Parenting Fact: I am not my mother
In my memory I rarely can recall a time when my mother lost it. In fact after in light of my morning (you will soon learn of) I was trying to think of examples.
I came up with one.
My brother and I asked my mom not to sing so loud in church--and that hurt her feelings, so she took us home and we bolted from the car and she chased after us and as we ran down the hall a conservative high heel came flinging after us--nailing my brother square in the back.
That is all I have, and I hold on to that memory with both hands to prove that--even the calmest most patient of mothers CRACK.
Now, I already mentioned, I am not my mother. And although no shoes were flying at my house this morning. I CRACKED.
Most people would describe me as laid back and chill. But here is an insight I have found true with myself and my other friends whom I would describe as "laid back" or "chill". We snap. And when we do--duck and cover.
I think it is possible that every parent has a child that . . . well . . . makes them . . . crazy. My other three kids combined don't make me CRACK like this kid does. Ironically enough she is also the one that is the biggest party, first to laugh--and the most quick witted. I guess that isn't Ironic--it's telling.
This morning. She did it. I lost it. And it was her, of course, that I lost it on.
I'll spare you the details but it involved her whining, trying to distract me with conversation so that I wouldn't notice her not working, hiding under her covers, disappearing and not answering to my calls, grabbing some clothes and marching out of her room and flinging on the floor and running, hiding in the suburban in the garage. Oh--all while fake crying (with actual tears--she's nailed that) and mumbling words like "little kids" " so unfair" "why me".
We barely made it to school on time. The only reason it ended is that I told her that she didn't have to finish what I had asked her to do. Yep you heard me. I wasn't about to keep going on like this.
Her consequence for not doing it--I am taking away all of her clothes for the week and I will be choosing her outfits. That got a big "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" from her. Not a sassy no, but an oh please no. She frantically started picking up clothes and I informed her it was too late. OH, and you're banished from TV for the rest of the week.
So the sobbing continued. As I pulled up to the school she asked if she could stay in the car for a while and compose herself before getting out. Wrong time to ask missy. The last thing I am going to do right now is let you sit in the car with me so you can recover from your fake cry. "NO. Get out"
"You're SO mean!!" is the last thing I heard as she walked away with her backpack.
As I drove away I felt awful. I felt a bit heartless. Mostly for the part that I didn't tell you about, which was when I drug her from the garage to her room and tossed her in and told her to clean it or else.
But like I said, I am not my mother.
When days start out like that I am amazed that one kid has so much ability to make me CRACK over something like cleaning the clothes up off her floor.
So I get home after dropping her off and I am so riled up I don't want to start doing all of my chores. So I plop down on my computer chair and start reading email and checking other sights, and then I think that Pinterest might clear my mind so I start perusing.
I see a pin by one of my friends that said something like: "How to connect on the most difficult days" Bingo. this is it. The wisdom I need right now. I go on to read the article which offers me nothing. One tip was to walk away when you get angry. Too late. I didn't walk away. And does anyone? Not helpful. So I came up with my own parenting tips for days like this:
My parenting tips for when your kid makes you CRACK:
#1 Go Ape Shit on them. If you aren't familiar with this term--it's when you crack and go crazy. Do irrational things like take away their clothes for a week. Often threaten things that later you will regret when you realize it will be more of a punishment for yourself by having to administer your threat. Raise your voice. Dig your fingers into their arm, drag them with their toes barely touching to their room. Growl.
#2 Stand back and marvel at the miracle that it takes only one child and probably only about a few minutes to wipe out an entirely inspirational Sabbath that you had the day before. Thus resulting in your unashamed use of the word "Ape Shit."
#3 Throw something. Punch Something. OR Break Something. I suggest you don't do something that requires housework on your part, or something you might regret later. Pick a toy of your child's that you want to get rid of, but you feel bad every time you try to get rid of it. That is pretty satisfying. Or an egg--smash it in your sink, it feels good and you just rinse it down the garbage disposal. Or Spaghetti noodles. Empty the whole box into your hands and break it in two. It feels good--and you are one step ahead for dinner.
#4 Make a goal to enjoy the punishment you decided on. Consider making really odd and silly outfits for the child to have to wear in public. (HMMM--CAN they wear their underwear outside of their pants? Is that against dress code?) Warning: may result in more fake crying.
#5 Make whatever you want for breakfast. Previous behavior may have had something to do with your propensity to get low blood sugar. And if you happen to flip your egg over in the pan and the yolk breaks, just get slightly pissed and chop it into little tiny pieces with the spatula--TAKE THAT STUPID EGG!. Fry yourself another egg.
#6 Make some hot chocolate and sit down at your computer and write a blog post of Parenting Tips. *consider expanding it into a Book of Parenting Tips
#6. Feel much. MUCH. Better
Showing posts with label Parenting Rocks. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Parenting Rocks. Show all posts
Monday, April 2, 2012
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
On failing and winning
I am failing. On so many random things as a parent I am failing.
My children as of late have chosen marker on walls as their aim to break my sanity. MULTIPLE TIMES. Even my Kindergartner has joined in. I've loaded their tongue with Tobasco sauce. So far it's worked for one. The other--I caught writing on their new Kitchen set. The only markers we have are my 9 year olds and I bought her a lock box to keep them in. But they sneak out, and somehow directly into the hands of the three year old.
I am done. I am done not being able to keep anything nice. I want--and need--to buy a new couch but I can't. Because it will end up with marker and piss and greasy wiped fingers. Add in goldfish crumbs, crusts of bread and who knows what else.
I know that someday people say I will miss this. But I don't think so. I may miss messes on the floor, and stumbling upon legos and forts. But I WILL NOT MISS my children ruining things.
Last night, I caught my 5 year old jumping up and down on their little toy cat piano thing that has the microphone. An expensive toy. So I snapped. Straight up snapped. I grabbed her little arm and layed her on her back and put my foot on her and starting poking her with it all over (not painfully--just enough to make my point) and I threatened to stand on her and jump up and down like she did the cat piano. She saw the crazy in my eyes. I told her that if she was going to treat toys like that I was going to treat her like that. I put her in her bed and she snatched her blanket and had the biggest "Oh my crap my mom has lost it and is probably going to kill me" look in her eyes. And I had. Not kill--but possibly doing something absolutely nutsball (oh wait, I just did)
Did I mention that Josie put her knee through a window the other day? Her older sister was outside and taunting her so she tried to "kick it" with her knee. I thought boys broke windows--not tiny little girls. But she did and a GIANT SHARD of glass fell out and landed on Annabelle's foot. It should have straight up sliced it in half, but it just made a deep cut on the top--only a few centimeters wide. Counting that as a blessing. Luckily I didn't have to punish her. She felt HORRIBLE--worse than if I did anything to her. And she learned--don't kick windows. So we are getting a new window---a full new EXPENSIVE window, because our windows sucks SO BAD it wasn't worth just replacing the pane.
The list goes on. My kids are good kids. At least I think so, but seriouslY?? marker on walls EVERYWHERE?
