(A Little Too Honest) Confessions of a Bad Mom

I’ve been in a slump.  Like, a big one.  It seems that my life is on repeat on an annoying song that makes me want to pull my hair out and ogre-scream in frustration.

A few weeks ago Josh was watching Groundhog Day. You remember that one.  Bill Murray is living Groundhog Day every day.  The same song wakes him every morning.  The same people greet him, unaware of the repetition of his life.  No matter what, it’s the same thing.  Every. Day. 

I sat watching the movie, mouth agape, at the reflection of my own life.  Every day the same thing.  The alarm goes off.  The kids are woken.  We all get dressed.  The big kids make their lunches as I wrangle the little kids.  We load up in the van and I drop kids off at their respective schools.  I spend the remainder of the day trying to catch up on housework.  This is impossible as I have three little kids home during the day and they are all very capable of undoing any chore I complete.  Laundry folded?  Not anymore. The baby decided to use the folded laundry as a nest envied by every mouse on Earth when my back was turned because the 2-year-old was quiet so I checked on him really quickly only to discover he had tried to get his own snack and was sitting on the floor of the kitchen surrounded by full and empty fruit snack pouches that were once on a high shelf in the pantry in a plastic box with a locking lid.  Not to mention the 3-year-old who keeps squealing at the top of her lungs because her little brother took her spot on the couch, or her book, or her toy, or her turn on the TV, or her breathing space.

And then 3 o’clock hits and the four big kids get home from school wanting food, a nap, TV time, a ride to Scouts or youth activities or a ride home from track or drama club or tutoring.

Within two hours I need to have dinner ready because Josh works nights and if I don’t have food for him he won’t eat until 2am.  Or, sometimes, I have food for him but he ended up sleeping later and doesn’t have time to eat and leaves without the nowhere-near-gourmet dinner I’ve prepared. 

After that it’s the nightly fights of dishes, picking up the toys, getting ready for bed, why didn’t you do your homework earlier?, you need WHAT for school tomorrow?, and just the typical teenage angst/toddler meltdown depending on the age of the kids.  Either way, it’s basically the same thing.

I’m burned out.  I don’t do anything for myself.  And I know why I don’t.  If I take time to do something I want to do, I’m not doing something I should do.  Therefore, I’m not a good mother.  Therefore, I’m selfish.  Or unfit.  Or a bad wife.  Or a horrible housekeeper.  Or a terrible cook/meal planner. 

Who am I even trying to prove myself to?  My husband?  Yes.  My kids? Yes.  My neighbor? Yes.  The girls from church (my only non-virtual social network)?  Yes.  Myself?  No.

No, I’m not trying to prove anything to myself.  Because I already know that I’m a horrible housekeeper.  I already know that I don’t like cooking.  I already know that my kids watch WAY too much TV.  I already know that it takes me a week to finish folding and putting away laundry even if it only takes a day to wash it.

I am not the ideal candidate for being a Pinterest-crafting, housework-loving, creative-playing stay-at-home mom. 

Then why do I even try?

Hence, my depressing dilemma.

I’ve often heard that if you have a question you can ask the Lord and He’ll answer you.  I know that happens.  I’ve experienced it before.  But I decided to see if maybe I’d get lucky at church on Sunday and get some insight as to why my life is so...ugh.

It was Easter Sunday.  Our ward has a new meeting time of 2pm.  It’s still new enough that I haven’t quite figured out how to make it work.  Despite my loathing of scrubbing toilets, I do enjoy creating a good strategy.  A plan.  Lists of all kinds are my friends.  But I don’t have this new meeting time down yet. 

Josh got home from work and we had our Easter egg hunts before he went off to bed.  Then the kids ate candy and played with the new games the Easter Bunny brought while I made dinner: BBQ pulled pork, potato salad, macaroni salad, fruit salad, deviled eggs.  We’d had ham the previous Sunday when family had been in town so I went a different way for dinner.  Specifically, I needed something that we could come home from church at 5:10pm and it would all be magically ready for us to eat since Josh’s shift started at 6pm and he needed to leave by 5:45.  If I stay at church the entire three-hour block I can’t plan to cook anything quickly enough for him to eat before heading out for the night. And I still had to get kids bathed, dressed, combed, and find church shoes.  This needed to be done close enough to church time that they can’t mess themselves up but not so late that we miss the first hour of church.  And somewhere in there I really needed to try to get a shower myself.

To make a long story short, Sunday afternoons are stressful.

Then there’s the whole taking seven kids to church by myself fiasco.  The arguments over who sits by mom and who sat by me last week and who can fit on my lap so the bigger kids can sit next to me and fussy kids because it’s naptime during Sacrament Meeting and I forgot the snacks to keep the little ones quiet.

