answer was so obvious.
"Two loaves of banana bread takes 3 bananas. There are like 15 bunches in there!"
And did I mention that this is the Friday before Halloween? As if I have time to makes loaves of banana bread! I've got a school party to run, costumes to pull together, candy to buy, cupcakes to make, a side-dish to make, decorations to gather, pumpkins to carve and now banana bread? Loaves and loaves and loaves of banana bread? Who needs this kind of pressure?!
Oh, and I know. You can freeze bananas...but only if your freezer isn't full of FIVE GALLONS OF ICE CREAM! There was not even enough room for the NINE LOAVES of frozen bread dough that he ALSO brought home because IT WAS SUCH A GREAT DEAL. I had to cook those up on Saturday and take them to the church Trunk-or-Treat just to get rid of them.
I am drowning in good deals around here. Good deals and loads of bananas. And those great deals are costing me my sanity. I'd take time for the breakdown I deserve, but I've got banana bread to make...and banana muffins, and banana chocolate cookies...and banana....well, you get the idea.
"Only a dollar!" Mr. Wicke brags. There is nothing my man loves more than a good bargain. A close second is food. Now you put those two together, and we are talking about a heady kind of euphoria.
He shops a grocery store as most women browse the mall, picking up whatever catches his eye. There are things I never, ever buy and yet we are always stocked (or overstocked) with cold cereal, ice cream, jello, cake mixes, canned frosting, cottage cheese, cool whip, and Kool-Aid. Some of these items don't even register in my consciousness, but one look at my pantry would convince you otherwise.
Stopping by the grocery on a whim or to pick up a real steal, Mr. Wicke will return home from work with bags of goodies; then the real fun begins. We get to play the game, "Guess How Much This Cost?" It goes something like this:
"Guess how much this cost?"
"Uhhhh, $25.00."
"No!" he crows, joy radiating from every cell in his body.
"Uhhh...$18.00."
"Lower!" he nearly sings.
"I give up."
"$3.00! And guess how much I saved?!"
"I don't know."
"Four hundred and eighty-three dollars and ninety two cents!"
Something like that, anyway. And then the real fun begins because I get to play, "What the Heck Can I Make With This Stuff Anyway?" Inside the bags will be rice, motor oil, nutmeg, Jell-o, and Kool-Aid, of course. So then I have to go to the store and spend the $400 he saved so we can actually eat. But it makes him happy, so...whatever.
But the bananas?
"A dollar?" I repeat far less enthusiasm. "What am I supposed to do with an entire box of rotting bananas?"
"Banana bread?" he gapes as though the answer was so obvious.
"Two loaves of banana bread takes 3 bananas. There are like 15 bunches in there!"
And did I mention that this is the Friday before Halloween? As if I have time to makes loaves of banana bread! I've got a school party to run, costumes to pull together, candy to buy, cupcakes to make, a side-dish to make, decorations to gather, pumpkins to carve and now banana bread? Loaves and loaves and loaves of banana bread? Who needs this kind of pressure?!
Oh, and I know. You can freeze bananas...but only if your freezer isn't full of FIVE GALLONS OF ICE CREAM! There was not even enough room for the NINE LOAVES of frozen bread dough that he ALSO brought home because IT WAS SUCH A GREAT DEAL. I had to cook those up on Saturday and take them to the church Trunk-or-Treat just to get rid of them.
I am drowning in good deals around here. Good deals and loads of bananas. And those great deals are costing me my sanity. I'd take time for the breakdown I deserve, but I've got banana bread to make...and banana muffins, and banana chocolate cookies...and banana....well, you get the idea.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Yesterday by the Clock
At 8:22 I waved to my kids as the bus pulled away on the first day of school.
At 8:37 I said goodbye to Megan and her kids, the last of our summer visitors.
At 9:00 welcomed the first guests for our "The Bus Just Pulled Out Breakfast for Moms."
At 10:54 the last of my girlfriends left after graciously tidying up my kitchen.
At 11:05 I put the baby down for his nap.
At 11:09 I enrolled and funded my children's school lunch accounts.
At 11:30 I lay down in my unmade bed. I listened to the quiet of the house and tried to sleep.
At 12:20 I gave up and did all the stuff my brain was telling me I was supposed to do: laundry and lots and lots of cleaning.
At 3:15 I picked up Griffin for gymnastics. He reported his first day was "Awesome!"
At 4:02 I returned home just in time to greet Logan off the bus. Despite not getting to share her bag of 10 things yet, she had a great day.
At 4:15 we walked over to our friends to see how their first day went where Griffin's little buddy broke the bad news that yes, even though Griffin didn't get a yellow card, he did get his name removed from the Respectful Rattlers list--whatever that means, but hey! We'll take what we can get. No yellow card? Success!
At 4:46 pm we left to pick Griffin up from gymnastics. He was sweaty and gross and totally happy.