And scriptures? What? Try having your kid mock you while you are explaining how important the scriptures are and how they should listen. BLOOD BOILING. And then you are supposed to have prayer after that?? My kids pray everyday for me to be patient. my kids keep asking to have Family Home Evening--and I just can't do it. We used to have it regularly, but now that Hyrums work has changed, it's just me and the kids. And I will LOSE IT if I attempt it. So I don't. Not recenty anyway.
The only thing that keeps me from going APE DooDOO on them is my one victory this week. Annabelle who is almost 10 was telling me about this boy at school she says is "kind of an enemy", she says they aren't totally enemies, they just insult each other. So I said, "sarcastic?" and she said "kind of but he says mean things to me". But she is telling me this like it's hilarious. And she tells me a story this kid made up about how she became a ghost and he squashed her or something. And she busted up. She could care less. That girl has the confidence that I always hoped my kids would have. She says that he makes up things and tries to insult her or bug her, or say quasi-mean things. I asked if it was joking, and she said--not really. But she was generally amused at the whole thing.
So as my record as a parent recently
8-1
My children as of late have chosen marker on walls as their aim to break my sanity. MULTIPLE TIMES. Even my Kindergartner has joined in. I've loaded their tongue with Tobasco sauce. So far it's worked for one. The other--I caught writing on their new Kitchen set. The only markers we have are my 9 year olds and I bought her a lock box to keep them in. But they sneak out, and somehow directly into the hands of the three year old.
I am done. I am done not being able to keep anything nice. I want--and need--to buy a new couch but I can't. Because it will end up with marker and piss and greasy wiped fingers. Add in goldfish crumbs, crusts of bread and who knows what else.
I know that someday people say I will miss this. But I don't think so. I may miss messes on the floor, and stumbling upon legos and forts. But I WILL NOT MISS my children ruining things.
Last night, I caught my 5 year old jumping up and down on their little toy cat piano thing that has the microphone. An expensive toy. So I snapped. Straight up snapped. I grabbed her little arm and layed her on her back and put my foot on her and starting poking her with it all over (not painfully--just enough to make my point) and I threatened to stand on her and jump up and down like she did the cat piano. She saw the crazy in my eyes. I told her that if she was going to treat toys like that I was going to treat her like that. I put her in her bed and she snatched her blanket and had the biggest "Oh my crap my mom has lost it and is probably going to kill me" look in her eyes. And I had. Not kill--but possibly doing something absolutely nutsball (oh wait, I just did)
Did I mention that Josie put her knee through a window the other day? Her older sister was outside and taunting her so she tried to "kick it" with her knee. I thought boys broke windows--not tiny little girls. But she did and a GIANT SHARD of glass fell out and landed on Annabelle's foot. It should have straight up sliced it in half, but it just made a deep cut on the top--only a few centimeters wide. Counting that as a blessing. Luckily I didn't have to punish her. She felt HORRIBLE--worse than if I did anything to her. And she learned--don't kick windows. So we are getting a new window---a full new EXPENSIVE window, because our windows sucks SO BAD it wasn't worth just replacing the pane.
The list goes on. My kids are good kids. At least I think so, but seriouslY?? marker on walls EVERYWHERE?
And scriptures? What? Try having your kid mock you while you are explaining how important the scriptures are and how they should listen. BLOOD BOILING. And then you are supposed to have prayer after that?? My kids pray everyday for me to be patient. my kids keep asking to have Family Home Evening--and I just can't do it. We used to have it regularly, but now that Hyrums work has changed, it's just me and the kids. And I will LOSE IT if I attempt it. So I don't. Not recenty anyway.
The only thing that keeps me from going APE DooDOO on them is my one victory this week. Annabelle who is almost 10 was telling me about this boy at school she says is "kind of an enemy", she says they aren't totally enemies, they just insult each other. So I said, "sarcastic?" and she said "kind of but he says mean things to me". But she is telling me this like it's hilarious. And she tells me a story this kid made up about how she became a ghost and he squashed her or something. And she busted up. She could care less. That girl has the confidence that I always hoped my kids would have. She says that he makes up things and tries to insult her or bug her, or say quasi-mean things. I asked if it was joking, and she said--not really. But she was generally amused at the whole thing.
So as my record as a parent recently
8-1
Friday, October 28, 2011
My Parenting
I'm not quite sure that other people mess with their kids like I do.
Like the time Josie told me she couldn't fly--and I told her to try harder. And then laughed and laughed to myself watching her try.
This morning we dropped off my oldest at the new school. On the way there I let the youngest girl sit in the front. And #2 girl was upset by that. "It wasn't fair!" So she was crying. Not a real cry a whining fake-pushed sort of cry. THAT DRIVES ME CRAZY. It old her if she didn't whine I would let her sit in the front on the way home. She chose whining.
So when she tried to crawl in the front I reminder her of my offer and that she chose to whine therefore--she sits in the back.
So the exact cry/whine-forced emotion started on level 10. It drives me beyond bonkers.
So I asked her "Do you know how to get home from here?" "Do you have a plan for how to get home when I drop you off on the sidewalk?"
And we discussed her plan. I suggested she walk straight for miles and miles. I checked to make sure she knew our names, phone number and address. Then I said, "Ok. good". "Now what are you going to do if you don't know the way?" I suggested she walk straight until she sees the blue domino Pizza building then cross the street and walk until she sees 24th street.
She asked in a small scared whimper, "How do I know it's 24th street?" --I answer, "The big green sign will tell you"
I suggested she had the option to walk into a store and tell the store clerk that she was lost and to call the police.
"What if I go in the street and get ran over? You WANT me to get ran over" he said a little crackly voiced from her holding back tears. "No I don't. So just make sure to stay on the sidewalk." I'm not giving that kid an inch.
Little sister was concerned about stranger safety, "I have a card that says don't talk to strangers. I don't want her to talk to strangers." So I give a little speech on stranger safety and assure them that a store worker would probably be the best bet.
And her whining has stopped. It might be on account of her being curled up in a ball, slightly rocking, with her head tucked in, arms around her knees and fear written all over her face that has made her silent.
And then we pull on to our street. And then into the garage. And she darts out--with a whimpering cry and the sniffles.
I should write a parenting book. It'd be a best seller. I'm sure of it ;)
Like the time Josie told me she couldn't fly--and I told her to try harder. And then laughed and laughed to myself watching her try.
This morning we dropped off my oldest at the new school. On the way there I let the youngest girl sit in the front. And #2 girl was upset by that. "It wasn't fair!" So she was crying. Not a real cry a whining fake-pushed sort of cry. THAT DRIVES ME CRAZY. It old her if she didn't whine I would let her sit in the front on the way home. She chose whining.
So when she tried to crawl in the front I reminder her of my offer and that she chose to whine therefore--she sits in the back.
So the exact cry/whine-forced emotion started on level 10. It drives me beyond bonkers.
So I asked her "Do you know how to get home from here?" "Do you have a plan for how to get home when I drop you off on the sidewalk?"