I tried to focus on the purpose of Sacrament Meeting – partaking of the Sacrament, renewing my baptismal covenants.  My thoughts were quickly distracted from this sacred ordinance as I tried to balance two kids on my lap and make sure they each only took one piece of bread, not a handful, and later that the water they spill from the little cup gets mostly on me and not the floor.  What is supposed to be a spiritual time of meditation and prayer is spent shushing and balancing and grabbing little hands reaching for more “snack.”  I can’t even begin to tell you how unworthy of the Sacrament I feel just admitting all of this.

But I looked forward to the talks about the Savior.  About His sacrifice for us and His gift of resurrection for every person.  And then the thought entered my mind: We’re told Jesus knows each of our sorrows, our griefs.  He experienced all pain in the Garden of Gethsemane.  And the nagging, arrogant, rebellious voice in my head had the audacity to argue that He never experienced my life.  He never knew the monotony of 21^st century routines. He never had little kids that bombarded His every move and kept Him from accomplishing any of His goals or desires.  Of course, I know His life was much more difficult.  He suffered beyond anything I can understand.  But, how does he understand me?

And that’s when it happened. 

I wanted to prove God and His ability to answer my questions.

Despite my pride and self-importance, He sent me a realization.

There had been a special musical number by a young girl on the harp (it was pretty amazing).  Usually there’s only one musical number per meeting, but for some reason there were two that day.  The second musical break was a congregational hymn, Where Can I Turn for Peace?  There were phrases that stuck out to me:

Where is my solace?

Where, when my aching grows…where can I run?

Where is the quiet hand to calm my anguish?

And then the third verse stunned me into silence and burned tears in my eyes.

He answers privately,

Reaches my reaching

In my Gethsemane, Savior and Friend.

“In my Gethsemane”?  MY Gethsemane?  My quiet corner of the world (or just my mind) where I suffer alone.  My attempts to give everything I have to everyone else and leave nothing for myself.  My quiet pleadings for solace but not knowing when they will ever be answered, if they even can be.

I realized, this was what I was experiencing.  Not a slump.  Not a monotonous routine to be endured.  My own Gethsemane where I felt alone, wounded, overwhelmed.  Suffering.

But as the hymn explains, I am not alone.  My Savoir and Friend is there with me.  I have a hard job right now.  My job description includes many things I am not good at or don’t enjoy doing.  My husband works hard to provide for us and is often either at work or asleep.  I do a lot on my own.  But I am never alone.  He guides me when I know I need to intercede in my teenager’s life.  He inspires me with individual responses to each of my children.  He reminds me of my goals and my ability to accomplish them in the past.  He prompts me with motivation to make our home livable and meals edible so it’s a delight (or at least not a dread) for Josh to come home to.

Of course, there’s no immediate solution to any of my troubles.  It took me three days to finally sit down to write this out because I felt it necessary to do other chores before the “frivolousness” of writing my feelings.  And there are toys strewn across the floor, the kitchen needs a good scrubbing, and towels need to be washed.  But there seems to be a bit more perspective now.  What’s important?  A clean house?  Yes.  Is it the most important? Well, sometimes it is.  Right now, though, I need to remember what I need.  And right now I need to recognize the good in my life.  My family.  My Savior.  Easter Sunday can be buried by the expectations of the obligatory Easter Bunny, or egg hunts, or rushing to church on time.  But really, it’s about the Savior and His Gethsemane for us.  For me.  In His Gethsemane he suffered for me.  In my Gethsemane he suffers with me. He does understand me.

 And He loves me anyway.

Dramaland, The Story

Once upon a time in a land not too far away, lived a woman named.... oh, for the sake of convenience let's call her .... Shelly.

Shelly was a mother with five kids.  Her children were good kids.  In fact, sometimes she'd get compliments from complete strangers over their wonderful behavior.

But sometimes something strange would happen.  It was a phenomenon that Shelly could never quite explain.

Sometimes, without warning, Shelly and her children would suddenly transport from their current location to a place she often called Dramaland.  All of their surroundings would remain the same.  The trees were still the same.  The weather was still the same.  The people were still the same.  But one thing was different.  One thing was very much not the same.

The drama.

The family drove down the street.  It seemed to be a typical evening.  The summer sun set behind them as they made their way home.  All seemed normal.  Until.... "Mom!" screamed a voice from the back row of the van, "that truck didn't turn on his blinker when he went to pass us!"

Oh no, thought Shelly, here we go.  Dramaland.

"They should get a ticket!" yelled Kid One.

"They should be arrested!" hollered Kid Two.

