Question Nine

I meant to answer question nine last week, but I didn't. I can't remember why at the moment, but I suspect it had to do with exhaustion and a lack of mental alacrity. And so, I will answer question nine during week ten.

What were some of the family traditions that you remember?  Did your family have special ways of celebrating specific holidays?

The major tradition that stands out in my head is Christmas caroling. I have no idea how many times we actually went and stood on the doorsteps of our Primary teachers and Bishopric members, but the memory is so happy that I don't think it matters how frequent it was. We would bring treats of some kind, and we would sing in the car as we drove from house to house, making sure we all sang the same song at the same time. At least once we were invited in for sugary goodies. I've gotten my little family to go caroling a handful of times because I loved going as a child.

On Christmas morning, before any gifts could be opened, we would read the account of the Savior's birth in Luke 2. As kids we loved the presents, but the scriptures helped keep our focus on what was truly important.

Visiting my Grandma Bonnie for General Conference was another tradition. She had a satellite dish, one of those gigantic kinds that look like they're strong enough to communicate with alien life. She would point it toward Utah (or so I assumed as a child) and we would sit in her living room to watch instead of driving to the Stake Center. Someday I'll tell my children this story and they'll marvel that I was a child back in the dark ages before we could watch Conference on our computers and phones and wristwatches.

At the beginning of Thanksgiving dinner we would all say what we were thankful for. I took this for granted and thought that everyone did it. However, when I went to college and ate Thanksgiving with other families, I discovered that was not the case. I like focusing on gratitude. This is another tradition I've carried over into my family.

For the Fourth of July each year we would drag our kitchen chairs out to the edge of our backyard. From our perch near the fence we could see two, and sometimes three, fireworks shows. Once, as a teenager, I went to the beach with friends and watched the big fireworks show out over the Pacific. That was awesome, but I kind of missed sitting with my family while we sang patriotic songs in the dark of our backyard and gazed at the faraway flashes of light and color.

An unspoken tradition was going to church. I know, that doesn't seem like a tradition, does it? But we went every Sunday, barring illness and General Conference. I think attending church as a family is the most consistent thing we did, with family prayer coming in a close second. Now as an adult, the Sabbath is not complete without my church meetings.

Snuggle Buddy

Looking In the Right Places

During my scripture study today I was listening to the March Ensign. As I looked through the titles deciding which article to listen to, one caught my eye: Talking About Tough Topics. While the focus is on how to talk to teenagers about difficult subjects, many of the principles can apply to me and my goal of teaching my children to listen. It turns out maybe some of the problem lies with me.

I'll be working on implementing this guidance for the foreseeable future.

Nobody Knows

I wrote last Thursday's post for two reasons: the first is that I was very tired and staring at my computer screen willing myself to be creative when that question popped into my head; the second is that I truly want to know how to help my kids be better listeners. Now, I haven't had much luck getting answers to previous questions I've posted on here, but I figured I'd try anyway.

The next day I checked for comments. There weren't any, but I noticed something interesting. There were an unusually high number of page views on that post. Throughout the day, and then over the weekend, I watched those page view numbers rise while the comments stayed empty.

I formed some theories.

Then yesterday my friend commented and confirmed my suspicions. She had clicked on the post to see what other people had said. My guess is that some of you may have opened the post, hoping to learn what pearls of wisdom had been left by others. But alas, there was no wisdom to be found.

This is both comforting and unsettling. To me it means that other children are probably like my own, selective listeners. That's the comforting part. But it also means that no one (at least no one that reads this blog) has figured out how to help their kids hear them. I'm not sure who all of my readers are, but I do know that there are several loving, caring, intelligent parents among you. And if you don't know how to help them listen, how on earth am I going to figure it out?

Bryan came up with a plan on Saturday. He walked into the room where the kids were watching a movie with a small baggie of jelly beans in his hand. He said in a normal volume, "If you can hear me, say yes." Peter was the only one who responded, which meant he was the only one who was given a jelly bean. The other two were suddenly paying attention. Since my children will do almost anything for sugar, the experiment started out well. They hopped up to listen and obey for the promise of one of those colorful little treats.

It was around this point that I left to attend a luncheon given by someone in the ward. Something must have happened while I was gone because when I came back some of the children were in timeout and Bryan had eaten most of the jelly beans himself.