And we discussed her plan. I suggested she walk straight for miles and miles. I checked to make sure she knew our names, phone number and address. Then I said, "Ok. good". "Now what are you going to do if you don't know the way?" I suggested she walk straight until she sees the blue domino Pizza building then cross the street and walk until she sees 24th street.
She asked in a small scared whimper, "How do I know it's 24th street?" --I answer, "The big green sign will tell you"
I suggested she had the option to walk into a store and tell the store clerk that she was lost and to call the police.
"What if I go in the street and get ran over? You WANT me to get ran over" he said a little crackly voiced from her holding back tears. "No I don't. So just make sure to stay on the sidewalk." I'm not giving that kid an inch.
Little sister was concerned about stranger safety, "I have a card that says don't talk to strangers. I don't want her to talk to strangers." So I give a little speech on stranger safety and assure them that a store worker would probably be the best bet.
And her whining has stopped. It might be on account of her being curled up in a ball, slightly rocking, with her head tucked in, arms around her knees and fear written all over her face that has made her silent.
And then we pull on to our street. And then into the garage. And she darts out--with a whimpering cry and the sniffles.
I should write a parenting book. It'd be a best seller. I'm sure of it ;)
Monday, September 19, 2011
Blarg Math
Anyone else dreading Parent Teacher conference? Actually I wasn't dreading the teacher, I was dreading the discussion with child post discussion with teacher.
My 9 year old is failing math. FAILING. She doesn't like it. But she can do it--she just doesn't like to. She needs to improve her math facts--and that would help everything else. She doesn't like subtraction and addition, but for some reason she likes multiplication and division. So confused about that.
She WILL NOT do flash cards. Well, she will, and by the end I want to rip her hair out. That is not great.
So I want to go electronic. In dream world--I'd buy an iPad. Because I think it would be perfect. But unless some money drops from the sky, that ain't happenin.
So I want to get an electronic hand held math device. I looked up on Amazon and I found the Math Shark and another one.
So does anyone know of one I can use? Have you tried any? Reccomendations please.
My sister gave me an old school one, and i put it up so my kids wouldn't mess with it, and now i can't remember where I put it.
Classic me.
Anyhow, help!!
Thursday, August 11, 2011
1st day tales
You know what's NOT AWESOME about the first day of school?
When your husband goes to pick up kids from the bus stop and calls to say--our second grader wasn't on the bus, nor was our kindergarten niece that we are in charge of. And adds that another kid on the bus says that she got on the wrong bus.
. . .. um . . . .what?
***commence slightly panicked phone call to school**
"Hi, school, we are missing two of our children (insert name and description)"
I hear from my end of the phone . . "are (insert children's name) here?"
"Yes, we have your niece here, but your second grader is not here."
then nothing, no questions nothing.
me: "Well, she was supposed to get on the red bus and she never did, another child from her bus said that she might have gotten on the yellow bus."
them:"Well--I will call the drivers and then call you back--what is your number?"
Husband comes home and drops off the oldest child--then sets out to school to retrieve niece and get info on second grader.
School calls me back and says that they have called the buses, and they haven't called back yet. And that is all that she says.
Hyrum gets to school and calls me every 5 minutes or so with updates saying that they haven't found her, and that the bus drivers aren't answering their radios.
. . . um---try not to panic, try not to panic . . ok panicking---
You see, if it was my fourth grader, I wouldn't be so worried--she's the oldest child, and she is very aware and grounded. If she were lost at age 7 I would have not been panicking as much--because she is one to walk up to the bus driver and say--I'm on the wrong bus--but this never happened with her--due to her awareness, she never got on the wrong bus.
But this is my second child. She is the one who used to put her clothes on backwards for the first 4 years of her life--even jeans. Oh and her shoes on the wrong feet. She isn't aware of anything---a giant wildabeast could sit next to her at church and I doubt she would notice. All of last year I feared that she wouldn't get off the bus at the right bus stop--so I went to the bus stop every day--or had my friend check everyday--so that I knew she got off. And last year . . . nothing. I only wish that she has just missed this stop--and stayed on this bus, because I know all of the other stops on it's route--just in case she doesn't get off.
But--she never got ON the bus.
And I'm near expletives--why the *********** did the second grade teacher not make sure that she got on her bus???? She's 7!!!!!!
That is answered later--when my husband asks, and they inform him that they do make sure kids on the bus . . . in Kindergarten and First grade. Apparently 7 year olds are capable of doing it themselves.
um . . . or NOT. Well, not MY 7 year old.
I then call my friend whose kids are at the same bus stop, "Hey, Julia, (and then the voice crack and tears roll) what do your kids know about where she might be?" I explain how I'm trying to hold it together, but I'm starting to panic.
So, I say a prayer with my other two kids--that she is safe and not scared.
In retrosepct, I should have said a prayer that I wouldn't panic. Because I AM panicking.
My friend shows up and takes my other kids so I can go look for her.
Because remember--she's that kid that isn't level headed. So I imagine her getting off the bus at the first stop--because her normal bus top is the very first stop on her route.
I get the cross streets of the yellow bus route's 1st stop. I have to google it and look and look, because it's within a neighborhood.
And yikes--it's in the hood. Like hood hood. But luckily, I am close-that stop is about 1/2 a mile away.
Hyrum calls--he has talked to the teacher--Josie got on the bus with her friend Rachel that she said was on the bus with her last year. PROBLEM---there is NO Rachel on her bus. And the office says that they still haven't heard anything.
***we are nearing 45 minutes at this point***
So I jump in the burb and haul butt--driving around that neighborhood.
My thoughts during this:
If she DID get off, then hopefully a mother at the bus stop would notice she wasn't at the right stop and call the school
I'm sure this happens every year, it's no big deal, she's fine
If she is with some friend named Rachel--then her mom will call the school. Then I think--that mom might have last year's school list--with my home phone number, maybe I should go home.
But what if she gets off somewhere and no one notices--and no one finds her--what is the next step . . . police? Then I try to calm myself with the thought that I have never seen a missing persons report on the news--due to the first day of school and busing issues.
But what if?
***phone rings**
It's my husband, "I have her (I can hear muffled crying in the background) she's crying and so scared."
So I cry--because I am so relieved.
And I go to pick up my kids from my friend's house, and I get a text from her:
"Out looking for Josie, text me when you have news"
Now that is a good friend.
So I call her--and she brings my kids home, and just then Josie gets home--gets out of the car and jumps into my arms and just sobs. And I wipe away a few tears of my own.
And she tells me her story.
She thought she was on the yellow bus--because her little Kindergarten sister is on the yellow bus--and that's true--she's half day and rides the Yellow bus HOME from school and gets dropped off at my front door. But she rides the red bus TO school.
I am just glad we knew to check that bus.
So turns out, once she was on and got going--she realized it was the wrong bus and was so scared. But a friend of my fourth grader was on that bus--and sat with her, and told the bus driver that she was on the wrong bus. So she just stayed on until they came back.