The Dramaland Police Force suddenly appeared out of nowhere equipped with their Tasers and beanbag shotguns to take down the criminal who didn't signal as he passed our vehicle.

And then all was back to normal.

A little while later, Shelly sat in her living room as Kid Three came running into the room.  "Mom!  Mom!" he yelled.  "She broke it!"  Shelly looked quickly at her son to discover what happened.  But before she could, she felt a little spin in the air around her as the TV continued to blare and Kid Five's baby swing continued to slightly rock.

Not again, Shelly thought.  Dramaland.

She saw the Lego car in Kid Three's right hand and a single Lego piece in his left.  Although Kid Four accidentally stepped on the car that had been left in the middle of the floor, all of the Legos in the house became Dramaland Legos and they disintegrated into fine bits of plastic that swept up into a colorful gust of wind and blew out the door only to be lost forever.

 Dinnertime finally arrived and Shelly set out the food for the children.  Kid Four reached out and grabbed a hot dog.  A siren-loud wail erupted from her.  "Mom! It too hot!"  She threw her head back and emitted another scream, calling upon the Powers of Dramaland.

It's going to happen, Shelly thought.  Dramaland is going to kill someone.  Someone is finally just going to explode.


And Shelly did.

Seeking the Good?

It's been hard to think of a bunch of happy and positive things to write about lately.  Mostly because of Poignant Fact Number One:

Being the mom is hard.

The last month or so has reminded me of the Mommy-guilt I get every so often.  Do I enjoy being a mother?  The immediate answer is always, Yes, of course I do.

But the real question is actually, Do I enjoy being a stay-at-home mother?

This answer doesn't resound in my mind as quickly.  Staying home with four kids all day is hard work.  It's not easy to give 100% of myself to other people all morning, afternoon, AND evening.  Someday I do hope to use the bathroom without a knock on the door and a small voice calling, "Mom?"  Because I'm home I'm able to home school our feisty 9-year-old who tells me daily that school is stupid and she hates it.  My 3-year-old wants to wear her pretty Dora underpants, but 2 minutes after an uneventful trip to the potty she has an accident in them (not an exaggeration).  If you could hear what the kids say after I ask them to do their chores you'd think I had actually asked them give all their toys away.

It's just not easy.

It doesn't help when I read or hear stories of other mothers and their seemingly perfect relationships with their children.  To them it seems to be a privilege to stay home and snuggle and hug their little precious ones.

Thing is, it is a privilege.  So why don't I recognize it?

Some of my friends had the chance to go to Time Out For Women in Layton, UT, this weekend.  The theme was "Seeking the Good."  I thought about this today and I remembered a quote by President Gordon B. Hinckley.  He quoted Jenkins Lloyd James when he said,

"Anyone who imagines that bliss is normal is going to waste a lot of time running around shouting that he’s been robbed. The fact is that most putts don’t drop, most beef is tough, most children grow up to just be people, most successful marriages require a high degree of mutual toleration, most jobs are more often dull than otherwise. Life is like an old time rail journey…delays…sidetracks, smoke, dust, cinders and jolts, interspersed only occasionally by beautiful vistas and thrilling burst of speed. The trick is to thank the Lord for letting you have the ride."

I obviously need to be more grateful to have the chance to be with my children everyday.  They really are good kids, even if they do hate vacuuming or doing math.  My husband willingly and lovingly works 72 hours a week to keep our bills paid and allowing me to have the chance to be with our kids and watch them grow. I get to play hide-and-seek with a 3-year-old who hides her face, counts to three, then celebrates when she finds me as I'm still sitting in the same spot I was when she began counting.

And let's not forget the soccer-playing baby in my belly who had a 25% chance of going the same way as the last two pregnancies.  But she didn't.  She's still here and she happily makes herself known.

I have a lot to be thankful for.  I just have to deal with all the blah of reality and look beyond it to my blessings.

At the beginning of my theatre degree program the professors often said, "If you can imagine yourself doing anything else in the world other than theatre, do it."  Theatre is life-consuming and rarely immediately rewarding.  The hours are ridiculously long and the pay is pathetic, if it even exists.

Same with motherhood and staying home with my children.

But I can't imagine doing anything else in the world.

So maybe I don't always enjoy being a stay-at-home mom.  But that doesn't mean I'm not thankful for the ride.

  

The Teeter-Totter Theory

I've recently discovered that I'm pretty typical.

I'm not the only woman in this world that takes on too much.  That tries to do things perfectly and seemingly effortlessly.  That has a million balls up in the air that are all about to fall at any second.

But I can't juggle.  Mine is a teeter-totter and I'm up in the air with all my stresses sitting at the bottom of the totter.  Sometimes one little shift of events/stresses knocks me off my teeter-totter. That really did happen to me once when I was about ten.  My leg got pinned under the teeter-totter as it crashed to the ground and it hurt ... a lot.  So the prospect of falling off my teeter-totter really kind of freaks me out.

