Category Archives: Diapers

The dirty side of motherhood.

Baloney.

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This post may seem like a rant.  It’s not intended to be.  I’m not even angry.  It’s just me analyzing life in general and trying to get past the myths of motherhood. (For the record, I know how bologna is really spelled, but this alternate spelling seemed like the best fit when used as an exclamatory phrase.)

Do you know what one of my least favorite pieces of “advice” is when I complain about something I’m struggling with (because I am a horrible person and I do complain)?  It’s this juicy morsel:  “Just wait.  One day they’ll be grown and gone, and you’ll miss it.”

That’s a bunch of hogwash.  (a.k.a. Baloney.)

I happen to believe that parenting is a little like cancer, not only because it slowly kills you (I’m kidding. Kind of.), but because it comes in stages.  (On the bright side, anyone who has had cancer or any other life-changing trial will testify that it is a refining fire and brings them closer to God.  Also, I haven’t really thought this analogy all the way through, so take it with a grain of salt.) Stage 1 is a very physically demanding stage– it’s the baby and toddler years where everything you do is awash in a haze of diapers and sleepless nights and picking up toys and doing laundry. You wonder if your body and mind will ever return.  I’d say there’s about a 50% chance of full recovery.

Stage 2– where I am now– is when your children finally break free from total dependence and start to exert a tiny bit of functional intelligence.  It means you can step outside and talk to your neighbor on the driveway for 5 minutes and leave your children unsupervised (with an obvious level of assumed risk).  It means you can give out chores and instructions and expect that they can be done.  Unfortunately, this functional intelligence does not come with a social compass or any real common sense, so you spend most of your day listening to your children argue with each other about absolutely meaningless things or constantly talk about poop, farts, or how hilarious it would be if so-and-so tripped and fell in the toilet, etc.  As far as I can tell, this is the mentally exhausting phase because, for the most part, you are required to have conversations throughout the day that make your brain want to explode if you haven’t already self-combusted due to a completely depleted reserve of patience.  You also find yourself repeating the same requests and family rules over and over and over and over and over again and wondering if your children’s brains will ever work rationally.  Again, I’d say there’s about a 50% chance.

Stage 3.  The teenage years. I haven’t been there yet, but I’ve spent a lot of my years working with youth either professionally (as a teacher) or in church callings.  All I can say about this stage is that it seems like it will probably be the most emotionally challenging one.  There will be much to worry about as you watch your children grow and make decisions of their own– often wrong decisions.  You will be in the line of fire of their own hormonal and emotional roller coaster.  There are clearly some things to look forward to (like *maybe* kind of real conversations and camaraderie), but let’s not be naive– it will be challenging.

Stage 4.  This is the stage that Matt and I fantasize about the most– the one where they go off to college or on missions and we only have our very own messes to clean up at home.  I obviously have no real experience with this stage either and I know that like every other stage, it is fraught with challenges.  Adult children still make lots of dumb decisions and come face to face with a cruel world, and you probably struggle with how much to help and how much to let them struggle.  I imagine it is a stage of worry and anxiety with respect to your children, and perhaps a little longing to be more a part of their lives.

However, I promise that when I am in stage 4 parenting, I will not miss stage 1 and 2 parenting.  Will I miss my children and the joys that were a part of that stage?  Absolutely.  I will sometimes crave the sweet little newborn head that fits just right in the crook of my neck.  I’ll miss the eyes that stare up at me with unending trust and love while the baby nurses.  I’ll miss the giggling, the tickling, the hugs and kisses, the holding hands.  Oh, the holding hands.  It’s one of my favorite things– how they reach up for your hand instinctively as you walk them to preschool or through the Costco parking lot, how they choose to be connected to you.  I’ll miss looking over and seeing them sitting on the couch with their arms around each other reading a book together.  In short, there are plenty of things I’ll miss.

But I won’t miss what I’m complaining about in each stage.  I can’t imagine myself in my golden years reaching for the TV remote and wishing that someone had hidden it under the couch cushions.  I won’t walk into a room to find it exactly the way I left it and then wish that there were Legos and wrappers from sneaked food on the floor.  I won’t do a project from start to finish and wish I had been interrupted for 3 diaper changes and argument arbitration.  I’ll admit that I sometimes might think it’s too quiet.  Maybe.

So in summary, when young mothers whine about their exhausting struggles, please don’t tell us that we’ll miss them when our children are grown.  Should we wish it all away?  No.  Should we cherish the parts we love in every stage we’re in?  Absolutely. We will miss our children and the loveliest points of parenthood (and of course there will be new challenges at every stage), but we’ll happily kiss the hard parts goodbye.  President Monson says I’m wrong.