My husband tells me about how he was about to lose it on the school staff--because he is running around the school trying to get information--and when he comes back in to the office to check--they act like they have never seen him before, and are calm as anything "we haven't heard back yet from any of the buses". Then after he goes and talks to the teacher--as he is going back to the office--he sees her get off the bus.
But seriously school staff---why the frick aren't your bus people answering calls? Why didn't that bus driver call in and say that he had a stray? 45 minutes a 7 year old was unaccounted for--and you are calm?
That makes me want to punch them in the face.
So the moral of the story is---if your kids haven't started school yet, and they ride the bus--take some time to go over these things:
#1 Know their bus--and make sure that they don't confuse it with another
#2 Tell them not to get off a bus if they get on the wrong one
#3 Tell them to tell the bus driver IMMEDIATELY if they have gotten on the wrong bus
#4 Tell them that if they ever find themselves somewhere they don't know (in case they did get off the bus) to tell a mom that they are lost
#5 Make sure they know your cell number (she knows our home number--but no one was home if she did try to call.
Well--that was quiet a first day of school tale, now wasn't it?
When your husband goes to pick up kids from the bus stop and calls to say--our second grader wasn't on the bus, nor was our kindergarten niece that we are in charge of. And adds that another kid on the bus says that she got on the wrong bus.
. . .. um . . . .what?
***commence slightly panicked phone call to school**
"Hi, school, we are missing two of our children (insert name and description)"
I hear from my end of the phone . . "are (insert children's name) here?"
"Yes, we have your niece here, but your second grader is not here."
then nothing, no questions nothing.
me: "Well, she was supposed to get on the red bus and she never did, another child from her bus said that she might have gotten on the yellow bus."
them:"Well--I will call the drivers and then call you back--what is your number?"
Husband comes home and drops off the oldest child--then sets out to school to retrieve niece and get info on second grader.
School calls me back and says that they have called the buses, and they haven't called back yet. And that is all that she says.
Hyrum gets to school and calls me every 5 minutes or so with updates saying that they haven't found her, and that the bus drivers aren't answering their radios.
. . . um---try not to panic, try not to panic . . ok panicking---
You see, if it was my fourth grader, I wouldn't be so worried--she's the oldest child, and she is very aware and grounded. If she were lost at age 7 I would have not been panicking as much--because she is one to walk up to the bus driver and say--I'm on the wrong bus--but this never happened with her--due to her awareness, she never got on the wrong bus.
But this is my second child. She is the one who used to put her clothes on backwards for the first 4 years of her life--even jeans. Oh and her shoes on the wrong feet. She isn't aware of anything---a giant wildabeast could sit next to her at church and I doubt she would notice. All of last year I feared that she wouldn't get off the bus at the right bus stop--so I went to the bus stop every day--or had my friend check everyday--so that I knew she got off. And last year . . . nothing. I only wish that she has just missed this stop--and stayed on this bus, because I know all of the other stops on it's route--just in case she doesn't get off.
But--she never got ON the bus.
And I'm near expletives--why the *********** did the second grade teacher not make sure that she got on her bus???? She's 7!!!!!!
That is answered later--when my husband asks, and they inform him that they do make sure kids on the bus . . . in Kindergarten and First grade. Apparently 7 year olds are capable of doing it themselves.
um . . . or NOT. Well, not MY 7 year old.
I then call my friend whose kids are at the same bus stop, "Hey, Julia, (and then the voice crack and tears roll) what do your kids know about where she might be?" I explain how I'm trying to hold it together, but I'm starting to panic.
So, I say a prayer with my other two kids--that she is safe and not scared.
In retrosepct, I should have said a prayer that I wouldn't panic. Because I AM panicking.
My friend shows up and takes my other kids so I can go look for her.
Because remember--she's that kid that isn't level headed. So I imagine her getting off the bus at the first stop--because her normal bus top is the very first stop on her route.
I get the cross streets of the yellow bus route's 1st stop. I have to google it and look and look, because it's within a neighborhood.
And yikes--it's in the hood. Like hood hood. But luckily, I am close-that stop is about 1/2 a mile away.
Hyrum calls--he has talked to the teacher--Josie got on the bus with her friend Rachel that she said was on the bus with her last year. PROBLEM---there is NO Rachel on her bus. And the office says that they still haven't heard anything.
***we are nearing 45 minutes at this point***
So I jump in the burb and haul butt--driving around that neighborhood.
My thoughts during this:
If she DID get off, then hopefully a mother at the bus stop would notice she wasn't at the right stop and call the school
I'm sure this happens every year, it's no big deal, she's fine
If she is with some friend named Rachel--then her mom will call the school. Then I think--that mom might have last year's school list--with my home phone number, maybe I should go home.
But what if she gets off somewhere and no one notices--and no one finds her--what is the next step . . . police? Then I try to calm myself with the thought that I have never seen a missing persons report on the news--due to the first day of school and busing issues.
But what if?
***phone rings**
It's my husband, "I have her (I can hear muffled crying in the background) she's crying and so scared."
So I cry--because I am so relieved.
And I go to pick up my kids from my friend's house, and I get a text from her:
"Out looking for Josie, text me when you have news"
Now that is a good friend.
So I call her--and she brings my kids home, and just then Josie gets home--gets out of the car and jumps into my arms and just sobs. And I wipe away a few tears of my own.
And she tells me her story.
She thought she was on the yellow bus--because her little Kindergarten sister is on the yellow bus--and that's true--she's half day and rides the Yellow bus HOME from school and gets dropped off at my front door. But she rides the red bus TO school.
I am just glad we knew to check that bus.
So turns out, once she was on and got going--she realized it was the wrong bus and was so scared. But a friend of my fourth grader was on that bus--and sat with her, and told the bus driver that she was on the wrong bus. So she just stayed on until they came back.
My husband tells me about how he was about to lose it on the school staff--because he is running around the school trying to get information--and when he comes back in to the office to check--they act like they have never seen him before, and are calm as anything "we haven't heard back yet from any of the buses". Then after he goes and talks to the teacher--as he is going back to the office--he sees her get off the bus.
But seriously school staff---why the frick aren't your bus people answering calls? Why didn't that bus driver call in and say that he had a stray? 45 minutes a 7 year old was unaccounted for--and you are calm?
That makes me want to punch them in the face.
So the moral of the story is---if your kids haven't started school yet, and they ride the bus--take some time to go over these things:
#1 Know their bus--and make sure that they don't confuse it with another
#2 Tell them not to get off a bus if they get on the wrong one
#3 Tell them to tell the bus driver IMMEDIATELY if they have gotten on the wrong bus
#4 Tell them that if they ever find themselves somewhere they don't know (in case they did get off the bus) to tell a mom that they are lost
#5 Make sure they know your cell number (she knows our home number--but no one was home if she did try to call.
Well--that was quiet a first day of school tale, now wasn't it?
Sunday, May 8, 2011
A public mothers day card
I never think to get anything in the mail on time. So my mother will have to do with this.
