Sleeping Like a Baby

The way they sleep is a good indication of the differences in their personalities. Peter tends to be all over the place while Cooper likes to kick back and watch what's going on around him. Unless Peter is playing with him, then he's crazy too. Boys are fun. Really.

The Speaker of the House

In our last ward almost every talk in Sacrament Meeting began "I got a call from Brother So-and-so this week and I almost didn't answer because I knew he would ask me to speak in church. And he did! So the moral is, avoid his calls." Cue laughter.

One more piece of evidence that I skip to my own beat (or am the mother of my head, as my sister said once when she was two), I like to speak in church. Please understand, I get nervous just like everyone else, and I'm relieved when it's over, but I also enjoy the challenge.

Today I was checking to see if my sister (who is still the mother of her head, by the way) had sent her weekly missionary email yet. I noticed a message from the wife of one of the members of our Bishopric. Upon opening, I found that it was actually from her husband, apologizing for asking through email, and wondering if I would fill in for a speaker that had had to cancel. My first thought was, "Sure, I can do that." Then I saw the topic they want me to speak on: Being a mother in Zion. At which point I laughed out loud.

You see, Monday was hard. Very hard. Lots of freaking out from all parties at my house. We could blame the time change, or general lack of sleep, but whatever the reason, it was not a good day. Tuesday and Wednesday were both great. On Monday night Bryan very calmly reminded me about some things we've been doing to exercise our patience and teach Peter to listen and pay attention. I've been employing these and life has been much happier. But Monday is still hanging over my head.

With that, I ask you kind readers, if you have any good resources about being a mother in Zion. I have some thoughts and I'll be spending quiet time today and tomorrow on lds.org searching for material, but I could really use some additional insight.

Thoughts?

Fine Dining

A few days ago I got a call from someone in the ward asking if I would take dinner to a family with a new baby. Sure, no problem, I like to cook. I figured I would just make two of whatever we were having that night.

I woke up yesterday morning thinking about how I would plan my day to ensure that I got the food done and delivered at the appointed time. We had chicken enchiladas on the menu and they seem to be an easily transported meal. In the morning I cooked rice, Peter and I grated cheese (well, I grated, he ate), I cooked the tortillas (because we use these), I thought that we were well on our way to everything coming together on time.

The best-laid plans and all that. It wasn't until their pan of enchiladas was in the oven that I looked over and saw half a can of cream of chicken soup sitting on the counter, the same soup that should have been in the sauce that I had just poured over the full tortillas. I had left out the main ingredient. Frustrated, I realized I had totally messed up their dinner.

This is like the fourth time this has happened. Last year I took dinner to a new mom in the ward. I tried to make zucchini bread, but didn't have any eggs. I never have eggs these days, so I used a substitute. However, I also used honey instead of sugar because it was a double batch (half for us, half for them) and the loaf refused to hold together. Then there was the Spanish rice fiasco, which I won't go into. When I cook for us the food is fine, but when I have to take it to someone else, something goes terribly wrong. Okay, not terribly, but it's not great.

I ended up giving them the second pan that I had been making for us. Honestly, the flubbed batch wasn't bad, we could have given it to them. It would have saved me the stress of making a fast bunch of cookies to take as an apology, which they didn't need because the second pan came out in time to deliver.

Maybe next time I'll take them cheese sandwiches and oranges. I don't think I could mess that up.

A Different Perspective

Cooper pulled himself up to stand for the first time on Sunday morning before church. I think he, and Peter, have started to see a whole new world of possibilities...

I Won't and You Can't Make Me

I've decided to join the neighborhood book club. If you examine the requirements it seems like a solid fit:

• I love to read
• I love to talk
• I love to talk about what I read

The first month that I knew about the book club they read Freakonomics, which Bryan and I both thought was cool. However, I found out about it just before they met. The second month they read The Virginian, which I didn't ever get from the library and therefore didn't read, but I was going to go anyway, just to check it out. Unfortunately Bryan had to work late that night so I was absent. This month they're reading Three Cups of Tea. It sounds really interesting, and last Monday I borrowed a copy from someone in the ward. I'm looking at it right now.

So why haven't I read it yet?

Actually, I did read the introduction and part of the first chapter. So far it's engaging, but not engaging enough for me to read it consistently.

Here's my theory: Due to the fact that I'm reading this for the book club, I have a deadline and someone to answer to. Some people need this. It's one reason Weight Watchers and Jenny Craig are so successful; many people benefit from having to report their progress. I do not. Well, I may benefit from it, but I don't like it.

Perhaps reading this book, as entertaining and enlightening as it may be, is too much like homework. Do I still have homework burn-out? It's been almost five years since I graduated from college, shouldn't I be over all of that by now?

Well (sigh) I should go read now. Just in case there's a pop quiz...

His Father's Son

I think he's Googling how not to drop his fork...