At 5:06 we stopped at QT for first day celebratory drinks: Diet Coke, Strawberry Fanta, and Strawberry Banana slush.
At 5: 20 we returned home and went through backpacks and finished up new school year paperwork. (That in itself should be a deterrent to having any more children.)
At 5:32 Daddy came home and all celebrated!
At 5:40 the children took a dip in the pool. (It is HOT and muggy here!)
At 6:10 dinner was served. Over dinner we talked about and assigned morning chores. After much haggling it was still determined that chores would be a requirement.
At 6:33 the kids continued swimming.
At 6: 52 the baby got a bath to distract him from Daddy leaving for mutual.
At 6:58 Daddy snuck out.
At 7:10 the baby got out of the bath and Logan and Griffin showered and bathed. I am not entirely sure that Griffin used soap, but by the time of my discovery, he was already out and dressed. Does rinsing count?
At 7:20 I put the baby to bed.
At 7:41 I blow dried and straightened Logan's hair for the morning.
At 7: 47 I insisted that Griffin quit screaming and running with the dog and go get a book to read out loud to us in the bathroom. He chose Green Eggs and Ham. Logan was astounded that I could correct him without looking at the book. I know my Suess.
At 8:00 I told the kids to brush teeth and say prayers..repeating that phrase at least three times.
At 8:07 I rounded the corner just in time to kneel with Griffin who told me he was going to say his prayers to himself, but then changed his mind and said them out loud anyway. My favorite phrase? "...and please bless that we will know what to do...and when to do it...and how to do it." The boy has his bases covered.
At 8:08 We read one chapter of Vin Fiz.
At 8:17 We read one chapter of Nancy Drew #12.
At 8:28 Daddy came home and joined us. I breathed a sigh of relief.
At 8:34 Daddy and I gave hugs and kisses and turned out the lights.
First Day of School finished!
Favorite Quote of the Day:
When we were walking into Meet the Teacher Night the evening before the first day of school, Logan said, mumbling to herself: "Okay. Stand up straight. Shoulders back. Chest out. Deep breath." I nearly couldn't contain myself.
At 8:37 I said goodbye to Megan and her kids, the last of our summer visitors.
At 9:00 welcomed the first guests for our "The Bus Just Pulled Out Breakfast for Moms."
At 10:54 the last of my girlfriends left after graciously tidying up my kitchen.
At 11:05 I put the baby down for his nap.
At 11:09 I enrolled and funded my children's school lunch accounts.
At 11:30 I lay down in my unmade bed. I listened to the quiet of the house and tried to sleep.
At 12:20 I gave up and did all the stuff my brain was telling me I was supposed to do: laundry and lots and lots of cleaning.
At 3:15 I picked up Griffin for gymnastics. He reported his first day was "Awesome!"
At 4:02 I returned home just in time to greet Logan off the bus. Despite not getting to share her bag of 10 things yet, she had a great day.
At 4:15 we walked over to our friends to see how their first day went where Griffin's little buddy broke the bad news that yes, even though Griffin didn't get a yellow card, he did get his name removed from the Respectful Rattlers list--whatever that means, but hey! We'll take what we can get. No yellow card? Success!
At 4:46 pm we left to pick Griffin up from gymnastics. He was sweaty and gross and totally happy.
At 5:06 we stopped at QT for first day celebratory drinks: Diet Coke, Strawberry Fanta, and Strawberry Banana slush.
At 5: 20 we returned home and went through backpacks and finished up new school year paperwork. (That in itself should be a deterrent to having any more children.)
At 5:32 Daddy came home and all celebrated!
At 5:40 the children took a dip in the pool. (It is HOT and muggy here!)
At 6:10 dinner was served. Over dinner we talked about and assigned morning chores. After much haggling it was still determined that chores would be a requirement.
At 6:33 the kids continued swimming.
At 6: 52 the baby got a bath to distract him from Daddy leaving for mutual.
At 6:58 Daddy snuck out.
At 7:10 the baby got out of the bath and Logan and Griffin showered and bathed. I am not entirely sure that Griffin used soap, but by the time of my discovery, he was already out and dressed. Does rinsing count?
At 7:20 I put the baby to bed.
At 7:41 I blow dried and straightened Logan's hair for the morning.
At 7: 47 I insisted that Griffin quit screaming and running with the dog and go get a book to read out loud to us in the bathroom. He chose Green Eggs and Ham. Logan was astounded that I could correct him without looking at the book. I know my Suess.
At 8:00 I told the kids to brush teeth and say prayers..repeating that phrase at least three times.
At 8:07 I rounded the corner just in time to kneel with Griffin who told me he was going to say his prayers to himself, but then changed his mind and said them out loud anyway. My favorite phrase? "...and please bless that we will know what to do...and when to do it...and how to do it." The boy has his bases covered.
At 8:08 We read one chapter of Vin Fiz.
