Sabbath

Supervising six baths.

Matching socks from the hamper full of unmatchable socks while supervising six baths.

Reminding children to put on clean underwear after baths.

Watching six-year-old sneak three-year-old's dirty underwear and put it on in order to avoid a trip to her dresser.

Doing hair.

And hair.

And hair.

Finding that Three-year-old is forgoing underwear in order to avoid a trip to her dresser.

Noticing that One-year-old has two different colors of pony tail holders.

Sending ten-year old to go comb her hair with a an actual brush instead of her fingers.

Discovering that I'm still short socks.

Explaining to Twelve-year-old that now is not a good time for me to attempt a haircut.

Searching for the baby's church shoes.

Serving cold cereal for breakfast.

Realizing that Three-year-old has a huge crack in her (plastic) bowl.

Deciding not to intervene when the kids call the dog to lick up the spilled milk instead of getting a towel.

Sending out the troops to help search for baby's church shoes.

Telling Ten-year-old that I can't curl her hair while it is still wet.

Finding dry clothes (and underwear) for Three-year-old.

Vetoing the Dora the explorer slippers as church-wear.

Vetoing tennis shoes and plastic purple sandals as church-wear.

Hearing Don yell, "Bring me the claw! I found the shoes!" while standing on top of the dryer.

Beginning the hunt for everyone's scriptures.

Praying.

Oh yes, praying.

The Fun Continues

Another remodeling kind of day.

I suggested to Don that perhaps a day-and-a-half before Thanksgiving was not the ideal time to tear into the kitchen wall.

But my man is nothing if not ambitious.

At 10:30pm the stove is ripped out of place, the main water line is shut off, Don is shaking with hypoglycemia (no time for dinner), and he hasn't even started welding the pipe yet.

A kind friend just showed up with asbestos cloth, so hopefully he won't set anything on fire this time.

But Thanksgiving dinner? And a cake for Seven-year-old's birthday on Thursday?

That remains to be seen.

Family Home Evening

Six-year-old planned the lesson. She picked out a story about service and exhorted us all to serve each other more diligently. Then she passed out little start charts. We get to fill out a star for every day this week we perform service.

"You know, Ang, you really need to increase your service," Don said as he passed me my chart.

The girls looked at him blankly.

"That was supposed to be funny," he explained.

More blank looks.

"You know, because Mom is pretty much always serving already."

That's when I looked down. My chart had eight days for me to fill in this week.

It felt oddly appropriate.

The Vortex

I now have an entire laundry basket filled with mismatched socks.

The whole thing.

To the brim.

And the mates are where . . .? ? ?

Anyone? Anyone?

On Giving Thanks

I think of 2008 as the year of "do the impossible thing." From Don's chronic illness to a difficult pregnancy, to giving birth without Don, to moving with a newborn, to not being able to unpack because of remodeling-gone-out-of-control, to postpartum depression, to car problems, to job problems, we pretty much saw it all. Then I started January 2009 off right with a kidney stone, a dying puppy, and an Elder's Quorum work project at my house all on my birthday, and followed it up with Moms cancer scare and my own emerging health problems. Many times I just wanted to throw up my hands and say, "Okay, God, you win this round!" but I couldn't seem to find a reset button. Even now, as the year is winding down, I still feel like I'm recovering from the strain of so many combined stressors.

So today I got out my Thanksgiving leaves. The tradition at our house is for everyone to write what they are most thankful for on a foam leaf at Thanksgiving dinner. I save them, and each year we enjoy a decoration that reminds us of loved ones and memories from past holidays. Our foam tree looks quite full these days, after years of family and friends helping it grow. And that begs the question, which blessings are going to make it even fuller this year?

I'm finding that for every blessing I mentally sort as valuable enough to merit leaf space, there is a corresponding list of stressors.

My teaching job makes the cut. I'm surprised sometimes by the things my students don't know, but regularly astounded by all that they do. They are survivors. From the young man who showed up in class after his mother tried to kill herself, to the former exotic dancer, to the two students just out of prison, to the several recovering addicts, to the man who lived in his truck for part of the term. They humble me. They inspire me. And in fact, I find myself wishing that they could have their own individual leaves--something tangible to represent the part of my heart that will go with each one of them them, and the part of their story that will remain with me, when they walk out my door for the last time next month.

I feel the same way about many of my family members and friends, and even about the struggles themsleves. There really is power in opposition, and joy in the journey.

Good thing, too. Especially for those of us who still seem to have plenty of opposition to go around.

The Problem With Being Task Oriented

Don's to-do list for today:

Replace broken doorknob on bathroom: check
Sand master bedroom door and fix hinge so it will close correctly: check
Fix lock on master bedroom door: check (hooray!)
Sand basement door so it will close correctly: check
Back up computer hard drive: check
Purchase supplies for installation of new heat pump: check
Take daughter to purchase a new training collar for the dog: check
Begin cutting beetle-infested drywall out of the bathroom we are remodeling: check

And the part that the list doesn't quite capture: Accidentally slice water line, causing flood. (check) Discover shut off valve doesn't work correctly (check). Accidentally slice finger (check). Pass out while treating injury (check). Have wife find you on the floor and get hysterical (check). Try to superglue wound closed to avoid excessive doctor fees (check). Nearly pass out again while discovering that this was not a good idea (check). Catch wall on fire welding sliced pipe (check). Discover the pressure caused additional leaking (check). Begin plumbing reapair process again (check).

Right about now I am really done with to-do lists.

But you guessed it.

He's still going strong.

Today

Dear Ward Activities Committee,

I hear Halloween presents a serious risk to the physical and spiritual well being of the rising generation. So much so, in fact, that we have to rename the annual celebration "Octoberfest" and hold it the day before Halloween. But can I just say, you're not fooling anyone. It might be the costumes. It might be the Harry Potter music in the background. It might even be fact that the church is decorated with witches, skulls, spiders, and fake rats.