“If you are still in the process of raising children, be aware that the tiny fingerprints that show up on almost every newly cleaned surface, the toys scattered about the house, the piles and piles of laundry to be tackled will disappear all too soon and that you will—to your surprise—miss them profoundly.”

I can’t help but think that when he says “them,” he means the children, and not the fingerprints and laundry. Am I delusional? What do you think?

Fight or Flight

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So yesterday was a hard day in a mothering sense.  By 3 p.m. I wasn’t really fond of any of my children anymore.  Something deep down inside of me (the love child of anger and frustration) really, really wanted to:

A)  Beat people up,

or B)  Book a private jet and escape to a Carribean island.  Alone.

Option B would probably make me feel better, but Option A is a lot cheaper.  I didn’t do either, but I wanted to.  Instead I just lost my temper and barked my disappointment and sent people to their rooms indefinitely.

I hosted a Relief Society Spiritual Literacy meeting at my house last night and we studied some of the recent conference talks.  My study partner and I read “What Manner of Men and Women Ought Ye to Be?”  I know what you’re thinking:  It made me feel all guilty and penitent.  It probably should have, but it didn’t (except for that one little part about “Discipline comes from the same root word as disciple and implies patience and teaching on our part. It should not be done in anger.”).  Honestly, the talk gave me some hope, some advice, some direction.  I’ve been really frustrated with my kids lately.  I feel like we’re in a cycle of the same mistakes over and over again — both theirs and mine.  I’m losing patience with them and with myself.  What I loved about this message was a fresh new perspective.  It gave me a better way to look at discipline and at praise and at my children themselves.  Here are a few of my favorite quotes.  Don’t be lazy and skip them; read them:  🙂

When children misbehave, let’s say when they quarrel with each other, we often misdirect our discipline on what they did, or the quarreling we observed. But the do—their behavior—is only a symptom of the unseen motive in their hearts. We might ask ourselves, “What attributes, if understood by the child, would correct this behavior in the future?…”

—-

Through discipline the child learns of consequences. In such moments it is helpful to turn negatives into positives. If the child confesses to a wrong, praise the courage it took to confess. Ask the child what he or she learned from the mistake or misdeed, which gives you, and more important, the Spirit an opportunity to touch and teach the child. When we teach children doctrine by the Spirit, that doctrine has the power to change their very nature—be—over time.

—-

A sweet and obedient child will enroll a father or mother only in Parenting 101. If you are blessed with a child who tests your patience to the nth degree, you will be enrolled in Parenting 505. Rather than wonder what you might have done wrong in the premortal life to be so deserving, you might consider the more challenging child a blessing and opportunity to become more godlike yourself. With which child will your patience, long-suffering, and other Christlike virtues most likely be tested, developed, and refined? Could it be possible that you need this child as much as this child needs you?

Anyway, as I read these quotes and the rest of the talk, which is excellent, I felt some of my anger slipping away.  I felt the Spirit telling me that these principles are true, and there is a better way to approach our recent trend of disobedience and disrespect.  I felt like I could (with the Lord’s help) do it the right way and get the results I’ve been wishing for.  And isn’t it the truth that our children have the greatest power to develop God-like attributes in us … if we will let that happen?  I’m going to work on this.

I might buy some boxing gloves just in case, though.  Unless anyone has a private jet I can borrow.  Anyone?

Surviving Summer (in a nutshell)

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I have a love-hate relationship with summer.  I will explain.

I love the sunshine and the absence of snow.  I love the parks and the leisurely pace and the fun summer family programs.  I love the freedom to schedule outings and day trips and vacations completely uninhibited by school calendars.  I love building a schedule made up of all the priorities I don’t seem to have room for during the school year.  I love my children having time to play outside and play with each other. I love the longer days, and I love that the kids get more playtime with dad. And I love watermelon, strawberries, and popsicles.

Now for the parts that are harder to celebrate. . . .  longer days mean later bedtime, and, frankly, after I’ve spent an entire day with all three children by myself, I’d kind of go for a 6 p.m. bedtime.  Vacations are fun, but they are hard work.  As in, if you’re a mom, the only things that really do “vacate” are your brain and your energy.  Plus, has anyone else noticed that children are just really naughty for several days after a vacation?  It’s exasperating.  I find it difficult to coordinate babysitting or go to appointments or make some time for myself when all my children are at home all day.  The gym, for example.  (Have I mentioned before that I loathe gym day-care?  I have issues.)  And since I never have any quiet time during the day, I stay up too late at night wasting my brain on mindless stuff just because I’m relishing my alone time. Oh, and let’s not forget that when siblings get to spend oodles of time together, they fight like cats and dogs.

