I'll Buy You That

With Daddy full time in school, the kids have learned that they can't have everything they want.

And neither can Mom or Dad.

Today my husband drove the neighbor's  truck home from church and parked it in our driveway.  When we pulled into the driveway, I wistfully looked at the truck and commented to the kids, "That truck looks like it belongs in front of our house.  Wouldn't it be nice if we could buy a truck like that for Daddy?"

Immediately Morgan (9) piped up optimistically, "We can start saving to buy him one!"

"Hmmm . . . . " I answered.

Henry had an even better idea:  "Mom, we can make him a truck like that!"

The Bucket

The other day I came home from preschool with Henry and a friend.  As soon as I stopped, before I even put the car into park, those boys bounded from the car and disappeared into the back yard. 

The sky was periwinkle blue, and the temperature hovered in the high 60s.  I was sure the boys were headed to the yard to swing or bounce on the trampoline, so I headed into the kitchen to clean up some breakfast dishes. 

A few minutes later, the boys came in.  My attention turned from the pot I was scrubbing to them--I turned off the water and watched them take off their shoes.  I was surprised they were back so quickly. 

But then, with my back up against the sink as I contentedly watched these happy boys, I heard the following conversation, just a few feet in front of me:

Henry, with a smashingly coy glance my way:  "Nathan, we shouldn't tell Mom, should we?"

Nathan, with an incredulous look backward: "No Henry!  Don't tell your mom."

It was so funny, this conversation happening right in front of me, that there was no way I could be mad.  

I chuckled and said with a smile:  "Oh yes, Henry, you should always tell your mom everything."

Henry cocked his head sideways, fluttered his charming blue eyes, and shrugged his shoulder (see picture below), smiling and giggling a bit, "Yes Nathan, we should tell Mom."

Nathan, putting his hands up in frustration:  "No, Henry."

I smiled genuinely and purred at Henry, coaxing:  "What would you like to tell me, Henry?"

Henry must trust me a lot to have told me this, though he seemed quite unconcerned:  "We peed in a bucket."

Me, a little worried now.  For the record, I don't even like the word pee:  "You peed in a bucket?   Where?  In the garage?"

I could just picture a bucket of urine in the garage, waiting to be knocked over to make a yucky mess.

Henry laughed.  "No." 

He doesn't say this, but I imagine him thinking, "No, of course not, Mom.  We're smarter than that.  We wouldn't pee in the garage."

Henry: "On the other side of the house."  Smile.

Me, relieved that it's not in the garage, but curious now:  "Is the pee still in the bucket?"

Henry:  "Oh no, Mom, we dumped it out."  Of course.  Of course.

Here's the bucket.  Those responsible little boys dumped it out.  I wonder if the neighbor caught a glimpse of those tiny bare bottoms.  

Lovin' that Teacher

Morgan really loves her fourth grade teacher, Ms. Roberts.  Really loves her.

At some point, I plan to expound upon her reasons for adoring her teacher--there are many, but I just wanted to post a note Morgan wrote today.

I asked Morgan today what she wanted to do tomorrow when she has the day off for Veteran's Day.  Here is the list she gave me.

Animals Out the Window

I was in my kitchen the other day, peacefully working on cleaning up, when a floppy thumping sound at the window made me jump.  I looked once, but did a double take.  Here's what I saw swinging back and forth against the window:

Morgan informs me it's Popcorn, Sweetie, and Captain Crushy (Webkinz hamsters.)  They were on a hamster ride out the second floor window.

I'm sitting here falling asleep--my eyes close and I write something completely off the wall.  Then I ak . . .  oh my . . . can't . . . stay . . . awake. . . .

Boys and Guns

I'm well aware that this is not novel . . . to anyone who has any experience with boys.  But I'm recording it anyway.

I asked Henry this morning what he liked best about preschool.

Without hesitation, he answered, "I like playing with guns best."

Now, knowing that Miss Jan doesn't have guns at her preschool, I asked, "What guns did you play with?"

 "Lego guns." Big surprise.

What kinds of things have YOUR boys turned into guns?

Tooth Fairy Disfunction

Our family is completely disfunctional . . . but I would hope that somewhere out there, someone has the exact same problem we do . . .