I can deal with the lack of listening while we're at home, and since it's been so cold we really haven't been venturing many places. I'm worried about when the weather warms up. The last time we went to the park, Cooper, who is arguably my best listener, just wandered off into the woods. I had to leave Phoebe in the care of Peter (which is terrifying) as Sophie and I went after Cooper, all the while praying that none of us would meet a bear. This is just an example of why the Let's Ignore Mom game fills me with dread.

My biggest concern is that if they can't listen to me, how are they going to learn how to listen to the Holy Ghost?

It's the Cheesiest

Friday is pizza night at our house. I've been making the sauce and crust from scratch this year. They are both delectable. Or so I thought.

Peter: Mom, can we please have frozen pizza tonight?

Me: Why?

Peter: Well, no offense Mom, but I like frozen pizza better than the homemade stuff you make.

When I pressed for his reasons he said that he didn't like when I put several kinds of cheese on, he only wanted mozzarella. I felt a little defeated, but carried on with my meal preparations anyway. When I saw the ingredients in the pot for the sauce I thought, "This is way better than frozen."

He also fessed up to preferring the mac and cheese from the box above the homemade kind I like to serve. Apparently mine is too cheesy.

When Peter is in charge of the meals, he is welcome to eat all the frozen pizza and boxed macaroni and cheese he can stand. But I'm the head chef at my house, and I'll take homemade over the other stuff any day.

Can You Hear Me Now?

I have a question that I really want an answer to. So my friends, help me out.

How do you teach your children to listen? I mean really hear what you're saying.

Okay, go.

The Big Bag

On Sunday Cooper was feeling particularly poetic. He wrote two poems and shared them with me. I feel a strong Dr. Suess/P.D. Eastman influence, what do you think?

The Big Bag

A Big Bag was in the shop

In the what?

In the shop, in the big shop.

The bag is gone.

Where did it go?

I do not know where it will go.

Will it go on a ship?

Will it go in a house?

Nobody knows where the Bag will go.

It will go to the moon.

I know where the Big Bag will go.

Yes I know where the Big Bag will go.

At the park

At the park doing something big.

Doing what?

Doing something Big, something very Big.

I am eating.

Eating something Big.

What am I eating?

Something very Big at the park!

Brrrrr!

I just got back from dropping the boys off at the bus stop. When they got out of the car, the temperature had warmed up to 4 degrees below zero.

That's cold, in case you were curious.

The Tale of the Messies

Friday is movie night at our house. The kids look forward to it all week. We usually eat something relatively tidy (pizza, chicken nuggets, quesadillas, etc.) and get to eat dinner and watch the movie at the same time. It's a big deal round these parts.

Last Friday as I prepared to get the boys from the bus stop, I looked at the state of the house. It wasn't great. We use a variation of the Eyre's family economy, which means that everyone has a zone (a room) that they are responsible to keep clean. For most of last week Phoebe decided that she didn't want to do her zone. She was too tired or too hungry or too busy. She even thought standing in timeout was better than doing her zone. Cooper took a similar stance on the playroom. Peter, who is in charge of the kitchen, thankfully did his zone everyday, but the rest of the house was looking... lived in.

I knew that I wanted the house clean before we watched the movie. I also knew that the boys would see the new collection of library books that the girls and I acquired that morning and want to read until movie time. Nothing would get cleaned.

So I brainstormed. And I prayed for inspiration. Then I brainstormed some more. I kept thinking during the drive to the bus stop, then again on the drive back home.

As the boys were dropping their backpacks on the floor of the living room and getting ready to delve into playing and reading, I got their attention. I said I wanted to tell them a story. I had only an inkling of what the story was when I began. Here's roughly how it went:

Once upon a time, there was a family, a mom and a dad, two brothers and two sisters. This family worked for another family called the Messies. The Messies spent all their time making messes and the other family spent all of their time trying to clean those messes up. It was a miserable existence. But this was their job and, because they lived at their work, they had nowhere else to go. 

One day an old woman knocked on the door. She said she was weary and just wanted a place to rest. Could she come in and sit for a spell? 

This family, being the sweet and kind people that they were, said yes. They welcomed the old woman in and made her comfortable. As they sat near her she leaned toward them and spoke in a hushed voice. 

