Back to being The One

My mom left Thursday evening after a week and a half here helping--again--while I made major, painful revisions--again--to my dissertation. She was and is a lifesaver.  

So I am trying to switch gears and get back into the groove of being The One. You know, The One who has to plan the meals, shop to ensure that we have ingredients for said meals, make sure children eat those meals (even if they can't stand that particular dish), clean up the meals when husband is late getting home or at a church meeting, The One who has to stop all fights and deal out all punishments for bad choices, The One who has to be ready to suggest intriguing play options in order to attempt to bypass these fights and bad choices, The One who plays the Ladybug Game multiple times a day, The One who has to clean up messes, The One who has to stop whatever she's doing at the time to run into the bathroom when she hears "WIPE!!!"  You know, The One. 

I have to say that it has been nice to have a break from being The One, especially when I can turn the duties over to someone I trust so much and who also loves my kids. Every stay-at-home mother needs a chance every so often to be something other than The One for the majority of her day or week. 

So I am trying to get back into the groove and trying to rediscover all of the wonderful things about being The One. For example, The One gets many hugs, kisses, and snuggles. And as The One, because I am always there for the mundane and the frustrating, I am also always there for the funny and the sweet. 

1.  A good morning jog.    2.  A good night's sleep.   3.  An afternoon temple trip.

Simultaneous crash

I went to bed at 8:45 last night, right after I sang Mister his Lullaby. I wasn't planning on it, but suddenly and simultaneously, my body and mind crashed. I wasn't even able to eat half of the shake J brought home or even go down the stairs to say good-night to him. This doesn't happen all too often--usually one or the other crashes and I walk around zombie-like, unable to remember why I came downstairs, why I got the butter out, who I just called on the phone, or what the end of the story is that I am telling. Or, I lay in bed, unable to move, but with my mind thinking of something I wanted to write or say or do, if only my body weren't comatose. 

I think the occasional simultaneous crash might have to do with being Mom Tired. My friend Sarah describes Mom Tired in her newspaper column as follows: "Being mom tired isn’t so much a circumstance as a state of being.  Take any mom, calculate the number of years since her first pregnancy, and you have the number of years she’s been mom tired.  Calculate the number of times she’s had to watch Barney or Mary-Kate and Ashley and you have the degree to which she’s mom tired."

So I have been Mom Tired for over 6 years, since I DO count those 10 months of pregnancy (and yes, I wrote 10 months because 40 weeks is NOT 9 months). And my theory is that when the degree to which I am Mom Tired reaches a certain point, all function fails. 

Thankfully, I woke up this morning slightly re-charged. But already since we got home from church 2 hours ago, I have intervened in a fight over the sole mini-candy bar in a care package from a friend, a fight over the sole piece of gum from the school carnival yesterday, a fight over who was first to play a computer game, and I am now signing off after agreeing to play Candyland and read The Library Mouse (again--already read it twice yesterday) and do something else "that's fun because it's the weekend," as Mister reminded me. So, my degrees of Mom Tired are already climbing. Be prepared for another crash soon.

The results of my 20-week ultrasound

are a little blue!

Heard during February

I jotted down a few of the best comments I heard from Mister and Sweetie during February to preserve for posterity. Might as well enjoy them on the blog too:

Sweetie: (after singing the 2nd Article of Faith song she learned in Primary) "What's sin?"

Mister: "Sin is like a big pile of sand coming after you." (Not too far off, I don't think!)

Sweetie:  "Mom, is the baby playing with your guts?"

Mister:  "I know why Luke [his little cousin] doesn't cry much."

Me: "Why?"

Mister: "He likes his name. So we need to choose a good name for our baby."  (Mister's current suggestions are George for a boy and Ashley for a girl.)

Sweetie:  "Mom, I will love you to infinity and beyond, 50, 30, and back to January."

Me, at bedtime: "Mister, what was your favorite thing today."

Mister, putting his arms around me: "Right now." 

1.  The tender and funny things my kids say.         2.  Sunday night games and brownies.          3.  Sleeping with the windows open.

A Glass-Half-Empty Mother

I have always wanted to be like my Aunt Susan, who exudes positivity and encouragement. When she tells you that she thinks you're wonderful (which she often does), you honestly believe that she actually might be right. Unfortunately, that positive gene seems to have skipped me. Instead, I am a dyed-in-the-wool glass-half-empty person, despite my continued efforts to the contrary. 

