A Musing Mother 6

Today my 4 year old boy peed standing up. Three times. He's growing so fast. He still likes to cuddle. He tells me every day he loves me. He gives me a kiss followed by a hug. He drags around the dilapidated rag that used to b e his blankie. It was blue when I lovingly sewed it, tied it, and wrapped it around his tiny frame four years ago. Now he affectionately calls it his "white" blankie. Sometimes he concedes and calls it a white rag. He is poised to be a big boy. He wants to help me pull up the dead grass in the flower garden. He wants to use the fork to tease it up. I show him how and smack him in the eye. He becomes my baby again, asking for his white rag and lets me hold him like a baby. He mai ntains his dignity by insisting on holding the ice on his own face. He's at a crossroads of babyhood and little boyhood. I celebrate his accomplishments but still yearn to hold him in my arms. All too soon he will no longer want my hugs and kisses. He wil

Yesterday was a busy day of juggling the demands of the working mother. There was the dance festival with parents and grandparents toting folding chairs, strollers, cameras and camcorders to the field to whistle, yell, and otherwise embarrass their school age children. While my 4 year old swung on the monkey bars, I recorded for posterity a jubilant 11 year old cowgirl and an under-enthused surfing 9 year old boy. It was then off to work where I peeled a clinging child from my leg and went to my office where I handed out a lot of tissues, chocolate, words of encouragement and graduation options. After a few hours, my 4 year old and I ran home to make ciabatta bread and greet the kids when they came home from school. I then went back to work to count credits, packets, offer tissues, condolences or congratulations before coming home in time for tucking in children. I don't complain about my fragmented existence. I don't believe mine is much different than others' juggli

Saturdays are special days. It's the day we catch up from the rest of the week. With the wonderful onset of spring we now have the added chores of working outside which I LOVE! Not so much in the summer heat but in the early mornings (which I don't love) and dusk. True, I am mosquito bait but there is something rejuvenating about gardening and moving dirt. When I say moving dirt, I mean that I borrow the truck, drive to the dirt place, buy it, haul it home, get out the wheelbarrow and shovel and go inside to do the dishes, drive up to the canyon to pick up my oldest daughter and, when I get home, the truck is miraculously empty and my grow boxes have new dirt! It's like magic! Meanwhile, magic is occurring inside the house nearly all the time. If I go to the grocery store and I'm gone 20 minutes, I come home to a kitchen in shambles. When I take a shower, I come out and find toys strewn throughout the house like Hansel and Gretel path and find children at the en

Short lived experiment. I'm too sarcastic to find tender mercies every day. If they come up in my writings, it's because I am being introspective which is an off day for me. "Sweet" is not an adjective used often in the same sentence as Nancy. I'll be back soon!

Wow. I have such a hard time with this exercise! I chalk so much up to coincidence and there are so many small coincidences throughout my day that I feel silly writing about something that makes me happy even though it's small and might sound stupid to somebody else. I also have such a hard time stifling my satirical humor while I try to be more in tune with my surroundings, others, and God. Today's little miracle that made me happy: I looked at my shaggy boys' hair and announced they were getting haircuts. Right now. I remembered a coupon I had at home and went home to get it. In the process, my 9 year old talked me out of getting a haircut. He promised he will start combing his hair if I will remind him. Personal hygiene is not high on a 9 year old boy's priority list. I not only found the coupon but it expired today. Not only that, but I didn't have to fight a 4 year old boy with the shears and 19 year old girl at Great Clips got a big tip - thus negat

Recognizing tender mercies has been more of a challenge than I anticipated. Some things I really don't know if they are the hand of God or just a nice little convenience - like hitting green lights on Center Street in Provo (which did not happen to me today). I have decided to count an experience I had today as a possible tender mercy, although the end of the story is not yet written. That is probably true with most things, though. Life is a continuation of yesterday's story. Which brings me to today's experience. I have decided it is time to subject my 11 year old daughter to cognitive testing. I have struggled with this for a long time. She is not a typical candidate for a learning disability. Her standardized test scores are consistently in the 90%ile but her academic performance doesn't match up. I have my suspicions of what the problem may be but I really need testing to back it up and a team of professionals to help her have success. I work with an amazin

