Diapers and Divinity

Summer is coming and this is my favorite time of year, except for the part about swimsuits.  The other day I was outside in the yard while the kids were playing.  It was sunny and warm and breezy and beautiful– the kind of day that just makes me feel content.  And then, suddenly, I felt a little bit panicky because it’s ALREADY JUNE and it’s going so fast and summer’s going to be gone and it’s going to be snowing again before I even know it.  STOP THE CLOCK ALREADY!  I really wanted to freeze the calendar and stay in June 3rd for a long, long time.  I keep thinking about that song by the Steve Miller band that says, “Time keeps on slippin’, slippin’, slippin’ into the future . . . “  And I thought about the Book of Mormon, where it says (somewhere, I’m too lazy to look it up) that in the last days, people’s treasures will become slippery.  Time is a treasure (more…)

Just in case you didn’t already know this, first grade turns you into genius.  During the course of your first year in elementary school, you will in fact become an expert on many topics, thereby learning that your parents are idiots.

(The subtitle of this post is:  Why I want to kick Grant’s science teacher in the knees.)

Thanks to Grant’s science teacher, our first-grader has become an environmental vigilante.  Never mind that we already have a fairly well-coordinated recycling program in place.  My recycling garbage can is always at least as full as my actual-garbage garbage can, we trade in our printer cartridges for refills, use rechargeable batteries, and replaced all our lightbulbs with those twirly-whirly- save-lots-of-money lightbulbs that I can’t remember the name of.  If the tree-huggers could look past my compulsive paper towel use and occasional paper plate use, I think they might be kind of proud of us.

I do not know if Mr. Science Man has a program in place where he bribes small children with treasures untold if they can confiscate half of their family’s belongings and bring them directly to him to be disposed of properly, but I have my theories.  Several times, Grant has tried to grab all our printer cartridges and convince us that he needs to take them to his science teacher, along with all our batteries.  That same self-proclaimed genius cannot seem to comprehend that I will recharge and refill them on. my. own. (thank you?) and thereby save our family some money.  “But Mr. Science Man says we have to bring them to him!”   No matter how I try to make him understand that his teacher’s intention is to keep those items from being thrown away, and we are NOT throwing them away, he still thinks I’m ruining his life as an activist.

Today he came from school and enjoyed his after-school snack for a few seconds before he jolted, quickly remembering that he is a man on a mission.

“Mom!  Do we have milk cartons or boxes or things that we can use to make other things?”

“They’re in the recycling bin, Grant.”

“No, mom!  We’re not supposed to throw them away.  That’s a waste!  We can use them.”

“Grant, when they are recycled, that means they can be melted down and use them again.  We are not wasting them.”

He began digging through my garbage.  I began picturing his science teacher in that torture machine from The Princess Bride.

He grabbed a ziploc bag and held it above his head, victorious.  “Do not throw these away, mom!  That is a waste.”

I rolled my eyes, “What?  Do you want to wash them out?”  “Yes!”  “Fine, you can do it.”

He kept digging.  “I need a bottle or something for my agates (small rocks designed to make your mother curse when she does the laundry).”

“Grant, the bottles are in the recycling bin which means they are going to be re- … never mind.”  I give up.

Anyway, I think educating our children is severely overrated. I offered him this box from the garbage to carry the rock collection he’s accumulating so he can impress Mr. Science Man.  I’m sure he’ll be thrilled when he sees how resourceful we are in our family.

If you’re having a little trouble with your menu planning, it’s obviously because you don’t have a 6-year-old who’s the boss of everything.  Sorry about that.

Moms don’t get a lot of feedback.  And results are often delayed.  So, it’s great every once in a while when you get an indication that something you’re doing might just be working.

Since I heard Sister Beck’s talk in May about intentional parenting, I felt really strongly that I needed to establish some routines in our home that would help me to achieve the goals I have for my children.  Matt and I sat down and thought about what kinds of things we wanted our kids to know and do and be.  And then I built them into a weekly schedule.  (Just a loose schedule, to make sure that every goal-related thing happens at least once in a week.)  Wednesday mornings are for service.  I just really want my kids to grow up thinking about others and trying to show love.  I taught high school, so I’m particularly annoyed by the arrogant, self-centered entitlement that seems to be the norm among many teenagers (and now adults).  Anyway, on Wednesdays, after they finish their chore, we try to think of something nice we can do for someone else that day.