It is well known among my friends that I have the confidence and self-esteem that is above and beyond what they've ever encountered. I attribute this to 2 things:
My mother and father
So in order to give props to the woman who helped me become such, I will divulge what things she has done to contribute to such a mindset--and also to acknowledge that my brothers and sister are also confident, independent and super likeable.
Ode to my mother:
*She listens. My mom isn't much of a talker. In this she is genius. Because I am a talker. So she would just listen. Now that I am older I realized that I divulged way more to her about the goings on in my life in order to cut silence in a car ride. I think she was able to keep reigns on me, and gauge my danger level because she listened and knew when to actually speak up.
*She doesn't take crap. She doesn't take it from anyone. Not me, not my siblings, not anyone from the outside world. If you choose to try to give her some, you will be dismissed. Dismissed from her presence. She won't come around--nor let you. Thus she surrounds herself with people who are good hearted, fun people. I've done this all my life--it wasn't until I just wrote this that I realized I somehow inherited this from her.
*She serves. She was the pianist/organist in our ward her entire life in some auxilary or another. I really can't remember her having any other calling. That would seriously make me want to stop going. But she loves it and keeps doing it. And when they finally did cut her off--she just about went crazy. But she accepted her next calling--although not enthusiastically--but of course does it like a champ. What a fantastic example this has been to me.
*She expects to be respected. I have never said the word "no" to my mother. NOT EVER. I can't remember ever attempting to do it--so I don't know what would have happened. But I do know that I am still scared to do so. When my mother asks you to do something you do it. Doesn't matter who you are. Son, daughter, son in law, grandchild, best friend from high school--it doesn't matter. She taught me to respect adults. And because of this I am teaching my kids the same.
*She had genius parenting skills. When I was in 7th or 8th grade (in the late 80's) my friend and I discovered the magnificence of eyeshadow. Half pink/half blue eyelids. Hideous. It drove my father CRAZY. And he kept suggesting to my mother that she do something about it. And my mom's response? "Her friends will take care of her". Meaning--they'll make fun of her and then she'll stop. And she never said a word to me about it. And as you notice--I no longer do that. In fact I don't really wear makeup if I don't have to. Genius.
*She has your back. Once my mother lets you in her circle, she will take a knife to anyone who wrongs you in anyway. (she hasn't ever really knifed anyone--that I know of). My point is that she is a good friend and relative. She is loyal and will do anything to help anyone that she loves.
*She taught all of her kids to deal with reality. Although I don't think she uses these terms--"suck it up" or "be a man", those are the things I'm talking about. We weren't allowed to whine--about anything. Just get it done and deal with it. So, as far as I know, my siblings nor I sit around and feel sorry for ourselves. Sucky things happen--to everyone. Deal with it. I remember a specific time when I was told by a doctor that I wasn't able to have children (which is a fantastic story if I ever get around to telling it), and I told her that everything was going to be fine. And most mothers would try to soften the blow--not my mom. Thinking that I was in denial, she patted my hand and said, "you need to deal with this." And I did, and I'm all the better for it.
*She can do hard things. She took all 4 of us kids to church every week by herself. I dread the days that Hyrum works on Sundays because it is hard. And she did it. Bravo to you mother.
*She doesn't sweat the small stuff. My mother set VERY CLEAR rules and boundaries in our house. My curfew was midnight. Not 12:01. Midnight. Period. And when I overstepped those boundaries I suffered consequences. But other than that--she was pretty hands off. She let us govern ourselves within the boundaries her and my dad had set. And this made us all very independent and capable people.
*She didn't fight our battles. My mom would defend us if she needed to, but other than that we were expected to fight out own battles. I had friends whose moms would call other moms when they got into tiffs. And girls get into tiffs--all the time. My mom didn't. It was my business, my doing, my situation, and I was left to deal with it. And that helped me so much as an Adult knowing that I was capable to deal with the crap that was dealt to me.
*She's Independent. I'm not worried about my mother. She is quite capable of taking care of herself, and as I wrote before, she can deal with stuff--just like she taught us to. It's nice to know that if something ever went down--she'd be alright. Because as she always says, "I am a big girl. I can take care of myself." Which usually means leave her alone. I get that. I am that. I am a very independent person. I can deal with stuff by myself, I can go places by myself (like when I travelled for 2 weeks without my travel companion in Europe), I can be by myself. My sister is the same. We are big girls--because our mother taught us to be.
So as you can see I have big shoes to fill in my own children's lives. Was my mother perfect? No. But luckily my memory sucks so bad I can't remember her doing anything bad. I only hope that I can be half the mother mine is.
And mom: I may not look like you, AT ALL. But turns out I'm more like you than we both ever knew.
Love you lots.
xoxo Me.
It is well known among my friends that I have the confidence and self-esteem that is above and beyond what they've ever encountered. I attribute this to 2 things:
My mother and father
So in order to give props to the woman who helped me become such, I will divulge what things she has done to contribute to such a mindset--and also to acknowledge that my brothers and sister are also confident, independent and super likeable.
Ode to my mother:
*She listens. My mom isn't much of a talker. In this she is genius. Because I am a talker. So she would just listen. Now that I am older I realized that I divulged way more to her about the goings on in my life in order to cut silence in a car ride. I think she was able to keep reigns on me, and gauge my danger level because she listened and knew when to actually speak up.
*She doesn't take crap. She doesn't take it from anyone. Not me, not my siblings, not anyone from the outside world. If you choose to try to give her some, you will be dismissed. Dismissed from her presence. She won't come around--nor let you. Thus she surrounds herself with people who are good hearted, fun people. I've done this all my life--it wasn't until I just wrote this that I realized I somehow inherited this from her.
*She serves. She was the pianist/organist in our ward her entire life in some auxilary or another. I really can't remember her having any other calling. That would seriously make me want to stop going. But she loves it and keeps doing it. And when they finally did cut her off--she just about went crazy. But she accepted her next calling--although not enthusiastically--but of course does it like a champ. What a fantastic example this has been to me.
*She expects to be respected. I have never said the word "no" to my mother. NOT EVER. I can't remember ever attempting to do it--so I don't know what would have happened. But I do know that I am still scared to do so. When my mother asks you to do something you do it. Doesn't matter who you are. Son, daughter, son in law, grandchild, best friend from high school--it doesn't matter. She taught me to respect adults. And because of this I am teaching my kids the same.
*She had genius parenting skills. When I was in 7th or 8th grade (in the late 80's) my friend and I discovered the magnificence of eyeshadow. Half pink/half blue eyelids. Hideous. It drove my father CRAZY. And he kept suggesting to my mother that she do something about it. And my mom's response? "Her friends will take care of her". Meaning--they'll make fun of her and then she'll stop. And she never said a word to me about it. And as you notice--I no longer do that. In fact I don't really wear makeup if I don't have to. Genius.
*She has your back. Once my mother lets you in her circle, she will take a knife to anyone who wrongs you in anyway. (she hasn't ever really knifed anyone--that I know of). My point is that she is a good friend and relative. She is loyal and will do anything to help anyone that she loves.
