Pledges

Before we start our schoolwork, we always say the Pledge of Allegiance and our Boster Pledge.

The Boster pledge is:

Bosters are kind.
Bosters work hard.
Boster's love God.

The other day, one of my kids got it a little mixed up.  With all the confidence in the world they said:

Bosters are kind.
Bosters love hard.
Bosters work God.

Oh, how true that is! :)

Oh, for the good old days

This afternoon had me wishing  for the days when propriety and manners were cultivated, rather than shunned in a headlong rush to tell the world of every passing emotion.  Nowadays merely having an opinion is all the reason anyone needs for sharing it.

Oh for a well-trained, well-mannered youth.

My six year old son and eight year old daughter had been playing outside when my daughter burst through the door dripping with dears and choking on sobs.  Something special to her had been ridiculed ("That's stupid!") and then she had been snubbed ("We're playing and it's none of your business!" followed by running away from her whenever she got close.)

We talked through the situation, I held her close and then she got on with her life.  Good girl.  She mentioned that her brother had been crying in the carport too.  A while later, I pulled him aside and asked what he had been crying about.

"I saw how mean they were being to Hannah," he said, tears welling up again.  "I wanted to protect her, but I was too late."

I wrapped my arms around that boy and hugged him till I thought his ears might pop off.

Chivalry is not dead.  The heart of a knight warrior (albeit a six year old knight warrior) beats in the heart of that boy.  His sister had been in distress and he wanted to be on hand to place himself between her and the dragons (albeit an 8 and a 9 year old dragon, but sometimes those are the worst kind.)

While I am exceedingly, exceptionally, extraordinarily fond of pants and voting and equal employment opportunities, I can see the beauty of bygone days.  Carefully cultivated words, elevated thoughts, dignity, duty, propriety and perhaps even kindness are fast becoming casualties in this fast paced world.

That's it.  I am having a cup of tea.  I may even indulge in some high-toned verbiage.  I may even put napkins on the table tonight.

In this way I shall "take arms agains this sea of troubles, and by opposing end them."  Okay, a cup of tea won't solve all of society's woes, but I did just quote Hamlet, and that has to count for high-toned verbiage.

The Be in Beautiful

I teach ballet to adorable four, five and six year olds and every single one of them has moments when they feel beautiful.  They all get the same look in their eyes, tuck their chin in the same way and adopt stylized princess-like movements.

I only see them for an hour a week and  I see every one of them feel beautiful.

But it's more than that.  They don't just feel like they look beautiful, they feel like they are beautiful.

When little girls play, they don't just pretend to look like Cinderella, they want to be Cinderella.

As adults we have a serious disconnect.

There are very few people we would actually like to be and the proliferation of self-help books and gyms and therapists says that just being us isn't cutting it.  But back to the first part of that sentence - there are very few people we would like to look like AND act like AND live like AND have families like AND get paid like AND have faith like.  Where do we look when we want to be like someone and not just want to be like a small part of them.  Is it possible that we already are the person we most want to be like?  Now I am all for aspiring.  Excellence is my favorite food and becoming the best person we can be is the whole point of being here.  But I am discovering more and more that wanting a bit of the person over here and a piece of person on that magazine over there just makes me depressed.  I look chubby and peevish when I get depressed.

I want to be okay just wanting to be me.  I want to feel great about being me.  Okay, I already do to an extent, but I want to love being me so much I don't want to be those parts of other people anymore.  Those examples can inspire ME to be a better ME.

Sidebar:
By now, the insensitive comments of Mike Jeffries (CEO of Abercrombie and Fitch) are old news.  So they only want to sell to their target market (women sizes XXS to L and men up to XXL).  Fine.  No problems.  Everyone is entitled to a target market, but once they start trying to attach their exclusive version of beautiful to an exclusive version of "be" and then publicly defend that version by denigrating nonconformists then they have crossed a line.

If one were to listen to them (before, after or through their carefully worded apologies) one would hear the message that beautiful has a size.  That "cool" can be bought and put on and that popular is worth the price tag.  You would hear that "All-American" is found in blonde hair and perfect, if unclothed abs.  (Seriously, why do clothiers use so much nudity . . . it seems counterintuitive.)

More damagingly you would hear the message that you are not okay.  You don't quite measure up.  You have to strive for that kind of worth and valuation and nothing inside you can mitigate your deficiencies but they have some denim that just might help.

They are trying to sell a "be" and make us believe it is beautiful and it is not.

End Sidebar.

I am ready to experience the "be" in beautiful.  In any given hour I want to feel what my dancers feel, that I AM a princess that I AM the fabulous I see in the world.