Sigh. Sorry my cons paragraph seemed quite a bit longer than the pros.  I tend to get a little dramatic when I complain.  Anyway, in light of this summer paradox, I have a few questions:

  1.  Do you think that maybe there’s a really fine line between children being naughty and children just being annoying?  I think I lump it all into the naughty category and get more fed up than I need to be.
  2. One thing that saves my sanity is scheduled and enforced reading time.  My boys are 6 and 8 and both read really well.  I’ve found that a lot of books that are at their reading level have kind of inappropriate content.  They’re not quite ready for pre-teen literature.  Do you have any suggestions for some good chapter books or series for boys?
  3. Any post-vacation tips?  Because, seriously, we have a few more coming up and I don’t know if I can handle the sassy, lazy aftermath.
  4. We have a lot of great kids in our neighborhood, but I don’t know much about the rules of play date “etiquette.”  If a child invites another child to play, is it presumptuous to want to play at the home of the invited?  I always think it’s kind of odd when a kid shows up and says, “Can so-and-so play?” and you say yes, and then the kid just comes on in.  Oh, you meant here?  On the other hand, I know my own children would like to go play at their friends’ houses, too (One word: Wii.), but I never want them to invite themselves over.  Am I being weird about this? because I worry that I’m making more of it than I should.
  5. We like to do several small weekend camping trips during the summer.  After Elder Perry’s last general conference talk, I committed myself to make sure that even when we are traveling, we should always go to church and take the sacrament.  This past weekend, we took a wrong turn on the way home, lost some time, and didn’t get back in time to take the sacrament.  I feel sad about that.  I need the sacrament.  This is not a question.  I’m just saying how it is.
  6. I’m hoping it’s normal to be in a summer blog slump.  I don’t know if there’s less time for writing or if I have less ideas, but I dont’ feel very bloggy productive.  And reading blogs?  Only minimally.  Anyone else feeling that way?  I’m sorry if anyone I love has been feeling neglected.
  7. Last question.  Do you have any favorite quotes or scriptures about patience?  I’d love to hear/read them.

Faith in times of finance.

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Does anyone else start to lose their mind when finances become precarious?

We have been bit hit with some unexpected, huge expenses that have extended beyond the limits of our savings account, and I have become paranoid. I’ve always tried to be a careful spender, but now I’m so tight-fisted, it hurts.

I was running errands yesterday and my mind was doing a number on me. I worried how this is all going to fix itself. On Monday night, I watched an old BYU devotional by Elder Holland that I had recorded: “Remember Lot’s Wife.” (It’s great, by the way.) Among many other really cool things, he said,

“… When we have learned what we need to learn and have brought with us the best that we experienced, then we look ahead, we remember that faith is always pointed toward the future ‐‐ faith always has to do with blessings and truths and events that will yet be efficacious in our lives.  So a more theological way to talk about Lot’s wife is to say she did not have faith. She doubted the Lord’s ability to give her something better than she had.”

So, in my van, I thought to myself, Is it possible to have faith about this? To believe it will all work out just fine, even when the money is simply not there to back up that kind of faith? I believe in God, and I know He has carried me through many other difficult situations, so why not this one? This is new territory for me, and I’m hoping that it’s just a chance for God to prove himself to me again, in a new way.

Can somebody reassure me that faith can work in ways of the wallet?

“Table for one.”

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When I was in college, I remember having a conversation with my roommates about how going to a restaurant and asking for a table for one was about as pathetic and mortifying as it gets.  I love restaurants.  Love them.  But I also love the company of friends and conversation, and I’ve always felt sorry for people who are dining alone.

But then.

I had children.

And a busy husband who left town for 5 days.

And said children were possessed by demons and became hollow shells of the obedient moral beings I had trained them to be.

As evidence, these are ALL things that happened in the 5 days Matt was out of town:

