Category: Motherhood

To my sister Susan; or, Little Men

This boy is not wearing shoes so the dirt can settle in the little creases of his toes and under his toenails. He may not have combed his hair since Sunday. His pants are clean, though, and he is so proud to sport the armor created by his big brother.

My thoughts are on my sister Susan who gave birth to her first son last week. I’ve been taking a good look at my sons, reflecting on my time with them. I’ve thought about their little baby bodies that have grown up; I’ve thought about their current activities, the scouting and the school and music lessons and sports; I’ve thought about their future, going on missions and someday being responsible for families of their own.

My life is so entertaining with sons in the house. Ours is a house of boys, of collections, machines, and castles. Books about battles and building magazines cover the family room ottoman; countertops are spattered with dirty water spots from hasty washings of hands.

Paige’s room and my bathroom drawer full of cosmetics and sweet smelling lotions are no match for the piles of tennis shoes, baseball mitts, rackets, and many, many socks. Oh, the socks! I’ve never met a mother who could talk objectively about her sons’ socks… the number, level of soil, and sorting solutions seem to make the most capable woman’s lower lip begin to quiver.

So we’ll just stop talking about that.

And let’s move on to a few of the reasons I love raising sons. It’s terribly rewarding. Girls are expected to be good, but when your sons show good behavior, people will compose an aria about your son’s helpfulness and perform it for you in the church hallway. Boys are good at carrying firewood for Cub Scout activities. They kill the bugs that get into the house and dispose of them, no charge. They decide that once they have their Sunday suits on and there are ten minutes left before we leave for church that it’s a good time to shoot the bb gun in the backyard. Instead of saying no, I decided to love that original thought. I love, love, love, homemade presents from boys such as a twig with my initial carved into it; a love note, carefully hidden inside a book at my bedside; a bracelet with every color of bead so it will match everything.

I watched a mother run around the playground with her son today. This little mother had force fields; she ran, she fell when wounded, she deflected lasers. She had obviously studied her son and had the lingo D-O-W-N. I have never been that kind of mother. I do a lot more observing than playing. Somehow it’s not in my personality to have fun. But this makes me a good observer, and I watch those boys carefully, looking for attitudes and behaviors that are good or not so good. And then I compose sneaky plans for how to improve those behaviors and attitudes.

In all my thinking and observing and (sneaky) planning, I’m hoping to prepare my sons to be the men who will stay after the church activity to clean up chairs and sweep the floor; to be the ones who notice when someone needs help and know how to help them; to be the ones with the spiritual skills to teach the gospel; to be the ones who are trustworthy and can take a task and complete it without supervision or hassling; to be the ones who take a righteous stand; to be the ones who love the Lord and love their families enough to leave them to complete their home teaching and church assignments and come home ready to wrestle with their own sons.

It’s a big list, I know, but I’m serious about trying to raise good sons.

Hooray for Susan and her Richard, whom my mother calls, “Richard II,”  and the girls. I’m so excited for you to have a son and a little brother!

Oh, this house

This week I found:

A dead lizard on a patio table… a highly prized gift (presented in its dead state) from a neighbor, worthy of its prominent placement for repose. On detection, there were many accompanying promises that the children will bury said lizard.

A homemade bird feeder down on the ground.

Evidence of a sick dog on the carpet, the dog having gorged himself on the birdseed from the above mentioned feeder.

An entire box of Kleenex emptied, used as paper towels, and left on the floor of the guest bathroom because “Mom forgot to hang up a fresh towel.”

Many love notes from Mark, decorated with hearts and trees. The attending lollipops, soon desired by the giver, magically evolved from being Mom’s gift from Mark to Mom’s gift to Mark. Genius!

I have determined that:

  1. I need to be more engaged in running this house today.
  2. At least the kitchen table looks lovely in the morning sun.
  3. Never mind on running the house. I’m going to read a book.
  4. I love my life, dead lizards, dog messes, and all.
  5. We need more lollipops.

Sweetie

Richard has been going through pictures this week and he asked that I cull oh, about most of them. This one survived the cut because it shows Timothy really enjoying his time on the bumper cars with Daniel and his cousin Ray.

Timothy will jam his tongue into his cheek to suppress a smile if he thinks he is the only one smiling. He’s a soft-spoken sweetheart of a boy. He is very funny when he feels comfortable. I am glad that he has so many cousins whom he calls friends.

Look out, Timothy. I’m coming to hug and kiss you for no reason.

Shocking

This photo has absolutely nothing to do with this post.

I took Timothy and Mark grocery shopping yesterday and every time we touched a shelf or one another we got a big electric shock. At first it was fun and Mark tried to shock Timothy when I wasn’t looking. Then he realized it kind of hurt.

The shocks continued throughout the store and we felt helpless. Poor Timothy still hasn’t learned to walk outside of my blind spot. Over and over I thought I had lost him and turned around  ready to shout his name when *pzzzzt!* my arm would hit and shock him in the face.

As I reached for cereal I accidentally brushed against Mark’s forehead and I’m sure the resulting shock short-circuited his memory. He looked at me in disbelief and burst into tears. That was one swell shopping trip.

Timothy has a fever now.

Our ballerina is sick and she is supposed to dance in the Nutcracker this weekend. This worries me a great deal.

It’s rough being a mom sometimes.