Loser

Have you ever read a book that made you smile and broke your heart a little at the same time? I just finished reading Jerry Spinelli's Loser. Has anyone else read it? I almost stopped a few times because it was so hard to watch the main character, a little boy named Zinkoff, be totally oblivious to the fact that he was being mocked. And then there were golden moments that made me think and feel. I won't give anything else away about it, just in case you haven't read it.

I will say that it made me think a lot about how I am as a parent. If you're reading this then you're probably well aware that I'm kind of quirky. I know that I'm passing on at least some of that off-beat gusto to my boys. Most of the time I think that's a good thing. Like yesterday, Peter "helped" me mop the kitchen and dining room floors (it had been a while since that chore was done, so it was novel for him). I would take a turn mopping a section of the floor, then he would have a chance to go over the same section of floor. When the job was done I said "Thank you so much for helping me mop the floor Peter. I really appreciate it." His reply: "You're so very welcome." That's kind of a funny thing to hear a three-year-old boy say. I beamed a bit, but later (while reading this book) I wondered if that was the kind of thing that was going to draw ridicule later on.

I want him to learn to be himself, but I also don't want him to be a victim. Are these things mutually exclusive? He's still so young and full of energy and excitement. He jumps up and down and laughs with delight when he's amused. I love that. I don't want him to decide he's too cool to be jubilant. But I also cringe at the thought of some middle-school student laughing and pointing at a twelve-year-old Peter who still jumps and laughs when he's happy.

Now I'm just thinking out loud. No, not out loud. In blog? Through keys? Whatever.

You should read this book.

Double Standards

When you have a little baby you ooh and aah over everything they do. They burp, you clap, they smear food all over their face and clothing, you laugh, they suck their thumb, you tell them how cute they are.

Fast forward two years.

Your three-year burps, you remind him to excuse himself. He smears food all over himself, you scold him for making a mess and try to clean him up. He sucks his thumb, you relentlessly get on his case to get his hand out of his mouth.

Poor Peter. He sees us delight over all the little things that Cooper does, so he tries to do them too. Cute on an almost one-year-old is not the same as cute on a three-year-old. We've been trying to explain to him that just because Cooper does something, that doesn't mean that he should do it too.

Huh, maybe this is why he has refused to use the bathroom lately. Does that mean that Peter won't potty-train until Cooper does? That would not be awesome...

Buckle Up

Driving on the freeway heading home from Bryan's grandparent's house one evening last year I looked out my window and saw something that made me angry. Very angry. In the back seat of a car a fellow was holding a baby. No car seat, just his arms. I wanted to roll down my window and yell at him for placing his child (I assumed he was the father) in such incredible danger.

A few days ago I read about this car accident.

Yesterday Bryan sent me an article about a woman who was cited for nursing her baby while she drove. The mom was taking her other kids to school and it was time to feed the baby, so she did.

Honestly, how can someone think that is okay? I'm a big supporter of breastfeeding, don't get me wrong, but I in no way support acts of stupidity that endanger the lives of others. Car seats are wonderful and have a purpose. If you had a chance to keep your children safe, wouldn't you take it?

If your child is screaming and crying and you feel like you need to get them out of their car seat, pull into a parking lot and stop the car. Please.

Please Leave a Message and Someone Will Ignore You

I'm terrible at responding to messages. Emails, Facebook wall posts, phone calls, I have a hard time returning all of them. And the silly thing is that when I don't get that many messages I start to feel kind of sad because no one wants to talk to me. In reality they probably have left me a note and I just haven't written back yet.

I've been trying to figure out why I have such a hard time with this. Part of it is that I hate making phone calls. It scares me. I'm kind of awkward on the phone (More so than I am in person, although hopefully that awkwardness translates into funny individual who follows the beat of her own drummer. Or tuba player.) and I get anxious about what I'm going to say and who I have to talk to. I wish that everyone that answered phones would identify them self so that I don't have to make small talk trying to figure out if it's the person that I want to talk to or not. I'll often just ask straight out, even if I'm mostly sure it's the right person. Because I've been wrong before. (Once I thought I was talking to one of my eight-year-old Activity Days girls, but it was really her mom. Oops.)

My email and Facebook excuses are much lamer. See, I have this need to sound witty and clever (have you seen the title of this blog?) and often my brain is so tired from a long day of mommying that it's all I can do to slap together a blog post for the next day. (I write these at night and set them to post the next morning, just so you know.) By the time I finally check my email I'm barely able to form sentences, and not funny or interesting sentences either. And so I tell myself that I'll respond the next day. Repeat long day of saying things like "No Peter, don't throw your train tracks." and "People are not step-stools!" and I put off responding for another day. I get to the point where I can't remember if I wrote back or not because I was drafting a response in my head, but I'm not sure if it actually made it from my brain, out my fingertips, and into an email.

And how long is too long to send a reply? If something has sat in my inbox for six months should I just count it as a loss? Or should I still respond and hope that they forgive my extreme and lasting case of "mommy-brain"?

Please don't stop sending me messages, just know that it might take a little while to get a response.