  • Grant and Clark shut Natalie in the dryer.
  • Grant sneaked food again (even after our mini-lesson at FHE about: if we catch anybody sneaking food out of the food storage again, you’ll have to eat giant bowls of vegetables for dinner).
  • Grant waited for mom to leave the room during dinner and dumped the vegetables down the drain.
  • Clark somehow managed to make his bedroom look like a tornado actually touched down right near his bed.  I told him he had to clean it all up.  He didn’t.
  • Long after bedtime, he still didn’t, so I told him I’d wake him up early so he could pick up his room before school.
  • I called Matt that night and told him I had to get up at 6 a.m. the next morning to make Clark clean his room and make Grant a bowl of vegetables for breakfast.
  • I did get up.  I woke up Clark.  He still did not clean his room.
  • I told him no breakfast until his room was picked up.
  • I gave up and took Clark to school at 10 a.m (90 minutes late)., admitting strategic defeat.
  • I forgot to mention that somehow during that early morning battle, he managed to make a 2-inch hole in his bedroom wall.  Somehow a piece of the vacuum cleaner attachment flew off while he was using it to play baseball with his Webkinz.  Don’t worry, it didn’t make any sense to me either.
  • I lost my temper and even spanked him once.  He was mildly amused.
  • I took all three children with me to visit a man who used to be my boss and mentor at BYU.  (We had made a date on the calendar several weeks ago.) He is a wonderful man whom I admire very much.  On the way to his house, I rehearsed with my children all of the “do” and “do not” rules they needed to remember at his home.  I was there about 5 minutes when I knew that, despite their polite smiles and nods in the van, they had totally disregarded that entire conversation.
  • Since we couldn’t really talk (my mentor, his wife, and I), they invited the children to go downstairs and play with some toys that they kept for their grandchildren.  That almost worked, except for the five or so times I had to excuse myself, go downstairs and ask them to please stop yelling, throwing toys, and acting like animals.  Please.
  • Finally I sent them outside, and we were able to talk for a few minutes before we heard a loud bang.  I closed my eyes and breathed deep before I excused myself and went outside.
  • Grant had decided to lift up the window-well iron grate covering, and oops, it crashed down into the window well and up against the basement window.  But for the grace of guardian angels, the window did not break.  With clenched teeth, I sent them all to the van.
  • I helped my friend fix the window well cover, muttered my most polite apologies and farewells, got into my van, and tried to make fire come out of my eyeballs when I looked at my children.  (That man used to like me, respect me even.  He served on the general Sunday School board for a while and had even recommended my name as a possible board member once.  At this point, I’m not sure if he’ll ever want to speak to me again. . . . at least not in his house or without the presence of a social worker.)
  • Try to imagine a maniacal woman delivering an dramatic heart-wrenching lecture that ought to bring any child to tears, repeated at least 4 times on the way home.
  • They should have wept for their great sorrow and remorse, but they just stared back at me in the rear-view mirror obviously worried only for my mental health.
  • The rest of the afternoon was known as “jail.”  No one could leave their room for the rest of the day.  I was done.
  • I called Matt and vented.  I told him how mortified I was about what had just happened at my friend’s house.  He talked to them on the phone and supposedly convinced them to live a life of respect and rectitude.
  • With all children now in their own rooms, I stood in the kitchen breathing deep breaths and trying to regroup.  I decided I probably had to feed them dinner, so I decided I would heat them up a frozen burrito, take it to their rooms, call it dinner, and be done with it.
  • I went downstairs to get burritos out of the freezer, and what did I find?  Grant.  Sitting up on the top shelf of my food storage, up by the ceiling sneaking food.  He froze like a trapped animal.  I stared into his eyes for what seemed like a full minute and then said calmly.  “Get down.  Go. to. your. room. NOW.”
  • I avoided them the rest of the night, took them their burritos, told them to get ready for bed, and then quoted to them from Lily’s Purple Plastic Purse:  “Today was a difficult day. Tomorrow will be better,” and then I made them promise that it would be.
  • The next day is honestly a blur.  I remember very little except that it was raining for about the 76th day in a row (I exaggerate when I’m a little worked up.) and that I showered way later in the day than I should have.  Oh, and since Matt was staying longer than he originally planned, I had to scramble and get a babysitter so I could go to a cousin’s bridal shower.  That took about a dozen phone calls. And in a story that is too long to explain, I somehow managed to steal my aunt’s wallet and put it in my purse without even knowing I had done it.  I only discovered it late in the evening, after she had returned to her home several hours away.  So embarrassing.
  • Sometime during that blur, Clark finally cleaned his room.  This required an ongoing battle on my part.
  • On Saturday, I played the role of jovial slave driver all morning long trying to get all three of them to do their chores.  They only accumulated a grand total of 11 time outs between them (Clark earned 8).  Then the afternoon was relatively pleasant, mostly because the sun finally came out.
  • There was more.  Trust me.  This is just the stuff I remember.

Matt called at about 3 p.m. to say he had just left St. George and would be home in about 4 hours.  I told him that when he got home, I was leaving.  He paused.  “Like leaving, leaving?  Are you going to abandon us?”  “No,” I said, “but I need some peace.”  Just before 7 p.m., I made dinner, set the table, and put all the food out just as Matt got home.  We all hugged and kissed at our great relief that dad had finally arrived.  I wished them a happy dinner, and I left.  I took my purse, my keys, and my Kindle.

“Table for one please.”

And, boy oh boy, did it feel right.

“Standing in holy places is all about being in good company, whether you are alone or with others.”  — Sharon G. Larsen