At 8:17 We read one chapter of Nancy Drew #12.
At 8:28 Daddy came home and joined us. I breathed a sigh of relief.
At 8:34 Daddy and I gave hugs and kisses and turned out the lights.
First Day of School finished!
Favorite Quote of the Day:
When we were walking into Meet the Teacher Night the evening before the first day of school, Logan said, mumbling to herself: "Okay. Stand up straight. Shoulders back. Chest out. Deep breath." I nearly couldn't contain myself.
Monday, June 28, 2010
A Listening Exercise
I heard him before my eyes opened, the heavy patter of feet down the hall. "Maybe if I lie really still and keep my eyes closed he'll let me 'sleep' a few minutes longer," I thought. Experience tells me that if Griffin sees my eyes open in the morning, he considers me fair game, and so I lay, eyes closed and ears pricked. I listened for clues of other awakening life. There were no sounds from the baby's room, and from the absence of bickering I concluded that Logan, too, had yet to stir. I peeked out from one eye: Griffin was no where in sight. Possibly he had already gone downstairs to munch on bread and entertain himself in the playroom. Again I listened intently. No sounds of distress. I rolled over to catch just a few more minutes. He was soon to get bored I was sure.
Two minutes later I heard the sounds of the TV clicking on. What was still a mystery, however, was what program he was watching. The only sound I could make out was the deep voice of a grown woman. The animal planet, perchance? That was the only thing I could come up with. No...something didn't seem to fit. After listening a few moment more there was definitely a lack of interest-pricking background music. What was he watching?
Unable to be sure, I slowly I made my way down the stairs rubbing sleep out of my eyes. As I turned the corner I rubbed my eyes again, this time out of sheer consternation. It wasn't Nickelodian, or the Disney Channel, or Animal Planet. No. It was a yoga class on BYU TV.
"What are you watching?" I queried.
"Stretching," he replied his head dropped between his knees, his fingers touching his toes.
"...and hold...breathing in and out..."the voice from the TV calmly suggested.
I shook my head, giggled, and joined him for a downward dog.
Two minutes later I heard the sounds of the TV clicking on. What was still a mystery, however, was what program he was watching. The only sound I could make out was the deep voice of a grown woman. The animal planet, perchance? That was the only thing I could come up with. No...something didn't seem to fit. After listening a few moment more there was definitely a lack of interest-pricking background music. What was he watching?
Unable to be sure, I slowly I made my way down the stairs rubbing sleep out of my eyes. As I turned the corner I rubbed my eyes again, this time out of sheer consternation. It wasn't Nickelodian, or the Disney Channel, or Animal Planet. No. It was a yoga class on BYU TV.
"What are you watching?" I queried.
"Stretching," he replied his head dropped between his knees, his fingers touching his toes.
"...and hold...breathing in and out..."the voice from the TV calmly suggested.
I shook my head, giggled, and joined him for a downward dog.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
This One's for the Moms
Most days I feel like I'm waging a losing battle.
1. Teaching/getting/cajoling/forcing the kids to stop bickering...lost battle.
2. Convincing/forcing Griffin to stop arguing with me...lost battle.
3. Keeping a clean house...lost battle.
4. Keeping my cool...lost battle.
I say this out loud because I think most moms feel this way. Even when we are doing a pretty good job. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think, "That could have gone better," or "I could have handled that better." And I think we need to say that out loud so that we don't feel like we are all alone. So that we know that struggling is just part of the gig.
And just because we lose some/a lot of the battles doesn't mean we'll lose the war. I really believe that if kids know they are loved, deeply, deeply loved, just about eveything else is forgivable.
And I love my kids.
And I know you do, too.
1. Teaching/getting/cajoling/forcing the kids to stop bickering...lost battle.
2. Convincing/forcing Griffin to stop arguing with me...lost battle.
3. Keeping a clean house...lost battle.
4. Keeping my cool...lost battle.
I say this out loud because I think most moms feel this way. Even when we are doing a pretty good job. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think, "That could have gone better," or "I could have handled that better." And I think we need to say that out loud so that we don't feel like we are all alone. So that we know that struggling is just part of the gig.
And just because we lose some/a lot of the battles doesn't mean we'll lose the war. I really believe that if kids know they are loved, deeply, deeply loved, just about eveything else is forgivable.
And I love my kids.
And I know you do, too.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
The Trouble with Summer
The messes they can make!
The trouble with summer is that you have double the work and half the time. I actually broke a sweat mothering yesterday; I'm not kidding. Up, down, in, out, over, under, in the car, out of the car, back in the car, dishes, mopping, dishes, vacuuming, project, swimming, laundry, laundry, refereeing, laundry, dishes again, project, project, reading, crashing.
That's how it went. I'm actually a little stiff and sore today.
P.S. If I can ever find the time, I'll tell you about my worst parenting day ever.
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