However it happened, we all figured it out. We we're really celebrating Halloween. So can we please go back to doing in on October 31st now? Here are my top ten reasons:


Baby climbing on the table, laughing maniacally, binging on candy.

Twelve-year-old feeling morose in t-shirt and jeans, "I'm just plain old me again."

Seven-year-old dressed up as Frodo, trying to talk her dad into loaning her his wedding "ring of power" as a prop ("Come on, I'll buy you a new one if I loose it. How expensive can it be?").

Two blobs of gum in two different girls' hair.

A sucker plastered on another head.

Three-year-old refusing meals and sneaking into corners with the candy bag.

Baby sobbing as her blood sugar crashes and she can't find any more candy.

Don yelling, "Would somebody give the baby some candy?"

Ten-year-old begging me to let her take the mastiff puppy trick-or-treating, while twelve-year old wants me to plan costumes for all the dogs, while five of the six kids are asking for help with new costumes since yesterday.

And my number one reason we should just celebrate Hallowween on Halloween?

Now we get to go trick or treating tonight and do this whole thing again tomorrow.

Where is your compassion? Charity? Pure love of Christ? Please, consider the mothers in Zion!

Sincerely,

Angie

Yesterday

I have a costume inferiority complex. My mother is an expert seamstress. I can't count the number of individual and family costume contests we won when I was child. Halloween was planned and anticipated months in advance, so that Mom could find just the right patterns and fabric. Costumes were serious business.

I am a different kind of mother. I don't sew well, nor do I organize with the same flair. We have boxes piled with dress up materials (including a few of my childhood Halloween and dance costumes. Other childhood costumes, remain, of course, neatly folded at Mother's house). Knowing my limitations, I leave it to the kids to design a costume if they want one.

Years ago I took a more active role. When my oldest daughters were four and two I took them to the store and let them choose costumes. The four-year-old wanted to be Barney. The two-year-old chose a purple dragon costume, the closest thing she could find to what her sister was wearing. I even bought them purple lipstick to match.

Somewhere along the line the number of kids to buy costumes for and costumes in our stash got out of hand, and I gave away many of the the obvious "character" ones, leaving the kids with raw materials to work with each year: scarves, sequins, shirts or pants suggestive of different characters.

And so I have days like yesterday.

Seven-year-old, "Mom, Ten-year-old won't decide if I can wear her Jedi costume to the party" (the costume form last year, carefully made, of course, by Grandma, and preserved separately from the rest of the costume pile). "I told her she doesn't need to wear it again. I told her she should just be an eyelash. Or a piece of toast. She didn't even take me seriously. But think about it. There might be another Jedi at the party. There won't be another piece of buttered toast."

Six-year-old, "Mom, help me find a shirt that looks like a pioneer."

Twelve-year-old, "Mom, do I look like a gypsy?"

Seven-year-old, "Mom, I want to be Froto, but Twelve-year-old says I have to wait and be Froto next year so she can have Grandma make her an Arwyn dress to go with it. So I want to be a cowboy, but ten-year-old has the only cowboy hat and gun. There is nothing left to be!"

Ten-year-old, "Mom, what can I be that is pretty? I want to wear makeup."

Six-year-old, "Mom, find me some pioneer shoes!"

Seven-year-old, gleefully swooping through the door in her sister's Jedi robe to attack to dogs with her light saber, "Yahh!!"

Ten-year-old, "Be careful with that!"

Three-year-old (having found the Barney costume) "Find me some Barney shoes!" And noticing her little sister in the purple dragon costume, "And find her some dragon shoes!"

Twelve-year-old, "I need bangles!"

The room is now carpeted with the contents of four big rubber maid boxes of dress ups and the closets of six little girls. My dresser drawers are emptied, and we are all picking through safety pins and old receipts looking for jewelry. I don't wear flashy
jewelry, so why are there always big hoop earrings at the bottom of my dresser drawers?

Ten-year-old, "I want to be a dancer, but Twelve-year-old has all silky looking fabrics. Hey, give my bracelet back!"

Twelve-year-old, "Look, one-year-old has flames on the tail of her dragon costume!"

Dad, "Does that mean she has hemmroids?"

Seven-year-old. "What?"

Dad, "Nevermind."

Twelve-year-old "I can't wear these pants. They taper at the ankles. Can gypsies wear jeans?"

Ten-year-old, "My scarves keep coming untied!"

Twelve-year-old, "Help me curl my hair."

Three-year-old is covered in red lipstick.

Twelve-year-old, "I need a shirt with puffier sleeves."

Seven-year-old "I'm not taking this costume off until after the party. I'll wear a bib to eat."

Twelve-year-old, "You're so good at this, Mom You know, there are probably some mothers who just go the he store and buy their kids a costume. I'm so glad you're not like that."

My Chaperones

It's date night. Don sautees shrimp in garlic butter, and I set the table with real dishes (let's just say we typically use lots of plastic around here). The kids, full of macaroni and cheese, are busy upstairs playing (hockey by the sounds of it) but send down a representative to keep and eye on us periodically.

One-year-old zips through dressed in a pink tutu.

Six-year-old follows her, then eyes us critically "Are you drinking water or the last of the cream soda?"

Ten-year-old and Three-year-old perch at the top of the stairs, listening to our conversation until we shoo them away.

Next Seven-year-old eases her way into the dining room. "What are you still doing here? You already finished your food. And why do you have a candle on? Is the light broken?"

"No, but don't you think it's kind of romantic?" Don asks her.

She pulls her baseball cap over her face and groans.

Parents.

What's a kid supposed to do?