A Musing Mother 6

Once upon a time there was dirt. A woman saw the dirt and said, "Oh, joy! Dirt! I shall plant a garden." The woman then went to the market and bought a wagonful of steer manure. She wondered what the difference was between refuse from a steer and refuse from a heifer but she applied the manure to the dirt, anyway. Once the manure was spread and turned within the soil, the woman made a plan. She drew out a map for how her garden would bring her so much joy. She went to the market and bartered for seeds wherein she planted the seeds in nice, semi-straight rows. She caged and tied up her tomato plants, watered, weeded, and watched. To her amazement, plants grew. They grew and grew and the woman was happy. She was happy until she realized those plants were weeds. The woman and her children spent many hours pulling the weeds. Later, when nobody could hear, she coaxed her soil to produce vegetables. When this seemed to no avail, she threatened, quickly repented, prayed, sang, a...

I have been invited to a casual college reunion this Sunday where I am going to see old friends from 23 years ago. Next week I have my 25th high school class reunion where I will, again, see old friends from days of yore. Remember when I was 18-22, anybody? I was pretty darn darling. I was all of 100 lbs on a bad day, had hair to heaven, shoulder pads, coordinating fuscia earrings for my bright button down shirt with a tie, and insensible shoes. Really, really cute. The questions I pose are as follows: Do I dig up those leg warmers/shoulder pads, earrings, and too-big-sweater? I know I won't be able to fit into the pin strip pants. How do I rat my hair to stand up like that again? Can I borrow someone's perky chest? I can't find mine. Oh, there it is! It was hiding at my belly button.

You know those blogs that have 45 widgets on the side of their posts listing their cute little sponsors? Those are the bloggers who are rewarded for being incredibly witty, pensive, or introspective. Unfortunately for those poor people, they also have to endorse products they know nothing about OR they get sent stuff so THEN they have to endorse the product even if they don't like them. And so, it is with a heavy heart, I feel the need to endorse my sponsors' merchandise. Ready? Here I go. (Cue chirping crickets) And so we have established that I am a grassroots blogger. I have no sponsors. I can say anything I want without fearing retribution from sponsors. I'm blogging because my little world revolves around me. Cool, huh? So anything I decide to dis or endorse is my own opinion. A little background is in order first. I have wanted a mother's necklace that is my style. I contacted Tiffany at the Silver Cottage and told her the names of my children. The only directi...

Sunday is a day of rest. NOT! I decided to share some really (cough) fun games we play on Sunday. These games start with all six members of my family filing into the chapel for church and sitting down. Every person has enough space. Our hair is combed and shirts are tucked in. We start out smiling. Musical Chairs: Before the opening hymn, we have our places. Somewhere during the meeting, my four year old son hijacks my seat at least twice. There are two moves. The 11 year old girl gets her feelings hurt by the teenager so we switch places. Someone starts fighting. Another move. Every so often someone needs to be taken out and sit to "think about what you have done." I honestly don't remember being in the same seat I started with at church. Ever. Undress Mom: Oh, yes, this is a real game. 4 year old boys are fascinated with buttons. If I am not paying very close attention, my shirt can be open to my belly button in no time at all. All of the children like m...

When I was 10, I worked for and earned my first little pink diary with a lock. It was easily picked. Regardless, I poured in my little heart and soul and hid it every day. My brother found it, read it, and teased me about it. I still have it and hide it to protect that little 10 year old girl. When I was 12, I decided to start up again. I took lined paper and stapled them together. It was puberty which meant a very tumultuous time. I wrote in it religiously and hid it between the mattress and box springs of my bed. I would have died if anybody read what I wrote. I actually don't remember much besides "I love Robert Johnson and he likes me, too," but I would still protect that adolescent if I could find the paper. I graduated to a formal journal when my mother gave me one for Christmas at the age of 14. This was older adolescence but still quite personal. I continued keeping an accurate record (according to my perceptions) for the next 12 years. It is a record of my journe...

I overindulged and I paid for it. The kids really wanted to see Harry Potter and frankly, I did too. I decided to take them to a matinee showing which is slightly less expensive than selling my left kidney. Of course, you aren’t supposed to bring in outside food and drinks so smuggling was out of the question. Okay, it wasn’t out of the question but what kind of mother am I to teach my children that rules only apply if they save us money? And so I quickly gathered an arsenal of Capri Suns, bottled water, a Diet Coke (me), various crackers, and M&Ms in individual baggies and stuffed them into my purse. I herded my herd from the house to the van, from the van to the theater and into seats. My 9 year old son (brilliant boy) had the great idea to go the bathroom before the movie started. The boys and I went. When we came out we passed the concession stand. Actually, they passed the concession stand. I was lured by the smell of buttery popcorn and justified getting the bucket of...

