And the nominees for best performance in a drama by a drama queen are:
Emily Heaton.
Mom: Emily, please pick up all the clothes you left on the bathroom floor.
Emily: Falls to the floor sobbing. "I have to do everything! I never get to play with my friends. Everyone hates me."
Mom: Makes an obscene gesture in her mind... and scene.
Emily Heaton.
Emily: While eating dinner, coughs softly, checks to make sure everyone is watching, falls to the ground. "I was choking! No one helped me. I could have died!!!"
And scene.
Emily Heaton.
Emily: Stands gaping at the TV as an ASPCA commercial solicits funds to help save animals. Starts to sob and runs to mom.
"Mom! you have to send them money or they are going to kill that dog! I mean it. Hurry!!!
And scene.
Emily Heaton.
Emily: MOM!!! You have to help me with my homework NOW or I will have to give Mrs. Pollock five tokens! I think it is a coincidence that you don't help me.
Mom: "Do you even know what coincidence means?"
Emily: Sobbing, "No, because you wont help me with my homework." Falls to the floor.
And Scene.
And the winner is? Anyone who doesn't live here. What a diva.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
WHAM, BAM...
Thank you, Santa. What a strange experience. I started the season off with a bang. Since my birthday is on the fifteenth of December, my family is forbidden from even thinking about Christmas until after my birthday. This year, since we were in a new house and I was not working, I decided we would go all out and actually have the tree up before the 23rd. I also was hell-bent on having Christmas lights up this year. Jared spent several hours putting the lights up, he made sure they worked before he put them up, we went to turn them on, and...no switch. Yes, there is a Christmas switch, but we couldn't find it. I gave up. But the lights were up. Thanks Jared:)
I don't want to be a downer, but most years I dreaded Christmas. It seemed like I never was able to do any shopping until a few days before Christmas. We would get a tree and it would sit there for a few days til one of the kids snapped and decorated it. I would do a bunch of shopping and then I would have to stay up all night getting things ready, wake at the crack of dawn, open presents, sleep all day, and then go back to work. It wasn't much fun. Where was Jared during all this? He has the same philosophy about wrapping presents that he does about making his bed. Why bother. One year I asked him to wrap the presents and I came home to a bunch of garbage bags stapled shut. We just don't go there anymore. This year was different. Our family shopped and wrapped and sang Christmas songs all season. We watched a bunch of Christmas movies and made candy for neighbor gifts. It was the most wonderful time of the year. Since Santa didn't have to come in at the last minute to do clean up, he was able to do some fun things like send the kids on a scavenger hunt and leave fun notes for everyone. It was magical. We were actually able to sit as a family and listen to the First Presidency Message. We were able to read about the birth of Christ. We were a normal family for a brief and beautiful moment.
And then it was over.
There is this unfortunate period of time I have discovered that is the week between Christmas and New Years. I finally live in a neighborhood where my kids can play during this time, they all had new bikes. Nothing could ruin it...but rain. Yes, it rained here for five days straight. It even snowed once or twice. Yikes. We don't do snow here.
Our wonderful neighbors planned a New Years party and since Mary was going to babysit for about fourteen kids, we decided to have a kid party at our house. As we cleaned up our house and put away the decorations, Mary made a discovery. The Christmas switch. I couldn't believe it! We turned the lights on just in time for New Years.
So here we are. The kids went back to school today. It was back to just me and Ringo hanging out. Everything is put away and back to normal. It may be over, but I will never forget my hands on Christmas.
