Your face gives you away, my son

Dallin ran into the house the other day and, holding out a colored plastic Easter egg in his hand, said, "Here, Mom.  This is for you.  It has something special inside."

I would have completely fallen for this--the kids have been bringing me flowers from outside a lot lately--except for the look on Dal's face.  He was way too eager to see me open my special egg and his eyes were lit up with excitement.  I considered, for a moment, entertaining him until I realized his expression also included hints of something I've seen before when he has tried to freak me out with a spider or bug.

"Uh, no thanks, Dub," I replied and shuddered as I imagined opening the egg and a spider running up my arm.  And then I shuddered as I imagined the day I'll no longer be able to read his face like a book and he'll be able to scare the years off me with his "surprises."  Heaven help me then!

A bit of advice

Advice:  When your son's baseball coach says every player must have an athletic cup, it's a good idea to send your husband to purchase one.

Advice:  If you run out of time to send your husband to purchase the aforementioned male accessory, don't shop for one at a small, local sporting goods store where all the workers are, 1) male, 2) friendly and helpful, 3) waiting to ask if you need help finding anything.

Advice:  If you only have time to visit the closest store where the workers are male, helpful, and friendly, try to sneak through the store by blending into the equipment and avoiding eye contact so said male workers will not talk to you.

Advice:  Don't bring your 4-year-old daughter with you.

Advice:  When you find what you're looking for, don't look confused, even though you are, because it might alert the male workers to ask if you need help.

Advice:  Don't take too long trying to figure out what size to buy or else your 4-year-old daughter might grab a cup from the shelf and ambush you with questions like, "What are these for, Mom?  Are they for your ears?"  

Advice:  If your daughter holds up the cup to her ear and asks the above questions, be certain to give her a good answer or a few seconds later she'll ask again, "Oh, they're for your knees!  Are they for your knees, Mom?"

Advice:  Remind yourself you should have had your husband do this.

Advice:  Select the correct size athletic cup and breathe a sigh of relief that you're almost done.  Turn to face the checkout process.

Advice:  Wait.  What's that on the shelf next to the cups?  Straps?  Do I need one of those?  Yes, don't forget the straps.

Advice:  Walk with feigned confidence to the checkout counter where the male, helpful, friendly worker is waiting for you and your purchase.  Would you like that in a bag, ma'am?

Advice:  Act nonchalant.

Advice:  Walk out with new-found confidence and breathe a sigh of relief knowing you just survived a ridiculous experience.

Advice:  Remind yourself to have your husband do it next time.

Letters

Dear Cinnamon Rolls--

I didn't realize the blessing you'd be when I made you on Sunday, but now I understand the power of your persuasion.  This morning, the first day of school following Spring Break, was the easiest, most non-confrontational return to routine I've experienced in a long time.  My five children were up and about before I  exited the shower this morning and they were happy as clams to have had a yummy, sugar-laden breakfast.  I'll have to tuck this experience into my file for future use.  Thank you!

Sincerely,
A Mom Who Sent Her Kids Out With a Smile


Dear 5 Pounds--

We just go 'round and 'round, don't we?  Some days I force you to leave by eating chicken and salad, water and eggs.  Other days I invite you back with indulences of chocolate ice cream and oreos, pasta and pizza.   One of these days I'll leave you behind for good, never to look back.  And then, you'll have to take your friends 10 and 15 with you.  But, until I find the motivation to throw you out for good, thanks for not inviting more pounds to join you.  I appreciate that you stay at 5 pounds and no more, at least for now.

Sincerely,
The Yo-Yo Host


Dear Baseball Coach--

I appreciate your zeal for teaching my son baseball skills.  Unfortunately, I do not share your enthusiasm.  I'm all about being a supportive parent, but standing on a baseball field in 40 degree rainy weather during the dinner hour does not appeal to me.  Can we please try to make sure practice ends when it's supposed to?  I think an hour and a half three days a week is plenty of practice for a 9 year old.  Must we really stretch it until the daylight fades?

Sincerely,
The shivering, cold, hungry mother with four other children to attend to


Dear Rain--

I'm ready for you to leave now.  It's time to plant a garden, mow the lawn consistently, wash the car, let the kids play outside.  All of these things I enjoy doing without your accompaniment.  So, please consider taking a break from our little corner of the universe.  You are much appreciated for the green vegetation you provide, but your darkness and dampness begins to overwhelm my spirit this time of year.  Tell your friend, Sunshine, he's welcome any time now.