I have been pondering "tender mercies" and a talk given by David Bednar in a conference talk he gave in April of 2005. His definition of tender mercies states that "the Lord's tender mercies are the very personal and individualized blessings, strength, protection, assurances, guidance, loving-kindnesses, consolation, support, and spiritual gifts which we receive from and because of and through the Lord Jesus Christ. Truly, the Lord suits "his mercies according to the conditions of the children of men." At the time he gave this talk, I interpreted tender mercies to come to only those who were called to be apostles, stake presidents, and maybe a bishop or two. Since then, the LDS culture has refined the definition and I have written my own definition: Miracles, great or small, that remind me and others that Heavenly Father is mindful of us and our needs. Very often, these tender mercies are interpreted as coincidences by me. It is only during my personal

This is Sunday. She is a dog. She likes to run. This is Sunday's fence. Now she can run! Sunday likes to dig then run Bad Sunday. This is Sunday. She is dumb.

1. Before I got married, my best friend from college called and asked me to come over to see what she got for Mother's Day. She had two small children 11 months apart and I was still single. I envied that she got to celebrate an extra holiday and get presents. I arrived to find her standing on a small mountain of dirt in the driveway. "A whole truckload!" She announced, proudly. This year I asked for a tiller for Mother's Day. 2. My friend, Lisa, has six children, her husband is the bishop in her ward, and she was a newly called Primary president. She told me that she was so crazy lately that she got out of the shower the other day and didn't know if she had washed herself off. I chalked it up to six children. I only have four. Last week I got to the garage before I realized I didn't have on a bra. Happy Mother's Day all of you crazy mothers!

I worry about my children. They each take turns in the forefront of my concentration and, of late, it has been my 11 year old daughter on my mind. She is a highly intelligent, deep thinking, and artistic child who lacks organization skills and has a hard time finishing things. Today my husband came home to find me sprinkling cheese on a pizza while simultaneously wiping down the counters. He noticed the computer was on and asked me if I was still using it. "I haven't decided, yet. I was thinking I might still do some work." A few minutes later he started his sentence with the dreaded, "You know I love you and I'm not criticizing you BUT..." He then babbled on about genetic predisposition and the fact that there was a half finished quilt on the floor, clothes folded but not put away, dishes in the dishwasher but the dishwasher not started, a partially finished book laying partially open, and we'd already established the computer was still on. "I mult

While at work today I got a call from my 5th grade daughter who told me she wasn't feeling well. Apparently, she was strongly encouraged to go home since Swine Flu is so rampant. There is all of one confirmed case in this state alone. Not only that, but there was a line of 'sick' children waiting to use the phone. After further discussion, we established that she really was feeling ill and wanted to go home. I called my mom who agreed to pick her up and take her to our house. My mother has surgery scheduled in a week and does not want to get sick. In an effort to be helpful, I thought I could call the secretary and verbally check her out so my mom wouldn't have to go into the school. I introduced myself and explained the situation and asked her to take care of the necessary paperwork. "Who is going to sign the clipboard?" she asked in an irritated voice. "Since I have talked to you, could you sign it for me?" I replied. "I need someone

This was a talk given one Sunday in 1993. I asked the high councilman who gave it for a copy. He gave me his copy but asked that if I share it, I not associate his name with it. I have used it on occasion throughout my career although I took out the religious part. I felt compelled to dig it out yesterday. You generally find one child, sometimes, two, in each class in school that on no one likes – someone that everyone else teases and makes fun of every chance they get. You young people here, stop and think about it: Who might that person be in your school? In our school as I was growing up, it was a girl named Cheryl. Cheryl was a clever girl who got the best grades in the class and tried hard to fit in. There was nothing wrong with her, but we, her high and mighty classmates, found plenty to criticize, plenty to make fun of. Cheryl spoke slowly and in a low voice. She had a slight stammer. She was not often cheerful and seemed to have permanent worry etched into her face. Extreme p