But it happens.  My house is often a mess.  My dishes are rarely done by a decent time of day.  I have toilets that needs scrubbing.  I have tons of friends that seem to have so much in place where I lack.  (All that sentence does is prove that I have a major issue with comparing myself to others.)  I can't say no, even when I really, really should.

I think I'm entitled to a few bad days here and there.

Sometimes it's really easy to blame the hormones.  They are a-ragin', after all.  And I'm sure that has plenty to do with some of my more irrational rants ("WHO LEFT THAT PILLOW ON THE FLOOR???").  But I have to acknowledge that there are other forces at work in my life as well.

I know a lot of women have plenty of stress.  I realize that and even acknowledge it.

Of course, I also have the maturity of a preschooler sometimes and can't help but think my issues are bigger than other people's.  And that doesn't do anything to help me.

There's really no point to this post but to put it out there that I'm at a stage where my teeter-totter is teetering and tottering.

I don't know that there's an end in sight for this stage I'm in.  I'm sure there is one, but I can't see it yet. Until it appears, I just have to hold on.  And on the bad days when my teeter-totter slams me to the ground, I just need to keep my legs out from under me.

Bye-Bye Bah

Millie is getting to be a big girl.  And it's time for her to give up some of the things that Mommy has let her hold on to.  Millie has been our baby for nearly 3 years now and it has been hard for me to tell her to give up her Bah, or pacifier as most people call it.  She's so cute with it and I know it gives her comfort. 

But it's time to say bye-bye.

Last night Millie slept without her Bah for the first time ever.  She slept through the night okay, but the sadness of being denied her Bah was difficult for about 20 minutes before she fell asleep.  The look on her face was priceless and my heart broke as I wondered if she thought I had kidnapped her best friend.  It was the look of true sadness.  I tried to hug her and comfort her, but eventually she just wore herself out.

Tonight she asked me again where her Bah was.  Actually, she said about two or three sentences worth of words but I couldn't understand any of them.  I just kept reminding her that we said bye-bye to her Bah.  Then I wondered if I should let her literally say good-bye to her Bah. 

We went downstairs and I grabbed her Bahs (three of them) from the top of the fridge (the only place I can keep them where she can't reach them) and told her we needed to say bye-bye and throw them in the trash.

I instantly had the notion that I was being too harsh.  Was it mean to have her throw them away rather than some cute "give them to babies" sort of thing?  Millie was crying and said she didn't want to say bye-bye.  I was dying inside and asked Josh what we should do, especially since she was making that face again!  I held her in my arms with the other kids standing around watching Millie struggle with becoming a big girl and Josh telling me of a book about giving pacifiers to baby horses. 

I turned to him and asked if he thought I should let her have her Bah until I could get a copy of this book when suddenly Millie threw both of her arms up the air and yelled, "OK!  I say bye-bye to Bah!!!"  The five of us stared at each other in shock as I held out the Bahs to Millie.  She took them one at a time and threw them into the garbage can.  When she finished she yelled, "I did it!!" and the rest of us cheered with her. 

We all began laughing at the sudden turn of events.  I began crying (shock) and Matt began laughing so hard he cried too (actual shock)!  He told me that he's never been prouder of his little sister than at that moment.  Millie went upstairs and on her way she pointed to the top of the fridge and announced, "All gone!" 

Yep.  they're all gone.  Our baby is becoming a Big Girl!

Mother of the Year

It's only April, but I know I've already proven that I am a contender for Mother of the Year.

Let me state my case:

Last Monday the kids brought home a flyer explaining all the fun things they'd be able to do for Spirit Week at school.  This is especially exciting because the kids' school is a traditional school, meaning uniforms and everything.  So to have the opportunity to dress up, wear something other than slacks and polos, and have a week of letting a little loose is going to be fun. 

Our prep work began last night.  Abby wanted to dress up as Hermione (from Harry Potter) so we gave her some French braids last night so her hair would be nice and unmanageable.  The other kids gathered their supplies and costumes.

We had fun this morning getting ready.  Emma wanted to be Harry Potter (she's on Book 5 -- she started Book 1 this fall) so she wore my old graduation gown, we sprayed her hair black, drew a lightning bolt scar, and wore her glasses.  Abby had her run-away hair and wore Josh's old graduation gown (pinned so it wouldn't drown her).  Each girl used a drumstick from Millie's little drumset as their wand.  Matt decided to take a different route.  One of his favorite books is "Treasure Island."  Matt wanted to be Jim Hawkins.  He had a ripped white t-shirt and frayed-edged shorts with a red bandanna around his head.  Man, they all looked great!