Alright, this essay needs polishing.  Rather than tighten it up, I am going to help my amazing honey make dinner for four ravenous children - two of whom smell like chickens, but that is a story for another day.

Have a BEautiful one!

Roar

The world tells me I am overweight, mediocre, out of style, an average housekeeper, middle class, that I am forever wearing the wrong jeans, that I am not living up to my potential because I choose to stay home and raise my kids, that I am ordinary, middle-of-the road smart, and not nearly as crafty or motivated as ... well anyone on Pinterest.

Here's what I tell the world:

I am a daughter of the Almighty God.  I am Celestial material and that is the highest class there is.  I am empowered by covenants.  I am empowered by God to be more than I could be on my own.  I am worthy of God's blessings.  I am a woman of virtue.  I am filled with the light of Christ.  I am faithful, generous and kind.  I see people and I see them as children of God.  I am the heart, axis and gravitational pull that holds by family together.  I am a hard praying, tithing paying hymn playing mama!

That is my roar.

Compared to that, corner offices and size two waists and fancy houses sound more like "meow."

What's your Roar?

Being the Mom

I can't see the floor.  I couldn't see it it yesterday either.  The past week was a whirlwind of crazy.  Monday was to be my recovery/search and rescue/please don't call Hazmat day.  Monday morning brought bees in the kitchen (I am allergic), wasp spray over clean baskets of laundry, escaped chickens and an hour long customer "service" experience which nearly reduced me to tears (FYI, blinding rage evaporates tears.)  Fast forward to that night.  It was 8:45 by the time I had dinner for the kids.  They were picking at the leftover chicken soup.  When I asked them for the third time to hurry, they said it tasted funny.  I had smelled it.  It smelled great, but one taste convinced me that it had turned a corner that we did not want to follow it around.

It was at this point that my eldest looked up at me and said, "You've been a great mom today."

I spluttered incoherently and eventually got out, "Why do you say that?"

"You haven't yelled at all," she replied, "and I love being with you."

I stood motionless for a moment (probably a good thing since the floor was a minefield of tupperware lids and pom-poms) and re-calibrated my idea of what being a mother entails.

Had I been in a grade giving mood, I would have given myself a "C-" for the day (a great morning devotional being the only thing standing between me and a failing grade), but there was my daughter giving me an "A."

In comparison to other moms, or magazines, or even in comparison to myself on good days, I was barely forestalling epic disaster.  But my daughter didn't need other moms or magazines or even me-on-a-good-day.  She didn't even seem to miss the floor.  She just needed her mom.

I was enough.

I was enough.

I am more than what I can or cannot do in a day.

I am a mom and that is the greatest gift I can give my children.

That said, I still kinda miss the floor.

p.s.  The link below is for "An Open Letter To Moms from Kid President."  It will make you smile.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pQ4Rnba85o8

Speed Bumps

Speed-bump #1

A few nights ago I was making a mushroom sauce.  I was sniffing my bottles of cooking wine trying to figure out which one I should put in the sauce.  In comes my eldest son.

"Mom, what are you smelling?"
"Cooking wine" (Brief explanation of how we boil all the alcohol off)
"Wait," he says "So you're hiding in the kitchen drinking cooking wine?"
"No!" I say, a bit confused how we jumped from sniffing a bottle to raging alcoholism.

Had he been old enough to understand, I would have pointed out that if I was going to abandon everything I believed in it would NOT be for a plastic bottle of Kroger brand cooking wine.

Speed-bump #2

A few weeks ago I needed to run to the dance studio where I teach to pick up a DVD.  On the DVD was some choreography I needed to learn so I could teach it to my classes.

(Side note - we listen to some CDs called "The Safety Kids" by Janeen Brady.  One is about drugs and alcohol, one is about personal safety and one is about pornography.  These are awesome CDs and I heartily recommend them.  I mention this to point out why my kids are familiar with certain words.)

My two year old daughter wanted to come with me.  I said okay.  I buckled her in and away we went.

"Yeah, we're going to get mom's pornography," my daughter sang out jubilantly.
"No sweetie," I say.  "It's my CHOR-E-OGRAPHY video."
"Oh, your CORN-ography video."
"No, it's my ... we're just ... we're on an errand to mommies studio."  I know she can pronounce errand.

Speed-bump #3

My eldest daughter, inspired by our recent reading of Matilda, put green food coloring in the hair gel.  Luckily Daddy noticed before it did any damage.

Speed-bump #4

I went to the chiropractor yesterday.  As I lay on the table the good doctor said "Um, I think you sat in crayon shavings."


And on we go.

The List

I have been up for three nights straight with a melange' of earaches, fevers, teething and wet beds.  During the day we go, go, go and yet the messes get deeper, the dishes pile higher, my hair gets flatter, my clothes look frumpier ... you get the picture.