I don't want to be a downer, but most years I dreaded Christmas. It seemed like I never was able to do any shopping until a few days before Christmas. We would get a tree and it would sit there for a few days til one of the kids snapped and decorated it. I would do a bunch of shopping and then I would have to stay up all night getting things ready, wake at the crack of dawn, open presents, sleep all day, and then go back to work. It wasn't much fun. Where was Jared during all this? He has the same philosophy about wrapping presents that he does about making his bed. Why bother. One year I asked him to wrap the presents and I came home to a bunch of garbage bags stapled shut. We just don't go there anymore. This year was different. Our family shopped and wrapped and sang Christmas songs all season. We watched a bunch of Christmas movies and made candy for neighbor gifts. It was the most wonderful time of the year. Since Santa didn't have to come in at the last minute to do clean up, he was able to do some fun things like send the kids on a scavenger hunt and leave fun notes for everyone. It was magical. We were actually able to sit as a family and listen to the First Presidency Message. We were able to read about the birth of Christ. We were a normal family for a brief and beautiful moment.
And then it was over.
There is this unfortunate period of time I have discovered that is the week between Christmas and New Years. I finally live in a neighborhood where my kids can play during this time, they all had new bikes. Nothing could ruin it...but rain. Yes, it rained here for five days straight. It even snowed once or twice. Yikes. We don't do snow here.
Our wonderful neighbors planned a New Years party and since Mary was going to babysit for about fourteen kids, we decided to have a kid party at our house. As we cleaned up our house and put away the decorations, Mary made a discovery. The Christmas switch. I couldn't believe it! We turned the lights on just in time for New Years.
So here we are. The kids went back to school today. It was back to just me and Ringo hanging out. Everything is put away and back to normal. It may be over, but I will never forget my hands on Christmas.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
BAD HAIR DAY
I have a lot of good qualities. I developed most of these qualities, however, to mask some of my bad qualities. For instance, I can clean my house at warp speed. I clean faster than anyone I know. Why, you ask? I have to because I usually have left my work 'til the last moment and I am under the gun. So it is with doing hair. I can braid hair beautifully. I can do a tight perfect braid in no time. Why, you ask? Because I am usually covering something up, and I have found that braids are good for that.
My husband has four beautiful sisters. Since I grew up living close to the Heaton's, I watched these girls grow up and marveled how every week in church, they were always perfectly dressed with flawless hair. I suppose that even then, somewhere in the back of my mind I aspired to be the kind of Mom who could pull that off. For those of you wondering if God has a sense of humor, I ended up marrying their brother and having all girls. It's just not fair to any of the involved parties.
When Mary was a baby I was pretty good with the whole hair thing. Then her hair grew out and I was charged with getting a brush through it daily. I watched my mother-in-law to see how she did it. She would get the kids right out of the tub and with lightning fast hands, she would have their hair brushed out, dried and up in ribbon. Ya, I tried it. I found that the more I worked on their hair the worse it looked. If Alice styled their hair, it looked great for the entire day, if I did the EXACT same thing, they would look like they had just gotten out of bed in under an hour. How could this be? As I had more children, it got worse and worse. It was somewhere between Alex and Emily that I fully embraced being a hands-off-mom and gave up entirely. I have stumbled along through the years and as the kids got into school I discovered that if I couldn't brush through their hair, I could do a really tight braid and no one would be the wiser. I can even braid evenly amid screaming and thrashing and all manor of wiggles. I also discovered that a strategically placed braid would mask the occasional blob of shampoo that I would notice just as the kids were walking out the door. Needless to say, on most days if you run into my kids, they will have a ponytail or a braid.
So, this morning I got Emily out of the shower and helped to get her ready. I decided to do her her hair today. We get it all styled and Alex walks in with a horrified and confused look on her face and says,
"What are you doing?"
I was just about to answer when Emily piped up.
"It's picture day. You know, the day when mom brushes our hair out."
"It's not picture day!" Alex said in fear. "You aren't going to brush my hair are you?"
Well, I wasn't before that lame a$$ series of comments, but just to make her suffer, Ibrushed carded out every inch of her hair. Behold, there was much weeping and wailing.