With love,
Your vitamin D deficient friend


Dear Sunshine--

Hey!  My letter to Rain must have worked!  You've been our guest for three days straight now, and I'm reveling in your glory.  I forgot how nice you feel as you warm the earth, and my house, and my heart.  Won't you stick around awhile?

Lovingly,
The girl with the pasty white skin

A Letter to My Boy

Dear Grant,

I love you.  You are my beautiful boy who brings me such joy.  Today was a special day where you chose to follow the example of Christ and be baptized.  What a sweet ceremony filled with feelings of love, warmth, and happiness.

I hope you remember this day and treasure it always as I will.  I'm grateful for the things you teach me every day.  I'm grateful for your personality.  I'm grateful to be your mother.

Love always,
Mom

Self-medication

Today's world provides a plethora of options to use to separate and soothe ourselves emotionally from the demanding, and often taxing, world around us--some healthy, some not so healthy.  In the world of a mother, who stays at home with her five children, the need occasionally often arises to separate herself from the chaos and demands of motherhood.  Some mothers might choose to read a book, others may watch a movie, some might exercise, other may go shopping.  For me, that emotional separation and ensuing reparation comes from music--specifically playing the piano.

When I was a child learning to play the piano, I remember practicing begrudgingly because my mother told me to do so.  Twenty minutes a day was my quota.  I didn't particularly like it, as most children don't like doing much of anything that isn't playful or "fun."  But somewhere along the line, in my early teenage years, I remember transitioning from having to play the piano to choosing to play the piano.  I would come home from school, immediately plop down on the piano bench, and hammer my emotions from the day onto the piano keys.  I remember the emotional connection being formulated as my internal feelings translated to the music and instrument I was playing.  From then on, playing the music changed from being just notes played on the keys to therapy.  It became an emotional release for me.  And when I stood up from the piano bench after playing a while, I could leave my earlier emotions at the piano and move forward.  I had found my self-medication.

Years of college, single life, newly married life, and raising babies went by and I found myself without a piano.  I forgot what it was like to emotionally discharge the way I had before.  Then, the stars aligned in such a way that my beautiful, childhood piano returned to me and I began to rediscover our relationship.

Once again, I find myself drawn to the piano when I'm feeling discouraged, upset, stressed out or any other emotion I'd like to escape at the time.  I pull out something familiar or start arranging an old song in a new way and let the music take me away for awhile.

I overheard my kids talking the other day as I was playing.  Kyle was trying to get my attention and Dallin said to him, "Don't bother her, Kyle.  She won't answer you anyway.  When Mom's playing the piano, it's her excuse not to answer you."  I smiled to myself.  It's true.  It's my excuse not to answer to anybody so I can take my mind to a place that's all my own and escape.

The best part about this "medication" is that it does more than simply mask my emotions like so many other emotional crutches society turns to today.  This medication actually repairs and renews my spirit, leaving me a better person than before.  I am so grateful to have it.  Grateful, indeed.

A Motherly Obsession

The pile of suitcases, pillows, coats, and travel toys near the front door imply the family is ready to leave for a vacation of fun and adventure.  But, not yet.

"Hurry up!  We're about to leave for vacation and the house isn't clean yet!"

They stop and stare as though I'm deranged.  Why, Mom?  I see them question my sanity at this moment.  They wonder at the significance of my demands.

No matter.  I know the significance.  I must push forward.  Some sort of insatiated desire inside forces me to press on.  It's my obsession.

As I hurry from room to room I'm overwhelmed with the chaos.  The aftermath of packing suitcases for five small children and two adults is staggering--stray socks, last night's pajamas, random pieces of discarded outfits that didn't make the cut scattered on the floor of each room, the morning's breakfast mess on the table and dining room floor, a sink full with dishes, messy beds in each room.  At every turn there is something to overwhelm my sense of organization and calm.

Mom, I'm hungry for lunch.  Great.  Another mess to be made and cleaned up.

Sigh.

I can't.

I just can't do it.

I can't leave a messy house behind.

It's an impossibility.

My brain won't turn off and the insatiated desire inside me for cleanliness and organization must be quenched.

I bark out more orders.  Go clean your rooms.  Get out the vacuum.  Start loading the car.


It's a frantic way to begin a vacation.  By the time we're driving away, I'm frazzled, tired, and certain I've forgotten something important.

But, it's in the return that I gain my reward.  After days of trekking, driving, hiking, exploring, traveling, or adventuring, to walk in the front door and return to a clean and organized home is utter, pure relief.


Aaaahhh.  This is what makes my motherly obsession worth it.

One day my kids will understand.

Smiles

Kyle brought these home from school the other day.  They made me smile.

Interpreted:  "My friend came to my house to play."