The tooth fairy never comes the same night someone loses a tooth.  It always takes at least several nights, sometimes a week, sometimes more than a week.  Once there was a tooth that wasn't visited for an entire month.

But you know, as I tell the kids, the tooth fairy has a lot of people to visit around the whole world.

Jackie lost her tooth Sunday.

Excited, she put it in a bag and put it under her pillow.

Monday morning rolled around, and of course, no tooth fairy.  Jackie came to me, "Mom, the tooth fairy didn't come."

Me, in my best matter-of-fact voice:  "Well, you know, Jackie . . . um . . . the tooth fairy has a lot of people to visit!  All around the world."

Jackie:  "Oh, I know, Mom."

I guess I have her trained well.  I think she was disappointed, but my kids all know it takes a while.

Tuesday morning rolled in.

Jackie:  "Mom, the tooth fairy didn't come."

Me:  "I'm sure she's coming.  She has a lot of people to visit!"

"I know Mom. But Mom, there's more than one tooth fairy.  They're all over the world."

My answer:  "Oh. . . well . . . yes, maybe so.  But even if there's one tooth fairy for the entire United States, that's still lots of kids to visit."

Jackie:  Giggle, giggle.

Whew.

Tonight Morgan, my 9-year-old, came to me after Jackie went to sleep.  "Mom, don't forget the tooth fairy."

"Ah shoot," I said, turning to Matthew.  "Do you have a dollar?"

"Uh-oh," he answered.  "No."

Morgan piped up, "Mom, I have a dollar.  I"ll pay the tooth fairy if you'll pay me back.  Can I put it under the pillow please?"

Is it normalcy or total family disfunction when the 9-year-old has to do tooth fairy duty because of forgetful parents.  Who knows.  You may have the same problem when you have four kids some day.

How Things Have Changed

I took this picture of Anika, almost 10 years ago.  She had dumped an entire bag of Cheerios onto the table.  This was not an accident.  When I came into the room, she was having a great time playing in it.  Little did I know what was to come . . . from all four of my kids.  This was nothing!  

Interesting that I was already taking pictures of family mishaps at that point.

My beautiful girl now--she is so kind and helpful.

Sages

After preschool the other day, I was ecstatic to learn a new tip from the preschool teacher, whose children are now grown, and another mom, who has five children.   If it happens to snow, I'm never quite prepared.  It seems that every year someone's glove has a hole.  Or I don't have enough gloves.  Or someone's glove falls off and fills with snow.

So here's the tip I learned:  Layer a magic stretchy glove, then a rubber glove, then another glove on top.  That way, their hands stay dry and warm.

I kind of like the idea of laying a magic stretchy, a rubber glove, another magic stretchy, and another rubber glove.   I think I'll experiment with that this year!

The other idea they had was to layer a long sock, then a bread bag, then another long sock.

You may be asking why I don't just go out and buy the real stuff from REI.  With four kids and a husband in school, sometimes you just have to cut some corners.

So back to the title of my blog post:  Sages.

When I was a new mom, my husband and I were still in college living in family dorms.  The only people I really spent time with were other new moms.   I'd see them at church. I'd see them at library time for babies.  I did activities with them, such as taking my three-month-old to the museum.

I remember discussing parenting with these other moms.  These phrases were common:    "Have you tried . . . "; "I read in this book . . . ";  "I think that . . . "

It wasn't until my second child went to preschool that I realized I had it all wrong.  That it wasn't mothers like me who I should look to for help.

Our preschool teacher was an experienced mother.  Her children had grown--I think her youngest was in middle school at that point.  And she had truly wise advice.  From her, I learned to set my behavioral expectations higher.

My paradigm shift led me to become a close observer of other mothers.  I quickly realized that even experienced mothers may not have the perfect answer.  But a conglomeration of ideas from experienced mothers might just be successful.  Even now, I watch other mothers carefully and learn from the little things they do.  I learned from one mother how to speak in a kind voice.  I learned from another mother how to get my kids to practice the piano.

Sometimes I learn what I don't want to do also.  I learned not to make empty threats from one mother.  And not to attach labels to children from another (for example, this one is the smart one;   this one is my rebellious one.)

The more kids someone has, and the more successful those kids are, the more sage I consider them.   And the more I spend time looking at how they do it.