This was so much fun, I may do it again next month:)
My husband has four beautiful sisters. Since I grew up living close to the Heaton's, I watched these girls grow up and marveled how every week in church, they were always perfectly dressed with flawless hair. I suppose that even then, somewhere in the back of my mind I aspired to be the kind of Mom who could pull that off. For those of you wondering if God has a sense of humor, I ended up marrying their brother and having all girls. It's just not fair to any of the involved parties.
When Mary was a baby I was pretty good with the whole hair thing. Then her hair grew out and I was charged with getting a brush through it daily. I watched my mother-in-law to see how she did it. She would get the kids right out of the tub and with lightning fast hands, she would have their hair brushed out, dried and up in ribbon. Ya, I tried it. I found that the more I worked on their hair the worse it looked. If Alice styled their hair, it looked great for the entire day, if I did the EXACT same thing, they would look like they had just gotten out of bed in under an hour. How could this be? As I had more children, it got worse and worse. It was somewhere between Alex and Emily that I fully embraced being a hands-off-mom and gave up entirely. I have stumbled along through the years and as the kids got into school I discovered that if I couldn't brush through their hair, I could do a really tight braid and no one would be the wiser. I can even braid evenly amid screaming and thrashing and all manor of wiggles. I also discovered that a strategically placed braid would mask the occasional blob of shampoo that I would notice just as the kids were walking out the door. Needless to say, on most days if you run into my kids, they will have a ponytail or a braid.
So, this morning I got Emily out of the shower and helped to get her ready. I decided to do her her hair today. We get it all styled and Alex walks in with a horrified and confused look on her face and says,
"What are you doing?"
I was just about to answer when Emily piped up.
"It's picture day. You know, the day when mom brushes our hair out."
"It's not picture day!" Alex said in fear. "You aren't going to brush my hair are you?"
Well, I wasn't before that lame a$$ series of comments, but just to make her suffer, I
This was so much fun, I may do it again next month:)
Saturday, October 23, 2010
THE BLIND SIDE
A little while back I attended something called SEPs. It's one of those parent teacher conference things. I often missed these in the olden days when I worked. We went in and met Emily's teacher, who also used to teach Jared's little sister. She is a wonderful lady. Emily loves her. She was doing great in math and was doing well in all her other areas, but Mrs. Pollock indicated that we needed to read a little more with her.
"Do you have any suggestions for books?" I asked.
Amelia Bedilia or Junie B. Jones were her suggestions.
"Wow. Mary didn't start reading those until she was in second grade." I said.
Jared shook his head and Emily's teacher sort of laughed and we went on with our visit. I don't know exactly when I noticed in big bold letters WELCOME TO SECOND GRADE!
I seemed to have missed an entire year. When did my baby grow up? Well, we said our goodbyes as Jared made his usual explanation that I had hit my head or encountered some bad fumes at the pharmacy, or some excuse for my strange behavior. I left determined to spend more time reading with myfirst second grader.
We got home and started reading and I noticed something. Emily would occasionally come to a word like rabbit and she would say something like rhinoceros. She also kept moving the book closer and closer which didn't really work for me because I am over 40 and I need the book to be at least 2 feet away before I can make out the words. This went on for a few weeks without me really putting the pieces together, and then one day Emily came home with a note from school.
"Dear bad parent. Your child failed her eye test. What is wrong with you that you didn't notice this?" or words to that effect. Bummer. I didn't really see the point on spending hard earned money for glasses when she couldn't even read yet, but I took her in anyway. After the exam the doctor said, "Mrs. Heaton. Your child failed her eye test. What is wrong with you that you didn't notice this?" or words to that effect. Emily picked out Hannah Montana glasses and we were on our way. She was so excited.
The following Monday Jared went in and picked up her glasses and brought them home. YIKES!! There they were. The tiniest glasses I had ever seen accompanied by a list of instructions on how not to destroy them. They can't be serious. This is Emily we're talking about. She broke a dining room table when she was five. All she has to do is look at something and it will break and now she has to take care of glasses? They might as well give her a baby bird and tell her to keep it alive forever. She was so excited when she got home and put them right on and ran out to go roller blading. Two hours later they were still in one piece. Amazing.