So, how am I the mother of the year?  Because we were so awesome this morning?  No.  Because I forgot to take a picture before they headed off to the bus this morning?  No.

I am the mother of the year because I walked them to the bus, like usual, and watched them get on the bus.  Suddenly something struck me as odd.  No one else was dressed up.  It was at that moment that my photographic memory finally kicked in.  The flyer had indeed said that Monday was "Dress as your favorite book character" day, but Monday, April 25.  Today is April 18!! 

I frantically yelled for my children to come off the bus, hoping the other kids wouldn't make a big deal out of our mix up, and we rushed home to change into the proper clothing.  Emma had the added challenge of having to take a shower to get the black out of her hair.  We quickly drove to school and only arrived about 3 minutes late. 

I don't know if the kids will get teased for our mistake today.  I really, really hope not.  But I can tell you that they'll look incredible next week. 

So that's my nomination.  Why I deserve to be the Mother of the Year.  I'm not sure if there are any other ways to embarrass your kids more than that. 

But please, if you can top me, please do.  I'm in need of some thing/one to laugh at/with!!

Project Report: Fail!

This week was supposed to be all about how much I love my children and how happy they make me.  Notice how I didn't get past Day 1?

Why is it that the times I try even harder to be a good mother that every frustration I have with my children is magnified and multiplied?

No matter how hard I try, by the end of the day I can vividly recount all of the times I lost my temper.  And I don't lose my temper very prettily.

Sometimes being a mom is really, really hard.  Me no-likey.

The Homework Nazi

Homework at our house has been gradually dragging out more and more everyday.

Yesterday it took Matt 3 hours to do a single math worksheet and a sheet he used to write 15 spelling words three times each.  That was way too long, in my opinion.

So Josh and I talked it over and decided that snack time must be significantly reduced since the kids have somehow managed to turn it into an hour long ritual.  And now it's time to pull my inner-TV-addicted self for inspiration.



You may now refer to me as the Homework Nazi.  I'm not sure how many times today I yelled, "No fun for you!!"  But homework is now being down as a group around the kitchen table with me consistently watching over everyone.  It was quicker today by at least an hour. 

So, add another title to my resume.

Debbie Downer Days

I've been having some "down" days.  Debbie Downer days, if you will.



I'm not a good enough mother.
I'm not disciplining my children enough.
I discipline my children too much.
I don't have a clean enough house.
I'm not close enough to being ready for Christmas.
I don't give enough of myself to my husband.
I don't give enough of myself to myself.
I'm not exercising consistently enough to feel good about myself.
I need a haircut.
I eat too much junk food.
I don't feel guilty enough about eating too much junk food.
I feel like I'm barely staying afloat in my calling at church.
I feel like I'm overly invested in my calling at church.

The last one is the thing on my mind tonight.  Mostly because I've been working on stuff for church for the last several hours.  In January, 25 of my 52 nursery kids are heading to Primary with the older kids.  (We'll only have 27 kids, whatever will we do?)  They will be in a class called the Sunbeams.  Because they are 3 years old, there are plenty of worries for these little guys to be able to sit still for nearly an hour before they go to class and have to sit still again.  That's a lot of stillness for such little kids. 

So we've been practicing.  We've had Sharing Time and music time.  The kids have been sitting in their chairs and raising their hands and offering answers.  They are smart.  And they know who Jesus is.  Really, isn't that all that matters?

Tomorrow we are going on a field trip to the Primary room where some of the kids will see their brothers and sisters.  Even some of their parents.  I'm excited for them.  It's a fun change.

I've taken it as a personal challenge to make sure these little ones are taught what will be expected from them in Primary.  You can imagine how big Junior Primary will be if there are 25 3-year-olds.  Not all of the age groups have 25 kids, but they are all large.  If we sent 25 rowdy 3-year-olds into a room with 100(?) other kids, what sort of learning and sharing could occur?  Not much, I can tell you that.

So along with our practice Sharing Time and our field trip to Primary tomorrow, I also made necklaces for the kids to have tomorrow.  They have a picture of a sun and the middle of the sun says, "Sunbeams in Training". 

I sat there looking at my creations and thought, "This is fun!  I really hope the kids like these!"

Then the Debbie Downer in me popped up again.  "Why am I putting this much energy into something no one will appreciate?  98% of all handouts end up in the garbage."  Yes, that's a scientific fact.... I'm guessing.

So I hope that the things I've struggled with all day end up being worth it in the end.  I'll know by tomorrow morning.

As for the rest of my Debbie Downer list, check back with me in about 60 years.