Melatonin

Something in my brain changed when I had my first child.  I haven't slept well in 12 years.  The tiniest noise or movement wakes me up, and then I can't go back to sleep.

Every night I read to my youngest two children.  Often, by the end I'm falling over in the chair, saying funny things like, "Goodnight room, goodnight moon, , good night . . . grocery store . . . had to get laundry . . ." Slightly aware of what I am saying, I shake my head hard.

Henry again:  "MOM!  Read my book!"

I continue, with garbled speech, "Good night cow jumping over the moon.  Goodnight red balloon . . . it fell down in the sky . . .  it's at the teacher's . . . . she didn't give you your homework but you can get it at the grocery . . .  ooooohhhhhhh."

Henry here pats my shoulder, "MOM!"

Another shake of my head.  "Ooooo.Kkkkkk. Henry."  Widen my eyes, pat my cheeks.  "And goodnight to the . . . old lady who lives in the room . . . Goodnight stars.  Goodnight air.   Almost done.  Almost done.  I can DO it.  Goodnight everywhere."

Sometimes I pass out at this point.  Head down in front or lolling to the side.  This is so disappointing, because the kids leave my lap, run out of the room and start playing.  I'm vaguely aware, but literally too sleepy to pull my head back up, except to lift my heavy eyes slightly and slur, "Kids . . . come . . . back. . . "

At some point my husband, who is downstairs studying, notices the pattering of their feet, comes in and says, "Why did you let them out of bed?"  It's hard to get them back to bed again.  But he usually sweetly takes over, encouraging me to go to bed.

After I  painfully wake up from that 5 minute nap, I'm miraculously re-energized.   All I can see is work, work, work.  So what would any busy mother do?  Get to work.

Around 11, 12, 1, or 2, I run out of projects or steam, and try to go to bed.  Sleep is restless.  And short.  The day starts again in the morning when the first person wakes up, because I can't sleep past any noises in the morning.  And the first person wakes up around 5:30.

Generally I don't use dietary supplements beyond my daily multivitamin.  But someone recommended melatonin.  I've been taking it for 2 weeks now.  It's a "natural" supplement for something that your brain supposedly makes on its own.  I'm not so sure I believe my brain makes it.

Nonetheless, this tiny pill has changed my life for two weeks now.  Following the directions, I take it 20 minutes before "bedtime"--whatever time that is.  And I melt into my bed for the entire night.  If I happen to get woken up for a moment, I go right back to sleep. 

The other night, I did get woken up once by Jackie.  I don't even remember what she said, but my hubby took a turn to get up and  help her.  For once I didn't lie there awake wondering if he needed my help.  I rolled over and slept like a baby once again.  

My House is Never That Clean

I do know people with houses that are clean all the time.  I've decided that's either important enough to them that they stay home more than I do, or they have enough money to hire help.

During my fourth pregnancy, I did hire help.  My hips became so dysfunctional that I was in pain every time I bent over.  Believe me, I still worked hard when the cleaning help came.  I organized and organized.  Then they came, and three hours later, my house was spic and span.  Even the blinds and light fixtures were dusted.  The oven and microwave cleaned.  It looked like a 6-person family model home.

But that didn't last.  The next year, my husband would enter dental school, and help was no longer an option.  My house was no longer as organized, because rather than spending my time organizing, now I spend it scrubbing toilets, showers, and floors.  

But it's o.k.  In fact, probably better for the kids.  Now I really need their help with picking up.  Every Saturday I give them a list of jobs to do.  And many days, we have picking up races.  I'll say, "Let's see who can be the first to put away 20 things upstairs."   The only job I won't give them is scrubbing the toilets--I'm too afraid they'll splash nasty toilet water somewhere.  I keep wondering what age I'll feel comfortable handing that off.

I'm grateful for the kids' help.   But this week, it's been all me.  Grandma and Great-Aunt came to town today, so I had to clean.  It wasn't so bad, except that it really did take me all week.  One entire day for the piled up laundry. One entire day for straightening--putting everything in it's place. One entire day for mopping, scrubbing, and shining.   I don't think I've ever stayed home so many days in a row.

So here I am.  Grandma and Aunt Coco came today.  If you walked into parts of my house, you might think that being clean is either important enough to me to stay home all week.  Or you might even think I have enough money to hire help.