That night at reading time I noticed something else that was amazing. She was able to read. What a wild coincidence. She learned to read just in time for her new glasses. The rhinoceros changed back into a rabbit and we could both see the book because she could hold it more that two inches away now. It's been two weeks now and the glasses are still in tact. Every now and then I notice Emily looking at things like she is seeing them for the first time. Glasses...$104. New books...$24. Snuggling with your SECOND grader in bed and reading...priceless.
"Do you have any suggestions for books?" I asked.
Amelia Bedilia or Junie B. Jones were her suggestions.
"Wow. Mary didn't start reading those until she was in second grade." I said.
Jared shook his head and Emily's teacher sort of laughed and we went on with our visit. I don't know exactly when I noticed in big bold letters WELCOME TO SECOND GRADE!
I seemed to have missed an entire year. When did my baby grow up? Well, we said our goodbyes as Jared made his usual explanation that I had hit my head or encountered some bad fumes at the pharmacy, or some excuse for my strange behavior. I left determined to spend more time reading with my
We got home and started reading and I noticed something. Emily would occasionally come to a word like rabbit and she would say something like rhinoceros. She also kept moving the book closer and closer which didn't really work for me because I am over 40 and I need the book to be at least 2 feet away before I can make out the words. This went on for a few weeks without me really putting the pieces together, and then one day Emily came home with a note from school.
"Dear bad parent. Your child failed her eye test. What is wrong with you that you didn't notice this?" or words to that effect. Bummer. I didn't really see the point on spending hard earned money for glasses when she couldn't even read yet, but I took her in anyway. After the exam the doctor said, "Mrs. Heaton. Your child failed her eye test. What is wrong with you that you didn't notice this?" or words to that effect. Emily picked out Hannah Montana glasses and we were on our way. She was so excited.
The following Monday Jared went in and picked up her glasses and brought them home. YIKES!! There they were. The tiniest glasses I had ever seen accompanied by a list of instructions on how not to destroy them. They can't be serious. This is Emily we're talking about. She broke a dining room table when she was five. All she has to do is look at something and it will break and now she has to take care of glasses? They might as well give her a baby bird and tell her to keep it alive forever. She was so excited when she got home and put them right on and ran out to go roller blading. Two hours later they were still in one piece. Amazing.
That night at reading time I noticed something else that was amazing. She was able to read. What a wild coincidence. She learned to read just in time for her new glasses. The rhinoceros changed back into a rabbit and we could both see the book because she could hold it more that two inches away now. It's been two weeks now and the glasses are still in tact. Every now and then I notice Emily looking at things like she is seeing them for the first time. Glasses...$104. New books...$24. Snuggling with your SECOND grader in bed and reading...priceless.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
THE PERFECT STORM
Have you seen that movie, The Perfect Storm? It's based on a true story about a once-in-a-lifetime set of circumstances that led to an epoch disaster.
I have a sequel.
1. Mid terms at school.
2. NCIS marathon.
3. My lack of mad housekeeping skills.
4. Telling my kids to get all the crap off their floor and out of the closet and in the living room so I can sort it.
5. The fact that I have to sort crap.
6. Solitaire.
7. I lost my mop...seriously.
8. Tuesday is not only pajamas day, but is also bra optional.
You know, earlier today I started cleaning up, and then I realized that I couldn't find my mop. I don't know what happened after that. All I know for sure is that we were all sitting in the disastrous living room watching NCIS when the door bell rang. The kids ran to get the door as I lunged to get out of sight. Then I heard it. It was grandma saying, "I just came to get visual proof that my daughter in law is a lazy no talent failure who plays solitaire all day and doesn't do laundry."