*She taught all of her kids to deal with reality. Although I don't think she uses these terms--"suck it up" or "be a man", those are the things I'm talking about. We weren't allowed to whine--about anything. Just get it done and deal with it. So, as far as I know, my siblings nor I sit around and feel sorry for ourselves. Sucky things happen--to everyone. Deal with it. I remember a specific time when I was told by a doctor that I wasn't able to have children (which is a fantastic story if I ever get around to telling it), and I told her that everything was going to be fine. And most mothers would try to soften the blow--not my mom. Thinking that I was in denial, she patted my hand and said, "you need to deal with this." And I did, and I'm all the better for it.
*She can do hard things. She took all 4 of us kids to church every week by herself. I dread the days that Hyrum works on Sundays because it is hard. And she did it. Bravo to you mother.
*She doesn't sweat the small stuff. My mother set VERY CLEAR rules and boundaries in our house. My curfew was midnight. Not 12:01. Midnight. Period. And when I overstepped those boundaries I suffered consequences. But other than that--she was pretty hands off. She let us govern ourselves within the boundaries her and my dad had set. And this made us all very independent and capable people.
*She didn't fight our battles. My mom would defend us if she needed to, but other than that we were expected to fight out own battles. I had friends whose moms would call other moms when they got into tiffs. And girls get into tiffs--all the time. My mom didn't. It was my business, my doing, my situation, and I was left to deal with it. And that helped me so much as an Adult knowing that I was capable to deal with the crap that was dealt to me.
*She's Independent. I'm not worried about my mother. She is quite capable of taking care of herself, and as I wrote before, she can deal with stuff--just like she taught us to. It's nice to know that if something ever went down--she'd be alright. Because as she always says, "I am a big girl. I can take care of myself." Which usually means leave her alone. I get that. I am that. I am a very independent person. I can deal with stuff by myself, I can go places by myself (like when I travelled for 2 weeks without my travel companion in Europe), I can be by myself. My sister is the same. We are big girls--because our mother taught us to be.
So as you can see I have big shoes to fill in my own children's lives. Was my mother perfect? No. But luckily my memory sucks so bad I can't remember her doing anything bad. I only hope that I can be half the mother mine is.
And mom: I may not look like you, AT ALL. But turns out I'm more like you than we both ever knew.
Love you lots.
xoxo Me.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
This could have been a depressing post
This could have been a depressing post. I thought of a few titles over the last few days:
Hugging a little tighter
That story mothers have
Still here.
Borrowed time.
All mothers . . I guess parents, have a story about their kids. That story of almost. My parents have a few of my brothers who were so sick with croup they sat in an oxygen tent, and my parents just waited for daylight at the hospital because when the sun came up for some reason--my brothers could breathe.
I have a friend that tells of how the longest 20 minutes of her life was when one of her twins wandered off in the mall and couldn't be found.
The contractor that just finished my porch just told me his story of his 8 week old who was turning blue and then was hospitalized for a week with RSV.
I didn't have one of those stories. I never wanted one. But I knew one would happen. And I just hoped it would be almost.
And it was.
On my husbands birthday we did what many people do--we hit up the local free food joints. So we loaded the car up and headed to Joe's Farm Grill for Hyrum's free meal. And we took the kids because it has this outside fenced off back area with picnic tables and a good sized lawn for the kids to play. We got our stuff and sat down and ate--and were joined by his brother and his wife and daughter. The kids were running around, and i had my eye on them. NO biggie. Beck kept running toward the fence which is by a major road and then just looking back at us--taunting. This kid is a runner. When the front door opens--he runs. fast. straight to the middle of the street. It's scary. So I keep the door latched with a metal chain up high--and watch him like a hawk. So we are eating and he is running around and I am not taking my eye off of him. Then he ducks under the fence that borders a coffee shop. No biggie. (I am shaking while writing this with sweaty hands because it was that traumatic to me) It has a front lawn as well. So I turn to my left and tell my 8 year old to go get her brother. And then she yells, "Beck". And that signals him to run--because it's a game. And he runs--not toward the safe coffee house, or even the opposite way from her. He turns left and runs straight for the street. I hadn't noticed that there was an arch right there on his left, and open entry way--that part was blocked in my view by a tree.
So he runs.
And Hyrum who is sitting by me runs.
And I mutter . . . oh shit . .. oh shit .. and then louder OH SHIT!
And then I scream.
A primal mothering scream. I remember thinking that if I screamed maybe the people in the car would hear and stop.
And he ran right into the street.
Right in front of a car.
And it braked and laid on its horn.
And Hyrum swiped him off the street.
We were lucky.
The car stopped a few feet away from him.
It's 25 mph on that street. And they were all just accelerating from the light which was about 30 yards away.
I sat down and looked over at my sister-in-law whose eyes were welled up with tears, and I cried. Slowly, not loud, just quietly wiping tears.
It was scary. Too scary.
Hyrum carried him directly to the car and clipped him in. And disciplined him on the way.
Lunch was over. We grabbed the flip flops that were around and headed to the car.
And I tears fell from my eyes--for about an hour.
I did what every mom does. I play through the worst case scenario--even though the best case scenario happened. I imagined him gone. And I cried.
We went to the outdoor mall directly afterward, to get a new mouse for the computer. And we stopped while my husband ran our 6 year old into the bathroom. My 8 year old got out of her seatbelt, and hung over the front seat and said,
"I unclicked. I wanted to hug Beck. . . . . I don't ever want to talk about this again."
And I looked in my rearview mirror and she was just snuggled chest to chest with him while he was safe in his carseat.
I knew what she felt. I wanted to do that too.
Those two have a special relationship and that day could have crushed her. And me. And my poor husband on his birthday of all days.
See. This could be a depressing post.
It's scary. And tears are dropping down as I write this. But it's not depressing.
It's now my almost story.
Hugging a little tighter
That story mothers have
Still here.
Borrowed time.
All mothers . . I guess parents, have a story about their kids. That story of almost. My parents have a few of my brothers who were so sick with croup they sat in an oxygen tent, and my parents just waited for daylight at the hospital because when the sun came up for some reason--my brothers could breathe.
I have a friend that tells of how the longest 20 minutes of her life was when one of her twins wandered off in the mall and couldn't be found.
The contractor that just finished my porch just told me his story of his 8 week old who was turning blue and then was hospitalized for a week with RSV.
I didn't have one of those stories. I never wanted one. But I knew one would happen. And I just hoped it would be almost.
And it was.
On my husbands birthday we did what many people do--we hit up the local free food joints. So we loaded the car up and headed to Joe's Farm Grill for Hyrum's free meal. And we took the kids because it has this outside fenced off back area with picnic tables and a good sized lawn for the kids to play. We got our stuff and sat down and ate--and were joined by his brother and his wife and daughter. The kids were running around, and i had my eye on them. NO biggie. Beck kept running toward the fence which is by a major road and then just looking back at us--taunting. This kid is a runner. When the front door opens--he runs. fast. straight to the middle of the street. It's scary. So I keep the door latched with a metal chain up high--and watch him like a hawk. So we are eating and he is running around and I am not taking my eye off of him. Then he ducks under the fence that borders a coffee shop. No biggie. (I am shaking while writing this with sweaty hands because it was that traumatic to me) It has a front lawn as well. So I turn to my left and tell my 8 year old to go get her brother. And then she yells, "Beck". And that signals him to run--because it's a game. And he runs--not toward the safe coffee house, or even the opposite way from her. He turns left and runs straight for the street. I hadn't noticed that there was an arch right there on his left, and open entry way--that part was blocked in my view by a tree.