Background: I go to WalMart as infrequently as I possibly can. I don't like WalMart. It's not because of the tempting "Puppies For Sale" sign perpetually held in the far North end of the parking lot. Nor is it the parade of women over the age of 60 in short shorts and belly shirts. I can even tolerate the unattended children riding bikes around the store and running a tire up my leg. The toothless man with the large tattoo covering his entire upper torso in a wife beater shirt who likes to come on to me is at least flattering. He gives me options if my husband ever walks out on me. No, the real problem at my closest WalMart is the checkers who take F.O.R.E.V.E.R. to scan my purchases. On Saturday I got in "Jeff's" lane. He was animately friendly. However, this significantly slowed his job performance. By the time I got to the front of the line, I discovered why he was so slow. You see, he mistook me for someone who wanted to bond and form a close, perso...

I have a love/hate relationship with waterskiing. I love to waterski. I love the feeling of gliding over water, watching the spray from my ski, calculating the wake, my speed, and the boat speed. I love the feeling that I'm flying. In fact, it is not uncommon for me to be singing the theme song from "The Greatest American Hero" by Billy Joel. Just the chorus. The rest of it doesn't make sense. I hate getting into the water. I hate the complete and utter shock to my system. I make terrible sounds when that cold water hits my back. Most incomprehensible. Other words are far too easy to decipher and they are not pretty. Bear Lake is beautiful lake that straddles the Utah/Idaho border. It sits at nearly 6,000 feet above sea level. The color is beautiful and inviting. In the early morning and near evening, the lake can be incredibly flat and glassy; ideal for a potential waterskier. Except that, as I pointed out earlier, it is a mountain lake. It's cold. To tone down m...

This year at our family reunion, my sister introduced us to a novel dice game involving luck, chance, a complicated scoring system, and a lot of adding. I might add that the participants aren't quiet. We celebrate with a loud and exuberant, "Oh!" when it goes well, and a melancholy "oh" when all the points are lost. This tends to catch the attention of strangers who want to know what we are doing. We sat at the beach under a canopy in our beach chairs around a camp table throwing dice and making our exclamations. A lady who introduced herself as Amy entered the periphery to find out the rules and started taking notes. Instead, she was invited to join in. During the game, it was discovered by my fashion conscious sister that they were wearing the same swimming suit. Amy complained that the strap cut across her shoulder in the most annoying way. My sister commented it hasn't been a problem for her then stated the obvious, "But I don't have a chest to ...

Bear Lake Day 5: Find out 11 year old lost her toothbrush. It's been missing for 4 days. Buy new toothbrush. Bear Lake Day 6: 9 year old boy admits he forgot to pack his toothbrush. Forget to buy new toothbrush. Home after 7 days: 9 year old boy pulls out a pile of clean underwear from suitcase. He only used one pair. Where was their mother?!

Don't mess with a 14 year old alpha female. The culprit is 9 year old boy. I'm going to find the brain. I need the 2 cent reward.

Being on vacation where we have access to a pool, I've noticed two basic types of moms that are my age; Baywatch and I've-given-up. The Baywatch mom hasn't accepted she's in her 40s. On the other hand, she doesn't have to. She's had surgery. She wears her bikini with pride, her glossy skin (suntan oil) brown, and her augmented chest screaming, "I'm not real!" This mom is usually wearing designer sunglasses and cute sandals embellished with beads, flowers, or semi-precious stones. Her hair is highlighted/colored to an unusually unnatural color and she may or may not have had a tummy tuck. If she has not had a tummy tuck, it's like a train wreck. You just can't look away. This mom never gets into the pool. She sits at the side in the chaise lounge she put her towel on this morning as soon as it opened to claim her spot. Her eyes closed, she is a vision of paradise as her children scream, "Mom! Look at me! Look at me!" No...