To Do Today

Today I need to sew ribbons and elastic on these new pointe shoes. It’s a surprisingly difficult task. Shoes don’t fit well in a sewing machine and I usually sew the elastics 3 times because the shoes have to fit just right.

I love new ballet shoes. Aren’t they beautiful?

Paige’s costume for the Chinese dance just arrived and there is some altering for that, too.

Paige’s debut in the Nutcracker ballet is on December 11.

Little memories

Mark looks like me.

I teach the Sunbeams (ages 3-4) at church and I love them. I have been thinking about my memories of my Sunbeam year. I have observed that young children can be very perceptive of social concepts. Childhood is not always carefree.

For instance, I remember my mother taking me to preschool. I have always been frightened of everything, especially change. I remember laughing hysterically as I climbed a small playscape as my mother walked out of the room so it would seem like I didn’t notice that she was leaving. That was hard to do.

During that same preschool experience, I observed that the teacher’s helpers always held the social, pretty girls on their laps during singing time. I was not one of these girls. One day, there was a helper who held me on her lap and gave me a small, opened package of lifesavers when she had to leave. I followed her on the other side of the fence as she walked away on the sidewalk, wishing she wouldn’t leave me. I felt so much gratitude and love for that teenage girl!

I remember sitting in my Sunbeam class and the teacher held a picture of Jesus Christ and asked the class who it was. I said it was Heavenly Father. I felt so embarrassed because that wasn’t the right answer.

This year as I have taught Sunbeams, I have tried to remember that children are so very precious and although they can’t always verbalize why they are acting upset, their feelings are real and deep. I have loved their drawings, their hugs and even kisses on the cheek when they come to Primary. I watch them enter Primary and they are hoping to be noticed.

I once heard it said that a child needs to see your face light up when you see them. I think it’s true for the very young, especially as they make the big steps into Primary and school.

Going with them

“Of all the help we can give these young people, the greatest will be to let them feel our confidence that they are on the path home to God and that they can make it. And we do that by going with them.”

-President Henry B. Eyring, First Counselor in the First Presidency

I was studying this morning and found this quote really sang true in my heart. I am finding that the more I involve myself in what my children are doing, the more I am able to encourage them. It’s not about making their choices for them or doing their work for them. It’s about working alongside them. How do I do this?

I read the books they are studying.

I read to them.

I go on Cub Scout hikes and service projects.

I know which Personal Progress goal Paige is working on and I’m working on the same goal.

We make dinner together.

Sometimes the introspective loner in me takes over and I don’t feel like engaging in conversation, even though I am interested. It takes effort for me to dig deeply into my children’s thoughts by asking questions, but I see its value and I’m working to be better.

I learned when they were very young that you don’t ask children to clean a really messy room by themselves. You work alongside them and guide them. They don’t feel abandoned and overwhelmed and we each grow in love and appreciation for one another.

If you want children to do a job well, you have to teach it over and over and model it. You have to have expectations, but be forgiving and gentle as you correct them.

I try not to teach distractedly and I’m really winnowing down my computer use. It’s mostly a superfluous escape. But I’ll keep writing so my family far away knows that I am thinking of them and wanting them to be a part of our lives.

Thinking

I’m sitting in the house during a monsoon tHunDer StOrm. I’ve got the laptop unplugged because if lighting hit, I’d be seriously bothered. I run my life with a computer. It happened gradually and I still have my “I hate this machine” moments, but this computer is my friend.

I am glad my computer can remember addresses and phone numbers, help me communicate with 70 home school families in the area with one e-mail, and streamline my filing of school papers, notes, and artwork.

But I can live without it. While on vacation I went 2 1/2 weeks without it except to look up an address.

I could be a spokesman for digital scrapbooking. This computer has allowed me to keep a scrapbook that I can be proud of, despite time constraints.

Today I spent time catching up with people for my church assignment and “my community work.” The interaction was invigorating, in contrast to earlier this summer when it had become a great burden. I think that because I lack an off-site office, I don’t always see a line between my home and my work and my work easily trespasses into my home life. It’s good for me to set time limits on my community and church work and make appointments with myself to read that next chapter or escape to write a blog post.

Aren’t these red berries beautiful? My 7-year old took this picture.

Now I’m off to make dinner. End of blog appointment.

June is Scrapbook month

June has been all about organization. From school papers, art projects and closets, everything has had a thorough going-over. I’ve also been putting together the scrapbooks for 2009 and 2010. I let myself get about 18 months behind in our scrapbooks, so I’ve had a lot to do.

I was a hesitant scrapbook keeper at first because I don’t like being typical. Over the past 15 years, I have come to appreciate this growing record of our lives. When we moved away from Texas we had to live in corporate housing for a while (i.e. tiny apartment with not enough beds). Besides my clothing, all I wanted was my scrapbooks, so they followed us there.  I sat in our little apartment and poured over their pages. I needed to remember who I was in the shuffle, I guess.

Now that I have a blog I don’t want to copy what I am already doing online. However, I think that a blog has a different purpose than a scrapbook or a journal. I’m still trying to identify the purpose and future of this blog, but I think the scrapbooks are here to stay. Here is a sample of some of the pages I’ve done this month. This little book feature doesn’t show the bottom inch of my pages, but all well.

[book id='8' /]