Ok, she really didn't say anything like that. She just wanted hugs from the grandkids, but I know the truth. I fled. I ran. I hid. Up til now, we have gotten a call mere seconds beforean attack a visit. Not today. This visit was a skud. One of those you don't see until it's too late.
It gets worse. There is something that I sometimes do, not often, but sometimes, called "pushing the litter box envelope." You can use your imagination on that one. It wasn't bad, but with Alice's ninja nose, I was pretty much screwed.
I really don't quite have the rules down, or understand the points system in this game that I play with my mother-in-law. She would deny any such game exsists. Some of you out there might even think that I am imagining the whole game thing, but I assure you, it exists and we are aparently playing dirty now, so I must soldier on and try to break even. Today, my worthy opponent got a butt-load of points.
I was hiding in the shower when she left,so I didn't see her, but I know that where ever she is, she has the evil grin of victory on her face.
Curses!
I have a sequel.
1. Mid terms at school.
2. NCIS marathon.
3. My lack of mad housekeeping skills.
4. Telling my kids to get all the crap off their floor and out of the closet and in the living room so I can sort it.
5. The fact that I have to sort crap.
6. Solitaire.
7. I lost my mop...seriously.
8. Tuesday is not only pajamas day, but is also bra optional.
You know, earlier today I started cleaning up, and then I realized that I couldn't find my mop. I don't know what happened after that. All I know for sure is that we were all sitting in the disastrous living room watching NCIS when the door bell rang. The kids ran to get the door as I lunged to get out of sight. Then I heard it. It was grandma saying, "I just came to get visual proof that my daughter in law is a lazy no talent failure who plays solitaire all day and doesn't do laundry."
Ok, she really didn't say anything like that. She just wanted hugs from the grandkids, but I know the truth. I fled. I ran. I hid. Up til now, we have gotten a call mere seconds before
It gets worse. There is something that I sometimes do, not often, but sometimes, called "pushing the litter box envelope." You can use your imagination on that one. It wasn't bad, but with Alice's ninja nose, I was pretty much screwed.
I really don't quite have the rules down, or understand the points system in this game that I play with my mother-in-law. She would deny any such game exsists. Some of you out there might even think that I am imagining the whole game thing, but I assure you, it exists and we are aparently playing dirty now, so I must soldier on and try to break even. Today, my worthy opponent got a butt-load of points.
I was hiding in the shower when she left,so I didn't see her, but I know that where ever she is, she has the evil grin of victory on her face.
Curses!
Friday, October 1, 2010
...BUT I NEED THE EGGS
"Mom. You need to shut off the computer and take me to the store to get eggs, please."
Long pause...
There is a joke I heard a long time ago. This guy goes to a psychiatrist and says, "Doctor, I don't know what to do. My brother thinks he is a chicken. He clucks and pecks at his food. He even tries to fly." The Doctor replied very concerned. "You need to get him some professional help." "I would," said the man,"but I need the eggs."
In my previous life as a working mom, my family learned to make do in my absence. My oldest daughter, Mary, had a lot of responsibilities from an early age. When I quit my job there was a brief period where I had to put our roles back in place and be the mom again. Things went well for a long time and she seemed to be happy to exchange all that control for a semi-normal home. For a few years now, Mary has pretty much planned her own birthday parties. When she was ten she went online and booked a place called Laser Mania for a party of 12, gave me a list of things she needed and we had fun. This was the norm for a while. It worked well for both of us. About a week ago I found her looking at me with her lips moving saying some words and some more words and some numbers, and then she kissed me on the cheek and said she loved me and took off. This week, as I went about my business around the house, I noticed that it was really clean and organized. Wondering what was going on I asked who was responsible for this. Mary said, "I am, and I need you guys to try not to mess it up before my party on Friday." Hmmmmmmm. That must have been the words. The numbers were, four friends coming over for a sleep over and a barbecue. Great. At that moment I didn't notice that my child was treating me like one of the kids. I didn't really care, the house was clean.