Today, we had to go to the grocery store for milk, so we decided to buy some flowers and take them to someone.  I dropped off the flowers where the person worked and Grant and Natalie came with me.  Clark stayed home with his great grandmother who is visiting from Utah.  The receptionist took our flowers and card, and then offered my children a balloon.  They both accepted it and then Grant said, “Can I have one more balloon please?  I have another brother, but he stayed home with my grandma.”  So with three balloons in hand, we walked back to the car.

Grant was happy, and he asked, “Mom, are you glad I got a balloon for Clark, too?”

I said, “Yes, that was very thoughtful of you.  And kind.”

“And service?”  he asked.

“Yep, Grant, you did service.”

And I felt like our little efforts meant something, and were making something happen inside my children.  It’s just another testimony to me that when you feel prompted to do something, and you do it, the blessings come.  In many, many cases the results are not visible for a long time.  Motherhood, after all, is “creation in slow motion,” but it’s sure nice to get those little glimpses of success every once in a while.

So far I have counted three legal infractions today.

We went Wal-Mart (that in itself should be a misdemeanor).  Clark wailed in the parking lot and said he did NOT want to go in.  His heart was set on Sam’s Club and free sample handouts, but my membership expired, so we went to Wal-Mart instead.  He wasn’t happy.  He refused to get out of the van.  I explained to him that if I left him in the van, someone would call the police, and they would come get him and take mommy to jail and he would have to live with another family.  He thought about that for a minute with a scowl on his face.  I’m not sure what his real preference is, but perhaps for the sake of not hurting my feelings, he hopped out of the van and surrendered to our shopping trip.

While I was checking out, he and Natalie somehow managed to get about 5 toy cell phones in their possession and run with them over to the blasted arcade section in front of the check-out area.  I finally wrangled them back and returned all the merchandise to its appropriately unpurchased position.

When I got home, I unloaded the van.  As I was putting the groceries in the kitchen, Natalie kept digging in her pocket.  “I have lipstick,” she grinned.  “What lipstick?”  I was trying to think what she might have dug out of my backpack or van.  She proudly showed me her treasure.

“Hey, where did you get that?!”

She smiled again, “At the store.”

“Natalie….(remember that grumpy sighing I told you about yesterday?)… that’s STEALING.”  I went on to explain to her in terms that she understood that she was a robber.  (She always asks me, “what if there’s a robber?,” and I say, “He’ll go to jail,” and she says, “I’ll punch him in the nose.”)  I’m not sure whether she was more afraid of jail or a punch in the nose,  but she got a little remorseful and said, “I’m sorry mommy.”  I asked her what we should do and she said, “take it back to the store.”   To be honest it feels like torture to return to Wal-mart again with my children, but it must be done.

All that criminal behavior for this little gem:

Yes, it does say “Oooh La La Bubble Gum Lip Gloss.”  What can I say?  Natalie’s got impeccable class.

Grant is my smoochie kid.  He is super cuddly and lovey-dovey.  Not being much of the affectionate type myself, I’m often annoyed with his abundant loving.  (I know, that’s not very nice of me, but I am.)  So today, Clark and Grant were playing tag and I hear Clark say the classic line of obnoxious childhood, “You missed me.  You missed me.  Now you have to kiss me,” which of course Grant takes literally and chases Clark around the house for 30 minutes trying to smooch his face off.  I reminded him of my tramautic childhood experience of being chased by a kissy boy around the playground in kindergarten.  I also repeated my sage warning that boys who kiss people who don’t want to be kissed can go to jail.

So, I’m sure you’re all proud of me for raising a band of 3 pint-sized hoodlums.  Maybe our family can just become a small gang of toddler thugs.  Yesterday I cut off the bottom of sweatpants to make shorts for the boys and I used the discarded pieces as hats.  How do Clark and I look?

Maybe our gang can be called the Jailbound Jesters.  Send me chocolate when we’re all in the slammer.

(Final plea to go vote for my blog at MMB by tomorrow…. look on my sidebar for the link.)