And That, My Friend, Is What They Call "Closure"

Ever heard of "closure"? 

And THAT, my friend, is what they call CLOSURE from Leo Carbonell on Vimeo.

Closure is a popular psychology term. It refers to a conclusion to a traumatic event or experience in a person's life.  --Wikipedia

Pardon my use of this century's pseudo-Britannica, but it works.

Yesterday was our opportunity to find closure with our miscarriage.  Maybe you're sick of me talking about it, but let me talk about it some more so you can see my point of view. 

A friend of mine told me over facebook: "I still get tears in my eyes when I remember my miscarriages. They hurt, and those who havent' had one can sometimes be insensitive, by wondering what the big deal is. But those of us who have been through it understand. We send our love and prayers. It is proper to morn, in fact it is probably very healthy to do so. I won't lie to you. You'll always remember, but with time, the pain of that remembrance will ease. God bless you."

I know it's true.  I'll always remember this.  It's with me forever. 

But it's also true that time is starting to help us heal.  I began my emotional healing just over a week ago when I crossed the finish line of the first 5k I did.  It triggered something in my mind that ultimately lead to a buffering in my heart.  It's hard to explain it, but it had nothing to do with crossing the finish line before that girl that kept trying to run way ahead of us, got tired and then fell behind then ran way ahead again and again.  She was just annoying.  No.  This was something bigger.  Something to remind me of my strength and ability to carry on.

The physical part was confirmed during our doctor's appointment yesterday.  The baby is for sure gone.  And so is nearly all of the physical preparation for him/her.  My doctor has been incredibly kind and helpful during this time.  She took the time to talk to us and let us know when we can try to have another baby.  (Btw, she said docs used to say three to six months, mostly so they'd have a previous period to use as a due date calculator, but there's no physical reason to wait.  She did suggest to wait until after my next period just so everything is cleared out and it's easier for a new egg to implant.) 

So I should have closure now.  And to an extent, I do.  I'm at the "conclusion" of a "traumatic event."  My emotions and body are able to move on.  However, my memory will always hold this "traumatic event" close.  It won't hold me back, but it will never be lost.

Confession of a Mother

I have some strengths.

I am organized.  Sometimes annoyingly so.  My DVDs are filed away by genre.  So are my cd's.  And then they're alphabetized within genre.  I arrive at church half an hour early to prepare for Nursery. My grocery shopping list is separated into sections of the store, and sometimes even by aisles.

I work hard.  The first month I worked in a call center for the credit union I broke the record for the most hours spent on the phone.  My teachers and bosses have all loved me because I always go above and beyond to find every possible way to excel.  I graduated magna cum laude.  I love to learn and apply my newfound knowledge.

I am optimistic.  I often start sentences with, "At least....."  Once in 8th grade my friend said to me, "Don't you ever get sick of looking on the bright side all the time?"  I guess I annoyed her.  Probably one reason why we are no longer friends.  But I often can find the good in most situations.  It's one reason I enjoyed my thankful posts for Thanksgiving.

But I have plenty of weaknesses.  And the greatest of them all has been slapping me in the face for a good two weeks now.

When it comes to my family, I don't utilize my strengths. 

(A little off subject, but something I need to get off my chest: I've known for a long time that I treat perfect strangers kinder than I do my own family.  I'll smile at a child crying in the grocery store.  Unless it's my own kid.  Then I'll grit my teeth and make threats that I'll never fulfill.  Am I really going to lock my child in the car?  No.  But I hiss it anyway.)

I do things well for other people, but when it comes to my own home, I'm too lackadaisical.  As if I expect my kids to just suddenly start cleaning up after themselves.  Hello?  How are they supposed to do anything if I don't teach them first?  Why should I expect mornings to run smoothly if I don't set the example of getting out of bed on time?  What good am I doing by letting them get away with no responsibilities beyond homework?  And it's all laziness on my part. 

We had Family Home Evening tonight where we established daily, weekly and monthly chores.  A first step in making our home more of a haven than a dump.  The only way this new plan will work is if I stay organized, work hard, and remain optimistic that it will be worth the effort in the long run.  I can do those things outside the home.  It's time to do them inside the home. 

It's time to flip my weakness into a strength.  It's nothing a whole lot of prayer and determination can't fix.

A Tribute to Moms (and Mr Moms)

I think we've all been here at least once..... a day.

The real Real Housewives

There's not much that I watch on Bravo. Top Chef is about it. But I do see commercials for some of their other shows. One of the most advertised being The Real Housewives of... series. I think the latest one takes place in Washington DC.

If you like this show, fine. That's wonderful. I will admit that most of my opinion is based on the commercials since I've never actually seen an episode.