I think some of us may have reverted back to our old ways in the last little while. I won't mention any names, but last night I suddenly became aware of more words and more words and Mary's lips moving again.
"MOM! you need to make those kids clean up after themselves. This is the third time this week I have cleaned the kitchen!"
By this time Jared and I had looked up from our computers and were looking at her with a blank stare. I am usually at the receiving end of the blank stare. What was happening? The Old Mary was back and I was very afraid. "Ok," we said and promptly chastised "those kids" for their messiness. I'm sure many of you are rolling your eyes wondering what my problem is, but isn't step one to realize you have a problem? So, back off.
Today is the day of the sleepover. Mary came in with her list ofdemands errands she needed me to run for the party. she also requested that I take the car to have it cleaned, so it would be nice and tidy for her friends. I still really wasn't very appalled by the way she was treating me, after all, these were reasonable requests. Who cares if she talks to me like I'm ten. I talk to her like she is 40, so we are even. Besides, I didn't have to do any of the thinkin' part of the party.
Mary is home from school now and is getting the last minute things ready. The house is clean and the car is clean so I think she won't mind if I play on the computer for a little while.
"Mom. I need you to get off the computer and take me to the store to get eggs, please. We need some for breakfast tomorrow."
I don't want to get off the computer. After all, I paid for the computer and the electricity and EVERYTHING! Who does she think she is? I am the mom, It's my house. I am in charge. I quickly jumped up and marched over to her, stepping over the laundry she had folded, and into...into the really nice clean kitchen...with the yummy stuff that she had just taken out of the oven. Wow. Awesome.
I really did need the eggs.
"Ok," I said boldly..."but I get to drive."
Long pause...
There is a joke I heard a long time ago. This guy goes to a psychiatrist and says, "Doctor, I don't know what to do. My brother thinks he is a chicken. He clucks and pecks at his food. He even tries to fly." The Doctor replied very concerned. "You need to get him some professional help." "I would," said the man,"but I need the eggs."
In my previous life as a working mom, my family learned to make do in my absence. My oldest daughter, Mary, had a lot of responsibilities from an early age. When I quit my job there was a brief period where I had to put our roles back in place and be the mom again. Things went well for a long time and she seemed to be happy to exchange all that control for a semi-normal home. For a few years now, Mary has pretty much planned her own birthday parties. When she was ten she went online and booked a place called Laser Mania for a party of 12, gave me a list of things she needed and we had fun. This was the norm for a while. It worked well for both of us. About a week ago I found her looking at me with her lips moving saying some words and some more words and some numbers, and then she kissed me on the cheek and said she loved me and took off. This week, as I went about my business around the house, I noticed that it was really clean and organized. Wondering what was going on I asked who was responsible for this. Mary said, "I am, and I need you guys to try not to mess it up before my party on Friday." Hmmmmmmm. That must have been the words. The numbers were, four friends coming over for a sleep over and a barbecue. Great. At that moment I didn't notice that my child was treating me like one of the kids. I didn't really care, the house was clean.
I think some of us may have reverted back to our old ways in the last little while. I won't mention any names, but last night I suddenly became aware of more words and more words and Mary's lips moving again.
"MOM! you need to make those kids clean up after themselves. This is the third time this week I have cleaned the kitchen!"
By this time Jared and I had looked up from our computers and were looking at her with a blank stare. I am usually at the receiving end of the blank stare. What was happening? The Old Mary was back and I was very afraid. "Ok," we said and promptly chastised "those kids" for their messiness. I'm sure many of you are rolling your eyes wondering what my problem is, but isn't step one to realize you have a problem? So, back off.
Today is the day of the sleepover. Mary came in with her list of
Mary is home from school now and is getting the last minute things ready. The house is clean and the car is clean so I think she won't mind if I play on the computer for a little while.