If you walk into other parts of my house, you would know that I didn't hire help.  Not only that, but you might even question why I didn't spend more time cleaning for company.

Being the best!

I sat down to write this blog post because I overheard a father speaking to his child on the way home from a soccer game the other day.  He said, "Son, if you want to be the best, you have to practice really really hard."  

I turned to Morgan.  "Morgan," I said, thinking a bit about what I was about to say.  "There are a lot of people in the world.  And the probability of that child being the best are unlikely.  But you can always accomplish your best."  Then we talked about accepting that there might be someone better than us, but that we should always do our very best--in work, church responsibilities, home responsibilities, school, sports--whatever we do.

Every parent wants their child to be the best at something.  Or at least that's my perception.  I felt that way too.  I made sure my first child could read before kindergarten, practicing letters and forcing her to learn, even though she wasn't that interested.   It is true that she continues to be an avid reader 7 years later.

But the same goes for my next two kids.  They are avid readers too.  And neither of them could read before kindergarten.  In fact, they didn't even know their alphabets.

That doesn't mean my second two children weren't interested in reading.  In fact, my husband and I read captivating fiction and nonfiction picture books with them every night.  But we treated this as a special, fun time together.

When they got into kindergarten, all they knew was that they enjoyed reading and wanted to learn to do it.  They learned extremely quickly.

This kind of goes hand in hand with my previous post on reverse psychology . . . sometimes it seems the more I pushed a child, the slower she went.

My mother always said, "Do your best."

She also said, "You can do anything, but you can't do everything."  But she said that to my older sister.  I don't remember her teaching that to me before she died.  I could probably have used that quote.   . . . More on that later . . . maybe.

Little Kids and Lies

Now, this may be really going out on a limb, but somehow I'm kind of stuck on the parenting thing.  

I remember when my first child first told a lie.  She was probably two or three.   It was like I had been hit in the face with an icy snowball.  I couldn't believe that MY (perfect) child could possibly be telling a lie.  I'm sure I administered a time-out.  Maybe a spanking.  Then that little lie probably occupied my thoughts for weeks while I worried about how in the world to teach my small child not to lie.

But things change after 12 years of being a mother.  How I handle it now depends on my mood.  Let me give you first the not tired or cranky version.  Let's imagine  Henry kicks a toy down the stairs in front of me, then tells me he didn't do it when I ask him to pick it up and not kick toys down the stairs.    

Me, putting my nose two inches from his and taking his face in my hands: "Henry, I love you.  I know that's not true.  Next time please tell me what really happened."  No lectures about honesty, nothing about lies, no questions, no yelling,  never asking why.

The Mom's tired and cranky version is a little different.  It's more like this.  I pick him up, carry him straight into the bathroom, put him on the toilet, and walk out while he cries, closing the door behind me.  When I let him out, I always take him on my lap and cuddle him so he knows I love him.

Admittedly, rarely there's the Mom's REALLY tired and cranky version.  That one doesn't work very well--I won't share that version because I really don't recommend it.  

In the meantime, every once in a while we have a family home evening lesson on honesty.  And I talk about it whenever I think about it.  Eventually they get it.  Really.

I could yell or spank, but I know from experience that parent-child relationships are better when firmness and love are the driving forces.

Reverse Psychology

So I remember my sister using reverse psychology with her little toddler . . . "Don't get in the bathtub,"  "Don't smile!" and "Don't . . . NO . . . whatever you do . . . don't eat the peas!"

I never thought I would use any reverse psychology myself.  But I've learned that sometimes it really works.

I used to force my oldest to practice the piano.   And I'd force her to do her homework.  And I'd force her to do this or that.

The truth is, there will always be things I have to force my kids to do, right?

But here's some of examples of practicing what I've learned.

I always sit and help my children at the piano.  One of my kids doesn't like it.  The others do.  Jackie (6) only recently started learning to play.  A little wiggly, she has a hard time practicing very long before she gets distracted and starts playing funny things.  She often does this with a little look toward me that yells, "Mom!  How far can I push you."

With Anika, I might have been mad about this.  But, oh, have I learned a lesson!  So here's how I handle it.