From what I understand, the premise is that a camera crew follows around several different "real housewives" in the city included in the title of the show. From what I've seen, these women live on the higher side of life. They often show some sort of tantrum by one woman or another. It seems pretty common for each woman to be flanked by an entourage of people.

I'd love to extend a challenge to Bravo network. Make a series about real Real Housewives. But don't insult us by using the term "housewife." Call us Homemakers or Domestic Goddesses or Family Manager.

And use some realistic women.

Women with no make up or even a chance to take a shower.

Women with children hanging on their legs.

Women trying to make sure homework is completed, dinner is hot, and their husband is ready for his nightshift all at the same time without the help of a tutor, nanny, chef, or personal assistant.

Women vacuuming at 8:00 pm because they can't stand the sight of broken crackers in the living room anymore.

Women who are 30 lbs overweight.

Women who love their husbands more than their friends.

Women that cry while on their knees praying to know how to handle their children.

Women tired from a long day of various activities and errands but still manage to read stories to their children.

Women forcing themselves to remember to take care of themselves, no matter how guilty it makes them feel.

Women who live boring, mundane lives that would never pull in huge ratings but find more happiness in the boring and mundane rather than the things that up the ratings.

So, there you have it. Straight from a real Real {ahem} Housewife.

Mottos by Mom

As a mother I say things, but they aren't what I really mean. I think I should just start calling a spade a spade and be honest with myself and all those around me.

Instead of: Come inside for dinner.
Should be: Come inside and complain about what my last two hours of effort have created.

Instead of: Get into bed and stay there.
Should be: Stay in your bed before I go insane because I need the quiet time.

Instead of: Don't hit your sister.
Should be: Don't hit your sister because it's annoying when she whines about it and I won't be so sympathetic when she tries to hit you back if you do it.

Instead of: Do your chores, please.
Should be: Start your whining about how mean a mother you have and that your leg/arm/head/stomach hurts.

I'm sure there are more, but I'm distracted. Emma is currently whining about her leg hurting even though she's supposed to be filling the dishwasher. And the amazing thing is that I wrote that last one before the whining began.

I called it!!

The Apple and the Tree

Ever hear the saying, "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree"? I think I've just become the tree and my children are the apples.

Out of nowhere Emma and Abby started acting out a play. This shouldn't surprise me since they like to do that kind of stuff (don't know where they get it). I started paying a little closer attention and realized they were playing the final death scene from Romeo and Juliet. (Despite my aversion to Taylor Swift's song, I actually don't have much against the play itself.) I don't really know how they know the story, but they do. They practiced and finally showed me their final performance:

Emma and Abby lock arms and skip around saying, "We're in love, we're in love. I'm Romeo and this is Juliet. We're in love." Then Matt stops them and says, "You can't be together!" Then Juliet (Abby) pretends to die. Romeo (Emma) sees this, dies. Juliet wakes up, sees Romeo, and dies.

I sat there thinking, "Wow, it's true. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree." Then Millie wanted in on the action and ran around in circles screaming at the top of her lungs and Romeo and Juliet arose as zombies and chased Matt around the room too.

I'm currently reconsidering the accuracy of the Tree Theory.

The Next Project

Life is slowly getting back to normal. I've got a living room full of boxes to unpack and put away. I took them out of the garage to force myself to face them and do something about them. Yeah, that worked. It seems that I always have excuses to not work on them.... doctor appointments, projects with the kids, the need to sleep. But I digress.

I'm almost ready to allow my creative side to work again. I was working on a new story before the move, but I think I'll put it on hold. I'm thinking I need to explore a more personal journey. One that cuts to my soul. I think I'm going to entitle it Foibles of the Mormon Momma. All about a woman who recognizes her inability to be the perfect and ideal mother.

I thought of this as I was speeding to church on Sunday and showed up only five minutes late for the meeting. This is an accomplishment for me. I only broke one law (speeding -- I did make a full stop at the stop sign along the way) and I got there before the blessing of the Sacrament. Score.

I was thinking about my achievement and thought of my imperfections. I've noticed that so many of the mothers I know have at least one talent that they do so very well that makes them a good mom.

For instance, look at my sisters. Tara "goes and does." I've never known Tara to give up on anything or anyone. If something needs to be done, she does it. If something needs to be addressed, she does it. If someone needs to be loved, she does it. She can be aggressive (that's a compliment, Sis) when needed and is always determined. Her boys are learning to do this. She works for them and handles all of her responsibilities very well. She doesn't quit.

Lori is probably the quietest of the Williams kids, but she's also got the biggest heart. She's always there for everyone around her. She was only 24 (I think) when she was called to be the Primary President at church. This means she was responsible for the local organization of all the children's activities at church. She's so reliable and steady. She's a rock and is always there for her boys.