Now, don't get me wrong, the glass-half-empty outlook does come in handy, like on back-packing trips when nobody else thought to bring an extra tarp or duct tape, and on family vacations when those darn meterologists got it wrong again. As the glass-half-empty person, you see, I have already thought about the possibility of these misfortunes and have come prepared. 

In some ways, motherhood has made my glass-half-empty personality thrive, thanks to those slight twinges of fulfillment that come when the baby has a blow-out and J looks desperately at me, "Do you have another outfit and a whole container of wipes?" Well, of course I do. Or when Mister finally admits that his size 9 shoes really are too small and that he must have a new pair of shoes right.this.instant. Lucky for him, I bought them on clearance last year. But still, I would rather be less prepared and more positive. 

Until our trip to California a few weeks ago, I hadn't much thought about the impact of my half-empty outlook on my children. The first night at the grandparents, the kids realized that they hadn't put their stack of books into the travel box, so we had nothing to read before bedtime. I dug through the travel box and found a Snow White sticker book with words and read it instead. Mister and Sweetie had never heard of Snow White before. And they weren't so impressed. 

"Well, that's silly," Sweetie said when the story was over. 

"What is?" I asked.

"Snow White, going off with that prince," she said. "She doesn't even know him."

"Yeah," said Mister. "He could be really mean or something." 

"Yeah," said Sweetie. "Reeeeallly mean. Silly Snow White."

Yes, silly Snow White. Such a trusting, glass-half-full heroine. And who knows what ever happened to her? Yeah, yeah, "happily ever after." Do you think I buy that? (Remember, that glass is half empty.)  So, maybe there are some parenting perks to my half-empty outlook after all. 

Poem of the Month: "Like Pearls Well Strung"

The poem of the month this time has to do with love (of course). I was going to pull out a few of my favorite sonnets or love poems I studied while taking lit classes in college, but really, one of my most favorite love poems is written by my friend's husband's grandmother, Caroline Miner. Here's the poem:

"Like Pearls Well Strung"

by Caroline Miner

It was high noon. I did not know there was
Before or After . . . or that long hours could grow
with morning stretching long. I did not know
that evening would bring graying mist and gloom.
I only knew that by your side the cause
of things seemed very clear and I could go
with you, and love, and work, and win. And though
the way be rough and hard, there would be room
for us, for love was magic; we were young.
Together we would seek the Holy Grail,
and days and weeks would pass like pearls well strung
on one long thread of gold, fine-spun and frail
as mist. It has been so, will be tomorrow,
together, we will double strength, divide all sorrow.

My favorite part of this poem is the last line: "It has been so, will be tomorrow, together, we will double strength, divide all sorrow." I love this line because this is what love--particularly the love of my husband but also the love of my family--has meant for me in my life. It has meant that in sharing my life, I have received double the strength when I most need it. And my sorrows have been lighter as I have someone else to help me carry them.  Valentine's Day gives me the chance to show that I am extremely glad that "It has been so, will be tomorrow."

The 5 Days of Love

I've been meaning to post a wrap-up to the 5 Days of Love, but my Internet has been on the fritz, so I'm finally getting to it. 

We had a good 5 Days of Love, but I have to say that I'm glad daily love need not be so extravagant. Mister and Sweetie woke up Sunday morning expecting trails of love notes all over their room. Sorry to disappoint, kiddos, but the big V-day signals the end of the fun. Not really, but the end of the heart cupcaking-making, cookie-making, pillowcase-making (equipped with pockets for nightly love notes and/or treats), and the annual Valentine's day treasure hunt (these two pictures are from a past Valentine's day since the camera wasn't charged for Treasure Hunt 2009). 

Mister was also involved in his own love-fest, trying to add to his class's 100 Kind Deeds book that they are sending to President Obama. So he took treats to friends, mailed Valentine's to grandparents, and donated his allowance to Saleh Jafarov in Uzbekastan to help with his efforts to expand his small business in order to pay for his 3 kids' education (see kiva.org--it's great). 

So here we are, all loved out, but glad for Valentine's day!