"Mom. I need you to get off the computer and take me to the store to get eggs, please. We need some for breakfast tomorrow."
I don't want to get off the computer. After all, I paid for the computer and the electricity and EVERYTHING! Who does she think she is? I am the mom, It's my house. I am in charge. I quickly jumped up and marched over to her, stepping over the laundry she had folded, and into...into the really nice clean kitchen...with the yummy stuff that she had just taken out of the oven. Wow. Awesome.
I really did need the eggs.
"Ok," I said boldly..."but I get to drive."
Monday, September 6, 2010
SAME STUFF DIFFERENT HOUSE
Well, we have moved and I find myself in what can only be categorized as a hands-off-mom hell. A neighborhood. Sure, I have great neighbors, I am close to town, my kids have someone to play with. It's all fun and games, til the door bell rings. I am just not used to this. In our old wilderness house, no one ever just stopped by. We were not on the way to anything and anyone wishing to see us called to make sure they wouldn't miss us. We have had more visitors in the last 3 weeks than we had in the 15 years we lived at our other house. It's been a real adjustment. Bra day is now 3 times a week, and I only spend the day in pajamas on Saturday.
About ten seconds after we moved in, we received a call from the bishopric of our new ward. They wanted to "welcome us". That's Mormon speak for "we want you to do something hideous". They came over to visit and as it turns out, are very nice guys. Brother Patterson said that he couldn't wait for us to be introduced to the rest of the ward members.
" So, are you throwing us a party?"
"No, we want you to speak."
"Speak to whom?"
"The ward."
"Did they do something wrong?"
I knew at once that I was not going to win this one, so we said yes and got it over with last weekend. The whole family spoke, and I must say, it was very nice. Tuesday when I got the mail there was a thank you note from one of the ward members. As long as I live, I will never have my stuff that together. I'm just sayin'.
So, we moved into this new house, and I was bound and determined to keep up with housework. Oh, my gosh! It never ends. I start at the crack of dawn and do laundry and pick up crap and hang things up and make the kids read and do homework and wipe their feet and bathe and brush their teeth and stop fighting, I pass out around 11 p.m. and the whole thing starts over the next day. I work so hard to keep on top of everything, but the kids still end the day looking like the cast of Oliver. It's exhausting. Oh, Oh, and the worst part-the more you do, the more they expect. Now it's like, if there are no towels, somehow it's my fault. The up side to all of these expectations? I wield a lot more power these days. I have learned a wonderful new phrase. "You can't go play until your room is picked up."
I am the master and commander. I am Mom.
About ten seconds after we moved in, we received a call from the bishopric of our new ward. They wanted to "welcome us". That's Mormon speak for "we want you to do something hideous". They came over to visit and as it turns out, are very nice guys. Brother Patterson said that he couldn't wait for us to be introduced to the rest of the ward members.
" So, are you throwing us a party?"
"No, we want you to speak."
"Speak to whom?"
"The ward."
"Did they do something wrong?"
I knew at once that I was not going to win this one, so we said yes and got it over with last weekend. The whole family spoke, and I must say, it was very nice. Tuesday when I got the mail there was a thank you note from one of the ward members. As long as I live, I will never have my stuff that together. I'm just sayin'.
So, we moved into this new house, and I was bound and determined to keep up with housework. Oh, my gosh! It never ends. I start at the crack of dawn and do laundry and pick up crap and hang things up and make the kids read and do homework and wipe their feet and bathe and brush their teeth and stop fighting, I pass out around 11 p.m. and the whole thing starts over the next day. I work so hard to keep on top of everything, but the kids still end the day looking like the cast of Oliver. It's exhausting. Oh, Oh, and the worst part-the more you do, the more they expect. Now it's like, if there are no towels, somehow it's my fault. The up side to all of these expectations? I wield a lot more power these days. I have learned a wonderful new phrase. "You can't go play until your room is picked up."
I am the master and commander. I am Mom.
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