Well, I was absolutely certain I was doing stuff all day long.  At the end of the day I was just not sure what I had been doing all day long.  

So, I made a list.   Not a to-do list.  A DONE list.  A list of everything (well, almost everything) I did during the day.

Here it is:

Diaper changed

3 of 4 children dressed

Garbages emptied and can out to curb

Made green apple-craisin oatmeal sweetened with organic maple syrup and a dash of cinnamon (my favorite.)

One natural earache remedy made and applied to oldest son

Accepted a service opportunity

Fed and watered chickens

Fed the masses (except oldest son, who has crawled in my bed, fallen asleep, tossed and turned, lost his earache remedy which has soaked through the elbow of his shirt and my sheets. Will scrub later.)

Morning devotional (scriptures/friend stories/article of faith).

Worked on my writing

Updated budget

Nurse baby

Sign up for a coupon card I will probably regret, and will certainly cancel, but I do it for the awesome gift cards that comes with it.

Change diaper

Help child #3 poop on the toilet

Start Homeschool

Put new wart removal pad on child #1's thumb.

Change 3 lightbulbs.

Make baby food

Make 2^nd earache remedy

Listen to child #1 read

Eek, it's Noon. I am still in my pajamas.

Start peeling hard-boiled easter eggs for egg-salad for lunch. Wash a few cuties hoping to assuage the hunger pangs of the natives.

Start setting up babysitting for a (gasp) actual date with Daniel next month.

Wipe child #3 on the toilet again.

Enlist eldest daughter to feed the baby. She does so willingly, but with a look popular among martyred saints.

Child #3 looks at her plate and informs me that she, “doesn't like to eat lunch.” This from a girl who licks the driveway.

I relieve child #1 from baby feeding duty. I munch my blue speckled (apparently only the blue dye penetrates the shell) egg-salad sandwich with my left hand and feed child #4 with my right.

I check on child #2. He is sleeping. Poor little tyke.

Correct math and writing.

Child #3 is going commando for the 5^th time today. Explain importance of undergarments.

#3 half naked again. Tell her she must wear pants AND shoes to play outside. I am so unreasonable.

Check for eggs.

Clean urp-up off of the couch.

Child #3 is singing Yankee Doodle. At the end she says “Stuck a feather in his cap and calls it Mickey Rooney.” I love it. (For those of you without broad knowledge of old movie actors, Mickey Rooney did a lot of shows with Judy Garland)

Strap child #4 to my back and start the dishes. Get two dishes done.

Correct more math

Diffuse therapeutic oils

Find shoes

Do girls' hair.

Talk to my honey on his lunch break.

Video tape the girls being adorable outside.

E-mail my dad.

Put Child #4 down for a nap.

Tried to pick green silly putty out of a tan microfiber blanket. No good. Tried coconut oil, dish soap and a paring knife. That worked a little better.

Shower, glorious shower!

Moisturize, dress – no time for hair, kiddo #2 is awake and hungry.

Start chicken soup for dinner. Got as far as water and frozen chicken. Child #4 is awake and hungry.

Nurse child #4

Step on heart-shaped fondant cutter. Child #3 has been in my kitchen drawers again.

A blur of making snacks and finishing the soup

Read stories to my sick boy.

Phone call with my sister.

Send out a few e-mails.

Video tape my boys being so cute.

Call kids in from playing. Water and vitamin C drinks all round.

Bandage some owies.

5:00 pm Hair still not done. Time to start my morning jobs. Turn on some motivational music and get to work on the living room.

Okay, living room and dining room swept and picked up.

My Honey is home.

Plan the garden with my husband. He starts planting while I take care of the baby.

Set table

Feed baby

Dinner.

Go to my room to read an Ensign article. Okay, I can read with two kids in my lap and one dancing in front of my full length mirror.

Bedtime routine etc.

Ahhhh. As I look over this list I can see why, with the exception of the living room and dining room, the mess has gotten deeper, the dishes higher and the laundry remains untouched. I also see that I AM actually doing something. That is a relief.

Now if I could just look like Gwyeneth Paltrow while I do it ….

The Plan

The plan was to have a wonderful morning full of Valentine themed activities, baking and even a service project, following which I would blog about Child #3's birthday - an event complete with giant color coordinated hanging tissue poms and cupcakes frosted to look like two toned roses.

Ha

Ha

Ha

The morning combusted.  I sat next to a heap of crumpled Valentine's ribbon and hit the pixie sticks like a cocaine addict.

It was a dishwasher broke, ten hours behind, children driving me up the wall, barely holding it together sort of a day.