So my main character is going to discover and recognize those around her with the different talents. Of course, along the way she's going to learn more about herself and that she doesn't have to be the perfect and ideal mother. She just has to be confident in her own talents and she'll find more satisfaction in her calling as a mother.

I'm actually looking forward to this because as my character discovers her abilities, I think I'm going to have to find my own. After all, this is going to be a very personal story. A journey, if you will.

What NOT To Buy For M-Day

I don't know if I am the minority or majority in this issue.

One of the common gifts for Mom on Mother's Day (besides the obvious flowers) is some sort of "home spa" set. Bath salts, perfumes, bubbles, soaps. I'm pretty sure I'm not sticking my foot in my mouth by saying, I don't want those for Mother's Day. I think I've stood on my bubble-bath-soap box enough for Josh to have gotten the hint. I don't do baths. Baths are not like they are in the movies or on TV. There is a reality to baths that Hollywood has never truly explored.

Why I don't like baths:


First you have to clean the tub. Remember the episode of Friends when Monica gets Chandler to love baths? He makes a comment at the beginning of the show of "You just sit there stewing in your own filth." I guess this reveals that I don't scrub my tub daily. Don't judge me.

Bubble baths don't make all the cool bubbles they do in the movies, unless you use an entire bottle. And even then they all melt quickly. Maybe the expensive stuff works well, but if you're able to afford expensive bubble bath for your long, relaxing baths, then I don't know how we are even friends since we have virtually nothing in common. I say that with love.

When does a bath fit into the schedule? If you are the mom at our house, the answer is, "It doesn't." The purpose of a bath is to get away from it all. I can't even go to the garage without Millie freaking out that I'm doing anything without her. (Heaven forbid I have a life.)

Baths are boring. You just sit there. I guess you could do some thinking, but you can do that anywhere: the couch, the car, the kitchen table, the toilet. In a bath, you can't fall asleep because you'll drown. You can't read because your hands will get wet and then leave water marks on your book/magazine. And what if you drop your book/magazine? Sucky.

So, to sum it up, baths are a lot of effort to prep for, they aren't relaxing and they are boring.

Get Mom a card for Mother's Day. Or some flowers. Or chocolates.

Or be incredible like my husband and buy her a new five bedroom house. That works too.

The Darn Dominoes

I cleaned up Matt's room today. I took all of the toys (his room was previously the playroom) and separated them by kid and then boxed those suckers up. It's time for us to begin moving, even if it's taking forever for us to close on this house.

I was having one of those "Bad Mommy" days as it was. You know what I mean. The days when you sit there and think, Why did I sign up for this?

I was finding broken toys, unused toys, dirty toys, toys I'd never seen before. But I was feeling pretty good about my progress. It was slow, but I was making piles throughout the room and getting things done. One of my piles consisted of Cars dominoes. Ever seen these?

Don't buy them. They are possessed.

I found at least one domino in every room of the house today. Then I'd put them in their own pile and turn my back to take care of other toys. By the time I turned back around, a single domino would be 12 inches away from the pile. I'd put it back, scan the area, find nothing else out of place and turn my back again. When I'd come back, guess what? Another domino about 12 inches away from the pile.

I swear, they are possessed....roaming the house of their own accord, making curse words fall out of my mouth. The darn dominoes.

Sunday Thoughts

And if men come unto me I will show unto them their weakness. I give unto men weakness that they may be humble; and my grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me; for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them.

Ether 12:27

This verse was mentioned in church today. It goes along very well with how I've been feeling lately. It's one of the reasons I want to truly push myself to lose weight. And be a better mom. And keep my house cleaner. And be a better wife.

It seems my weaknesses stare me right in the face quite often. And I want to win and overcome those weaknesses. I will stare back at them and see who blinks first. Unfortunately, having a staring contest with your weaknesses is like having a staring contest with a statue. I keep losing.

I'm tired of losing. I'm going to start working on some of the things I know I can improve and pray for the ability to discover the things I don't yet understand. With Heavenly help, faith, humility and work, I'll be the woman (including mom and wife) I want to be.

The Amazing Times of Shelly Johnson

It's amazing.....

...how much better a vacuum works when the belt is replaced.

...how long it takes a person to realize the belt in their vacuum needs to be replaced.

...how quickly a one-year-old can walk onto a football field when a fifth grader is running toward her.

...how slowly a mom feels like she's moving when her baby is about to be creamed by fifth graders playing football.

....how quickly a kitchen floor gets dirty after it's been mopped.

....how long it takes to get the gumption up to clean the kitchen floor for the second time of the day.

Yep, my life is pretty amazing.