I like traditions. I find them to be foundational for any family. They also make for great memories for children. One tradition my children seem to be subconsciously insistent upon, however, is the need for medical attention every time we go on vacation to Bear Lake. We've had stitches, broken bones, strep, throwing up, and multiple other ailments. I am growing weary of this tradition. Today we woke up with two of our children needing medical attention. One child needed medication that couldn't be obtained in the great metropolitan area of Garden City so we needed to drive to the much larger city of Montpelier, Idaho (population 2,785) which boasts two grocery stores and a small hospital. Strange as it sounds, I quite enjoyed the drive. I noticed it was hay baling season which is really quite beautiful to see - some fields just cut, others baled in circular bales, yet others in large or small rectangles. The old barns are nostalgic to be sure. It reminds one of simpler ...

I decided to take the kids to the Oquirrh Mountain Temple open house where we could have some special family bonding time. Mormon temple ordinances focus on family and blessings of being together forever. In theory, it seemed like a good idea. I thought this would make a nice picture, portraying how everybody loves each other and obediently follows Mom's directives. I may have overestimated "family unity." So we tried again. Not any more success. The trick is for the one who doesn't want to cooperate to find a place he wants to be and the others to join him. Quick.

I lied to my son today. To perpetuate the lie, I encouraged the older children to build on the lie. I'm very conflicted as to what kind of parent I am. Is Santa Claus real? Yes. An acceptable answer. Where do babies come from? Costco, until you are older. Another acceptable answer. My lie was the lie that makes up a bad horror movie and gives children nightmares. But somehow I feel justified. Thou shalt not bear false witness - unless your child is in peril, right? Yesterday was my dad's 74th birthday. We marked it by having a small party including all the family members. Lost in the crowd were two little boys; my own 4 year old and my sister's nearly 3 year old. My parents property abuts to an empty field which backs up to a canal. Although it is fenced, there are ways for little boys to get to the canal. Just as the two boys were to exit the grandparents' property, they were stopped by an uncle and asked where they were going. "To the canal." ...

It must be said. How your children keep up their personal hygiene when they are not at home is a direct reflection on your parenting skills. Let's take a hypothetical situation. Say your 11 year old daughter comes home from a 5 day summer camp looking like Little Orphan Annie and smelling like a cross between the great outdoors, girl in sunshine, and a latrine. Upon further investigation (interrogation) you discover that she never brushed her hair or showered and only brushed her teeth once. Mortification might be used in this instance. You might also ascertain that all the staff at the summer camp knows that your daughter had poor hygiene and are judging you right now. Because they are. You clearly don't have good hygiene yourself to not be teaching your own child to simply stay clean and somewhat tidy. Now let's hypothesize further. Let's pretend that your sister comes from out of state and she and another sister start sharing scout stories. One of your neph...

Two nights ago, my 4 year old son sleepily turned to me and said, "Mom, when I grow up, I'm going to marry my cute little blanket." Last night we couldn't find his cute little blanket so he used another one. After that pathetic attempt at sleeping, I'm thinking marrying a blanket is not such a bad idea.

It was time to clean the family minivan. My hands were sticking to everything I touched, including the steering wheel. So I made up a new rule today. When I clean the van, I get to keep what I find. This has been true for laundry for a few years. However, I rarely find anything I really want and I (nearly) always return money and ruined Chapstick. Here's the breakdown of the exciting prizes I won today: 6 pencils 4 pens 2 used straws a block five shoes (none of them matched) multiple hair accessories 2 used suckers (which I had to pry from the seat and carpet) a candy bar (I thought about eating that one) weeds that were being saved as a "flower" collection my ever elusive scout folder multiple Happy Meal toys 64 cents And the grand prize. . . Wait for it. . . My very own rub-on "tramp stamp!" *Applications are being taken now for the next scheduled van cleaning in 2010.

Dear friends, neighbors, enemies, and people I don't know: Understand that it all started out very innocently. I planned my garden carefully. Everything had a place and plenty of room. Within my planning, I included three spaghetti squash plants, two yellow squash and two zucchini. Out of the 7 plants, two came up and they weren't my beloved spaghetti squash. This year we have added two grow boxes to the south side of the house. One of which we brought in a garden mix of soil and I planted neat little rows of seeds. The other was left untouched. All I saw was dirt. So I started pushing squash seeds into it. I don't even know what kind they are. When they came up, I transplanted them so they would have room to grow. I also noticed I had two squash plants (pumpkins, perhaps?) growing in the main garden that I hadn't planted. Apparently, I had also dropped a seed in the dirt outside the grow boxes and it's coming up as a squash plant, too. Last count, I hav...