So he runs.
And Hyrum who is sitting by me runs.
And I mutter . . . oh shit . .. oh shit .. and then louder OH SHIT!
And then I scream.
A primal mothering scream. I remember thinking that if I screamed maybe the people in the car would hear and stop.
And he ran right into the street.
Right in front of a car.
And it braked and laid on its horn.
And Hyrum swiped him off the street.
We were lucky.
The car stopped a few feet away from him.
It's 25 mph on that street. And they were all just accelerating from the light which was about 30 yards away.
I sat down and looked over at my sister-in-law whose eyes were welled up with tears, and I cried. Slowly, not loud, just quietly wiping tears.
It was scary. Too scary.
Hyrum carried him directly to the car and clipped him in. And disciplined him on the way.
Lunch was over. We grabbed the flip flops that were around and headed to the car.
And I tears fell from my eyes--for about an hour.
I did what every mom does. I play through the worst case scenario--even though the best case scenario happened. I imagined him gone. And I cried.
We went to the outdoor mall directly afterward, to get a new mouse for the computer. And we stopped while my husband ran our 6 year old into the bathroom. My 8 year old got out of her seatbelt, and hung over the front seat and said,
"I unclicked. I wanted to hug Beck. . . . . I don't ever want to talk about this again."
And I looked in my rearview mirror and she was just snuggled chest to chest with him while he was safe in his carseat.
I knew what she felt. I wanted to do that too.
Those two have a special relationship and that day could have crushed her. And me. And my poor husband on his birthday of all days.
See. This could be a depressing post.
It's scary. And tears are dropping down as I write this. But it's not depressing.
It's now my almost story.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Alcohol of sorts
I want a beer.
I don't drink, never have, never will. But I get why people do. I also get why people become addicts. Because just when you think you can't take it anymore you can take something--alcohol--pills and just for the moment things get better.
Then once you see that it is that easy, you just turn to that instead of dealing with what's in front of you. Like two kids crying a super whiny cry--for no good reason. And them both trying to sit on your lap while knocking the other one off. Then them fighting over who gets to put their hand in the cereal box. And each stealing the other's toy just to tease, which ensues more crying. That super whiny, fake, tattling cry. And also, when the only thing that makes them stop for a short while is listening to Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat for the trillionth time. But then one shuts it off just to make the other cry. And then they both WONT STOP TOUCHING YOU.
And when you volunteer in your kid's classroom and grade worksheets and realize that your kid is not really measuring up. Not the worst kid, but not close to the best. And you realize that some of that is your fault. A lot of it is, because you don't like to drill your kids on things like math facts, and to ask comprehension questions at the end of books. And you realize that that is not the only kid you've failed. You're 0 for 2 in the supportive academic mom department. And you realize that you have to change things--which will make them whine, which makes you want that beer again.
And then your husband tells you that his supervisor wants to "talk to him." Which you know means either "you are fantastic we want to keep you on as a nurse and pay you a nice wage", or it means "we really aren't hiring now because of this here recession thing--good luck with that". The suspension is KILLING ME. Which heightens my senses and makes the above whining even more unbearable than usual.
And then there's so much crap in your closet that it makes you want to go naked instead of heading in there to get dressed. UGH, shoes all of the floor, a box of c.d.'s that was put in there months ago--that I don't even miss, and yet I feel the need to go through, a pile of fabric I will never sew with because I hate to sew, and a sewing machine that is broken--so I couldn't sew if I wanted to. And the old computer that is broken that you don't know where to put it because it might have some secret info on it that needs to be cleaned off. And don't forget the giant box of playdough purchased a year ago at Christmas--it belongs in there . . . right?
Did I mention the load of laundry looking at me? Dumb laundry. Like the giant quilt I have to wash because Beck was gagging himself for fun last night. The parenting technique I oft turn to (ignoring) backfired on me--and he barfed. Just on a small corner of it. But it has that retched stomach bile smell. So the whole GIANT thing has to be washed. And it wasn't on my list of laundry today that i have to do between 9 and 5 because I'm on the SRP savings plan--which only saves me about $20 each year--what am I doing that for again? .. . and what was I talking about? . . oh yeah---beer.
So I get it.
So I blog, instead of beer, instead of pills, instead of locking the kids in and running away.
Ah--I'm feeling the buzz.
I don't drink, never have, never will. But I get why people do. I also get why people become addicts. Because just when you think you can't take it anymore you can take something--alcohol--pills and just for the moment things get better.
Then once you see that it is that easy, you just turn to that instead of dealing with what's in front of you. Like two kids crying a super whiny cry--for no good reason. And them both trying to sit on your lap while knocking the other one off. Then them fighting over who gets to put their hand in the cereal box. And each stealing the other's toy just to tease, which ensues more crying. That super whiny, fake, tattling cry. And also, when the only thing that makes them stop for a short while is listening to Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat for the trillionth time. But then one shuts it off just to make the other cry. And then they both WONT STOP TOUCHING YOU.
And when you volunteer in your kid's classroom and grade worksheets and realize that your kid is not really measuring up. Not the worst kid, but not close to the best. And you realize that some of that is your fault. A lot of it is, because you don't like to drill your kids on things like math facts, and to ask comprehension questions at the end of books. And you realize that that is not the only kid you've failed. You're 0 for 2 in the supportive academic mom department. And you realize that you have to change things--which will make them whine, which makes you want that beer again.
And then your husband tells you that his supervisor wants to "talk to him." Which you know means either "you are fantastic we want to keep you on as a nurse and pay you a nice wage", or it means "we really aren't hiring now because of this here recession thing--good luck with that". The suspension is KILLING ME. Which heightens my senses and makes the above whining even more unbearable than usual.
And then there's so much crap in your closet that it makes you want to go naked instead of heading in there to get dressed. UGH, shoes all of the floor, a box of c.d.'s that was put in there months ago--that I don't even miss, and yet I feel the need to go through, a pile of fabric I will never sew with because I hate to sew, and a sewing machine that is broken--so I couldn't sew if I wanted to. And the old computer that is broken that you don't know where to put it because it might have some secret info on it that needs to be cleaned off. And don't forget the giant box of playdough purchased a year ago at Christmas--it belongs in there . . . right?
Did I mention the load of laundry looking at me? Dumb laundry. Like the giant quilt I have to wash because Beck was gagging himself for fun last night. The parenting technique I oft turn to (ignoring) backfired on me--and he barfed. Just on a small corner of it. But it has that retched stomach bile smell. So the whole GIANT thing has to be washed. And it wasn't on my list of laundry today that i have to do between 9 and 5 because I'm on the SRP savings plan--which only saves me about $20 each year--what am I doing that for again? .. . and what was I talking about? . . oh yeah---beer.