"I have a secret to tell you. I am not just a tired, old woman. I am really a sorceress. I know about the family that keeps you here as their servants. I know that at this moment they are out, shopping for items that they will use to make more messes. But! I know a way to free you. I know a way to keep the Messies from coming back. If you follow my counsel, this house will be yours." 

Shocked, the family asked what they needed to do. The old woman continued. 

"The Messies love messes. They thrive off of them. They hate order and cleanliness. If you want this house to be yours, if you want to be free of the Messies, you must have the house clean in one hour time. The Messies will return at the conclusion of that hour. If the house is clean, they will not be able to enter and this house shall be yours." 

At this news, the family grew excited. They stood up, ready to get started. But their guest had one more piece of wisdom to share. 

"Teamwork is the key. Work together and you will succeed."

I stopped telling the story. When the old woman had spoken, I had hunched over and used a much older sounding voice. Now I switched back to my own voice. I could tell they were excited about the game that I had created for them, even though the action of the game involved cleaning our house. I told them what time it was and I started the one-hour countdown.

They jumped into action. I had decided that I would help as well, which motivated them even more. We had the very messy playroom (Cooper's zone) clean in six minutes. At that point we split up. Peter and Phoebe cleaned the kitchen and the bedrooms while Cooper and I cleaned the living room, sorted and started laundry, and tidied our shoe/backpack cubbies.

They worked well for a solid thirty minutes. For another fifteen they only got off task a little bit. Cooper and I finished up first and got ready for movie night. Listening to the sounds upstairs, I was almost certain that Peter and Phoebe would not make the deadline. To my surprise (and delight) they finished right on time.

I gave the kids one more piece of information during the last quarter of our game: if the Messies returned, we wouldn't be able to watch a movie because we'd all be too busy cleaning up after them. That may have been the motivation they needed to finish strong.

It was only after the story was over that I realized my tale was true. We are both the Messies and the family that slaves to clean up after them. When we succumb to our natural disorderliness, we create more work for ourselves and therefore limit our freedom to enjoy other, non-cleaning activities. But when we stay on top of the mess, the cleaning goes so much faster and everyone is happier.

Movie night was a success and, because the house was all clean, the next day was great as well.

After the game was over, Cooper asked what would happen if we let the house get messy again.

"Oh," I answered, "the Messies will be able to come back in and take over."

He didn't like the sound of that.

Question Eight

I'm following questions one and two with question eight on the personal history project. Yes, I realize I'm missing some numbers in there. Three through seven were about other people and I decided to answer those in a more private setting. Question eight is also about other people, but it's my memory and perspective of them, so I'm going to allow it!

What are the names of your brothers and sisters?  Describe one or more things that stand out in your mind about each of your siblings.

I am the oldest of the kids in my family. Next is my brother Ian. As a family, we are a funny bunch of people. Humor is a highly valued trait. Of my siblings and I, Ian is the funniest. He can spin tales that send you into peals of laughter. And it's not just how he constructs the stories, it's also how he delivers them. An eyebrow pop here, a head tilt there, he instinctively understands what will get the best reactions from those that are listening. 

After Ian is Jordan. I mentally have two version of Jordan that compete for space in my head. As a child Jordan was larger than life. He was tall and loud. Despite being the youngest for almost four years (or perhaps because of it) he was often the loudest person in the house, regardless of the situation. His laugh is still loud, but adult Jordan is not the same kind of loud that he was as a child. He has grown much more reserved and understated. His humor has become so dry you have to know him well to catch all of his jokes, and even then I'm sure there are some that I miss. He is the tallest of my siblings and his height still gives him a larger than life quality, but now instead of being boisterous, he carries an air of gravitas.

Paige, my only sister, was born after a long gap. According to my mom, Paige was more of an oldest child than a fourth. True to her name, Paige is an excellent example of service. When Peter was born she came and lived with us for five months and took care of him so I could go back to work. She did something similar for my brother. When we moved out here she came and helped wrangle children so I could unpack. She spends her time taking care of those around her.

Isaac is the youngest. When he was a child he liked to tell people that he was named after a prophet. It is appropriate then that Isaac is so spiritual. He lives his faith. He prays for answers, then follows those promptings no matter what. I love talking to Isaac about spiritual experiences he or I have had. I think that it is his spiritual nature that has helped him to be such a good husband to his sweet wife.