Me, sometimes with a friendly smile, sometimes with a bit of annoyance:  "Jackie,  I have a lot to do.  I have laundry, dishes, cooking to do.  When I'm having fun, I'm happy to help you on the piano.  But this is not fun. So . . . " I stand up at this point.  "Let me know when you're ready to practice again."  And I leave, knowing that Jackie really does want me to stay with her.   She often begs me to come back, and our practicing continues without incident.

Here was tonight's, which really is why I wrote this post.  I was trying to get the kids ready for bed late after attending the book fair at our school.  I admittedly have an extremely hard time getting the kids to bed because they know just what to ask that I will give into--more books, homework, etc.  Sometimes it take me a couple hours to get them to bed!!

Jackie has been working on spelling words for her class, and Morgan begged me to find an online list and give her spelling words to practice too.  So tonight, when I was worried about the kids getting to bed, I said with a straight face, "Girls, if you don't get ready for bed, we won't be practicing spelling words.

"Nnnnnooooooo," they both said.

Sometimes the best punishments are not taking away what the child wants, but what you want the child to want.  

Oh Henry!

Today I picked up Anika from middle school, and was driving Henry's preschool friend home.  He didn't really want to go home yet, so I teased him a little bit:

Me, randomly, but sort of along the lines of a Cinderella theme:  "You boys know . . . little boys who are home late turn into frogs."
Henry says emphatically, with a big grin and a pump of his fist:  "Yyyyyeeeesssss!"
Friend, self-assured and matter-of-fact:  "That's no true."
Henry, after thinking about it for a moment:  "Hmm . . . I couldn't talk to you."
Friend:  "Nope."
Henry: "Huh."

Jokes

Jackie, at the dinner table:  "Mom, do you want to know why the people in Veggie Tales are veggies?"

Me:  "Why?"

Jackie:  "Because they're veggies."

Me:  "Hmmm . . . Could someone pass the ketchup?"

A few minutes later:

Jackie:  "Mom, do you want to know why the people in Veggie Tales are veggies?"

Me, with a smile:  "Because they're vegetables."

Jackie, emphatically, drawn out, and with a hearty giggle at her own joke:  "No, because they're VEGGIES!"

I've learned over the years that an important part of motherhood is being able to laugh on demand.

All Grown Up

Henry in the car today:  "Mom, in one more day will I be all grown up?"

Jackieism

Missionary:  "Do any of you know what charity is?"

Jackie, with an adorably mischievous giggle:  "Doesn't that mean eating cherries?"

Biker Boy

In keeping with the goal of my blog, if you are out there wondering why YOUR child isn't riding yet, this is just a reminder that EVERY CHILD IS DIFFERENT.  Some of my other children didn't ride until they were 10!   I remember feeling like such a failure.  I hope you don't.  If you can accept this difference, and/or if you want to know more about what happens when my child gets to feeling a little too independent, read on:

Henry (age barely 4) is in a new stage of life.   The biker boy stage.

He came home Monday night and announced, "Dad, I want my training wheels off."  We've tried to get his training wheels off unsuccessfully before.  So my internal, unspoken reaction was a sarcastic, "Yeah, right."  This will probably just be another trip to the garage tools.  

Nevertheless, we removed his training wheels.  Much to our surprise, minutes later, Henry was successfully riding up and down the driveway, turning, and crashing here and there without crying.  I was a little jealous of the turning.  I remember practicing hours and hours trying to turn.  

When Henry was about 2, we purchased a small bike kind of like this one that didn't have training wheels or even pedals.  He quickly learned to balance on it, and during the next year, I periodically could be found racing down the road in my flip flops, high heels, night gown, (you get the picture) trying to catch up with this tiny child who knew it was more fun to go down a long slightly sloping road than our driveway. 

When we got a larger bike, we had to leave on the training wheels because he was just too small to balance on it as he had his smaller bike.  We were surprised when we tried to remove the training wheels that he had forgotten how to balance.  

Clearly he's overcome that.

So reminiscent of old times (i.e. me frantically running down the road after the two-year-old), I got a phone call at 8 AM on the second day of Henry's biker boy stage from my neighbor several houses down the road.  I was switching laundry.  The phone call started like this:

Neighbor:  "Henry was just down here asking to play.  He rode his bike down."