So I get it.
So I blog, instead of beer, instead of pills, instead of locking the kids in and running away.
Ah--I'm feeling the buzz.
Monday, October 11, 2010
I"m mean
My mom is mean. Ask my friends. And my brothers and sisters. And my husband (he is scared of her). And I am too.
I've never said "no" to my mom. That wasn't allowed. She told you to something ONCE.
I am way too soft compared to her. I need to mean up more. However I still often hear the words, "You're a MEAN mom!"
And I delight in hearing that.
Mostly because I grew up with this poem on my mom's wall:
How To Be A Mean Mother
A mean mother never allows candy or sweets to take the place of a well-balanced meal.
A mean mother insists on knowing where her children are at all times, who their friends are and what they do.
A mean mother breaks the Child Labor Law by making her children work--washing dishes, making beds, learning to cook and doing other cruel and unpleasant chores.
A mean mother makes life ;miserable for her offspring by insisting that they always tell the truth.
A mean mother produces teenagers who are wiser and more sensible.
a mean mother can smile with secret delight and pride when she hears her own grandchildren call their parents "mean".
What the world needs now are more Mean Mothers . .. and Fathers.
My mother is mean. And she's a GOOD mother. And I hope my son in law is as scared of me as Hyrum is of her.
Love you mom.
I've never said "no" to my mom. That wasn't allowed. She told you to something ONCE.
I am way too soft compared to her. I need to mean up more. However I still often hear the words, "You're a MEAN mom!"
And I delight in hearing that.
Mostly because I grew up with this poem on my mom's wall:
How To Be A Mean Mother
A mean mother never allows candy or sweets to take the place of a well-balanced meal.
A mean mother insists on knowing where her children are at all times, who their friends are and what they do.
A mean mother breaks the Child Labor Law by making her children work--washing dishes, making beds, learning to cook and doing other cruel and unpleasant chores.
A mean mother makes life ;miserable for her offspring by insisting that they always tell the truth.
A mean mother produces teenagers who are wiser and more sensible.
a mean mother can smile with secret delight and pride when she hears her own grandchildren call their parents "mean".
What the world needs now are more Mean Mothers . .. and Fathers.
My mother is mean. And she's a GOOD mother. And I hope my son in law is as scared of me as Hyrum is of her.
Love you mom.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
You are a Mammal
Just in case any of you drop by anytime soon, I just wanted to give you a heads up.
It's just possible that Kizzy might want to engage in a conversation about mammals, sparked by her older sisters library book
She will say "You are a mammal because you have hair"
And then she might gently press on your boobs and say "and because you get milk in your bosoms"
If this occurs, just go with it and act normal.
That's what I do
I'm thinking it's just a phase.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Nice Excuse
Annabelle gets a weekly behavior report sent home with her homework. There are different generic issues that are listed like "Talking to others", "improper actions at recess" etc. etc.
So she got 2 marks under "not paying attention in class"
So we were going over her paper which was highly unacceptable in many areas. And she said, "but Mom .." and then I interrupted her and said "no excuses", and she said "but . . . " to which I said, "but nothing". Then she insisted I listen. Then she said,
"but Mom I was thinking about Jesus".
To which I said, "right . . . Jesus". And she insisted she was. (As I was smirking)
Then I said, "Then don't think about Jesus, you have all Sunday, and after school to think about Jesus"
She's usually a pretty honest kid, so it is possible.
But then again, she might be just very clever.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
My job Chart
I'm trying out MY JOB CHART. It's free and so far the kids like it. I would like to tweak it to my liking, so I think it lacks some things--but mostly just because I am annoyingly detailed when I try to organize things.
Does anyone else use this? What do you think about it?
Friday, August 6, 2010
Friday, July 30, 2010
Imparting Wisdom
Somehow our dinner scripture study which was focused on priesthood blessing and the power for God to heal, turned to where babies come from. Randomly, my friend and I had just been having the conversation on how to impart that wisdom to our children.
I learned in 3rd grade. Not from my parents, but from my friend whose mom was much more open and liberal. She was a good girl, it wasn't like a trashy thing, but I learned LOTS. 3rd grade. Guess what grade Annabelle is entering. . .
That's right.
So it's up to me to be the front line. She had asked some sort of question and she said, "you know. Like when moms and dads kiss and the seed goes from the dad to the mom" She was saying the men do have babies (because of the seed part) because I was talking about the glorious blessing that was given specifically to women to be creators and carriers of life.
Luckily, my friend had told me that she had read in a book to make it exciting and special like she was going to be in on a big secret that was JUST WONDERFUL.
So that's what I did.
I said "That's not how it works. But dad and I are going to tell you soon."
and she excitedly said, "Tell me now! I want to know"
and I said, "I can't. We only get to tell you when you are 8 and there are some kids around the table who aren't 8. But it's going to be great and you'll get to know something very, very special and sacred. You'll get to know how it work! It's very important (meanwhile I have a big exciting smile on my face) and it's also very sacred. Do you know what sacred means?"
She shook her head no
I said "It means it's something that Heavenly Father thinks is very special and spiritual. So we are going to make a time for just you, dad and I to get together and it's going to be super great."
So now what do I do?
Come on people, give me what you got. Either what you did that worked, or didn't work. Books, tips, suggestions.
Help a girl out here. I'm now on a timeline.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
On mothering
There are some things about motherhood no one can adequately prepare you for.
HAPPY MOTHERS DAY!
HAPPY MOTHERS DAY!
Monday, March 8, 2010
Playing Hookie
Annabelle handed me this this morning (the part at the bottom says Parent Comment). At first I was just going to make her go. Period. But then I thought--hmm this could be a good lesson learner. So I told her that it was her choice, but if she stayed home she would work like people do that don't get educations. I was very explicit on what she'd have to do today. And she said she'd rather stay home.
So she has done laundry
Cleaned bathrooms
Cleaned laundry room
Mopped floors with a rag
Cleaned my office
Cleaned her room
Did Math for an hour while I was at the gym (I wasn't going to let her play at the gym daycare--no way)
Done dishes
Cleaned counters
Vacuumed
Changed a poopy diaper--and dressed her little brother.
I just remembered--I let her have a 10 minute break. And it's long over.
Back to work.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
My Mormon Mother Report Card
My Mormon Parent report card results---Big Fat F.
How does one test this?
Well by random chance like . .
When you are at the Baptism preview (the night that the Primary has with all of the 7 year old kids who will turn 8 and be baptized--to get the details on who what where when etc).
As I was saying, . . .
When you are at the Baptism Preview sitting in the FRONT row, and while the Bishop is informing kids on what they will be asked in their interview, asks your daughter, "Who is the Prophet?"
and she
points her arm straight out toward the Bishop and says:
"YOU?"
That's how you know.
For my friends who aren't Mormon, the answer is President Thomas S. Monson.
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