I felt the way discouraged feels on it's rough days.

I called my friend and homeschooling mentor.  I used my "chipper" voice, wished her Happy Valentines and asked her a few questions.  She was not supposed to know just how close to the edge I was standing.  But she did.

An hour later there was a knock on my door.  There was my friend, a pot of daffodils in hand.

"I thought you could use some sunshine," she said.

I burst into tears.

She burst into tears too, just because I had and she is that kind of a friend.

She only had a moment, but we talked deep.  We talked about letting go.  We talked about love and respect and beginning again.  We talked about how perfectionism is actually the opposite of perfection - wanting the appearance of perfection without wanting the process required to become more perfect.  (enter child #3 completely naked)  We talked about educational theories.  (her children began knocking at my door.  She promised to be done in two minutes.)  We talked for two minutes about focus and simplicity.  Then we gave each other the "I know we will survive this, not sure how, but here we go," look and said goodbye.

The scriptures say to "be still and know that I am God."

Most of the time I say "I am super busy, so thank heavens I know that there's a God."

I want to say (as one of my favorite bloggers recently said):
"I am still and I know."

But I am chronically un-still and habitually forgetful.  Hmmm, I am sensing major life changes that need to be made.  I'll let you know if I figure out the secret.

So anyway, today's post will not chronicle my crafty, birthday triumph, or my Valentine's Day homeschooling wonderfulness.

Todays post is about finding grace in a flowerpot.  It's about stillness.  It's about starting over at 5:25 p.m. and letting that be okay.  It's about having my children give me another chance even though I probably don't deserve it.  It's about having a sweetheart who can come home to a sink full of dishes and house full of movie zombies and can still tell me I'm wonderful.

I suppose it's really all about love.

That's better than color coordinated poms.

Oh so true, so very,very true

Very funny.  Hope you enjoy.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GEbZrY0G9PI

Elegant

A few moments that made this week elegant:

Child #3 helped me stir cinnamon into our green-apple, cranberry oatmeal while singing "Cindermommy, Cindermommy I can help my Cindermommy."

Cutting gingerbread scented play dough with cookie cutters.

I put big dots of finger paint inside ziploc bags, sealed them and duck-taped them to my kitchen table for some mess free painting time.  It was great for practicing letters in too.

Homeschool is going so well.  We are loving it.  It doesn't leave a whole lot of time for writing or laundry, but it is going great.

Hopefully more soon.

Hang in there!

Of Mites and Motes

It was one of those mornings.  The kind that begins with children whining and screaming and the bag in the diaper pail splitting and leaking and then, while wrestling the reeking, leaking bag into another bag your hair somehow gets caught in the pail and while you sit there untangling yourself you hear your older two children bickering and slamming doors and stomping and you really want to parent the way the Lord would, and for a moment you seriously consider giving a 40 year in the wilderness time out and then you realize that you have only been awake for 20 minutes and you have nothing left, the inner reserves are totally depleted.  

It was one of those mornings.

Ironically just the night before, I was thinking of all the things I wanted to accomplish - things like exercise, and writing more and pursuing talents and giving service and strengthening friendships and reading.  

Thinking of where I was and where I wanted to be had me feeling more than a little depressed because my limitations are very real and infuriatingly limiting.  I can only give so much but it feels like I can/should/aught to be able to give so much more.

Then the parable of the widow's mite flashed into my mind.  That widow gave next to nothing, but it was all she had.  Others had buckets of money and were able to slosh it around as generously as they liked.  The widow may not have given much, just a mite, but she gave all she had.

Some days I plonk the kiddos in front of candy-colored animation while I pull the covers over my head and try to remember what silence and solitude feel like.  Some days that is my mite - my everything.  It doesn't look like much, but it's all I have.

Right now, as we are saying goodbye to two weeks of colds and flu and starting homeschool just thinking about exercise is all I can do.  Keeping in on my "to be added to my life as soon as possible" list is all I can do.  It is not much, but it's what I have to give.

Some days two verses of scripture (sans meditation, study, cross-referencing, outside reading or preparing for Sunday School) is all I can do.  The judgy voice in my head is having a field day with that one, but honestly, some days that is all I can do.

Ditto for the dishes, laundry, toilets, reading list etc. etc. etc.

For the longest time I have been defining these areas where I lack as motes and beams - something wrong that needed fixing.  But I may have had it all wrong.

If I am truly giving everything, then when I have more I will be able to give more.  True, others may have buckets of time to slosh as generously as they choose and that's great for them and it has absolutely nothing to do with me.

If I am giving everything, no matter how little than I am in mite territory, not mote territory.

This realization doesn't change anything, but it sure makes me feel better.