Believe me, I wouldn't let my 4-year-old ride his bike down the street alone at 8 AM to bug my neighbor, who I know is trying to get children off to school.    I had no idea he was out of the house.  Some things you just simply can't control, unless you put hooks on your doors.  Sometimes I think that might be a good idea. 

I stuck my head out the front door to see Henry riding up the road, smiling and proud of his independence. 

(We did have a talk about the safety of riding down the road and our family rules, which include asking before leaving the yard.  But I still was charmed by his confidence.)

  

Pretend Play

I love listening to the kids pretend play.  Here's what I'm hearing from Henry and his little guy friend.  They're playing with a lot of random toys in our bonus room.

Friend:  Let's play Mommy.

Henry:  No, let's play you are the Mommy, and I am the puppy.

Friend:  O.K.  Here's some pizza for you.

Henry:  No, dogs don't eat pizza.  They eat soup.

Friend.  O.K.  Here's some soup.

Eating sounds.  Henry is crawling around like a dog on the floor, yipping.  That's one happy doggy with his soup.

Jackieism

Jackie (6):  "Is chicken bra a type of meat you eat?"

And later that day:

Jackie:  "You know how at the store you can see a picture of a man with no shirt?" (in boxers, no doubt.)  "Well, he has no shirt, and you can see his bra."

Firsts

As a side note, I attended my first college football game this weekend.

Jackieism

Last night the LDS missionaries visited us for dinner.

With lots of giggles and batting eyes, Jackie unabashedly renamed Elder Hanson,
who is tall and dark, "Elder Handsome."

Family Rules

We really do have a few rules.  One is, "We only eat in the kitchen."  

But here's my rule I repeat the most:  

"No growing up."  

Unfortunately, the kids break that rule all the time.  

Me as a kid

Which one is me?  (hint:  not the boy on the bottom left.)

Sounds

Today Henry slapped me randomly on my neck.

"Ouch," I responded, making a sad face.  "That hurt."

"Oh sorry, mom," Henry apologized, sincerely.  "I like sounds."

Hmmm . . .

Parenting: Touching the Hearts of Our Youth

I love this video.   

Parenting: Touching the Hearts of Our Youth

Snails

I was just looking through some old pictures.  

Thought I'd post this for your entertainment.

 Henry was a few weeks shy of turning three years old when he created this masterpiece.  I left a permanent blue marker in front seat of the car that fateful day. 

Courtesy of Henry Willis

The other seat looked the same.  I removed the marker from one seat with rubbing alcohol.  I started removing it from this seat also, when I stopped to take a picture.  

Then I decided (correctly) that this might only happen once in my lifetime, so I left the marker there, meaning to enjoy it a little while and then remove it eventually.  And of course, I took a picture.   This artwork remains on the seat today, though it has faded to the point that it's barely noticeable.  It was one of those terrible, beautiful moments in motherhood that I never want to forget.

Domesticated

I came back from vacation a few weeks ago ready to be domesticated.  For now at least.  I started a menu.  I chose some new recipes.  I've finished my laundry, though my ironing pile is still a couple of feet tall.   I'm thinking about making some new curtains.  All this is the result of visiting my sister and sister-in-law, who have nearly perfect homes and families.  Or, at least, so it seemed. 

I'm not perfect.  And you shouldn't feel bad if you aren't either.   My mother always said to do your best.  She didn't say to be perfect. 

More on domestication later . . . maybe . . . if it lasts. 

Tobacco Fields

Just one quick story . . .

We visited Oregon for a couple of weeks this month.  While there, we drove through what seemed like endless fields of brown grass fields and an occasional green field.  We passed one corn field.  The stalks were young, only a couple of feet tall. 

I turned and asked the kids what they thought that crop was. 

Morgan was quick to reply, "Tobacco fields." 

I guess I find that interesting because I'm pretty sure I didn't even know that tobacco was a plant until the past few years. 

Blog Problems . . . .

I have really enjoyed blogging . . . until I started having a problem with my Cutest Blog on the Block background.  You can't even see the words on my last blog.  Aaarggh.   Please forgive my technical incompetence.

Hopefully at some point I'll have it fixed for real.  In the meantime, instead of my picture at the right is a reminder of the wasted time I've spent trying to fix my blog.  Better than it was.