General Conference Thoughts: My Mom's Journey

 It's been 183 years since the Church was restored--in 1830. There were six members. There are now 15 million.

 Last year at this time, there were 58,500 full-time missionaries. Today, there are 80,333. It's astounding to think that last year, it wasn't even a thought in our home that we'd have our own missionary out in the world, but here we are, a year later, and she's been gone for some time now. Someday soon, I'll share the miracle that that is.

"Go ye therefore and teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost" (Matthew 28:19).

"After all that's been said, the greatest and most important duty is to preach the gospel." --Joseph Smith

 It is to fulfill these words that missionaries are out, all over the world, searching for those who are seeking the truth.

I got to thinking yesterday about my family's history in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

It was not a "family tradition" to be a member of the Church. I do not have many pioneer ancestors who joined the Church back in or around 1830. I have one--the Riddle (my paternal grandmother's maternal) family. My paternal grandmother's father joined the Church later on as did my paternal grandfather and my mother.

Specifically, I got to thinking about my mom yesterday. And even more specifically, her search for truth. I got to thinking about the remarkable person she was (and is).

I have shared this before, but my mom's mom died when my mom was six. It was 1934. This has always been an astounding fact to me. The world was at war. The Great Depression was on. A very unsure time in our world, and a little girl loses her mom to cancer. In my mind, a great tragedy.

I have often wondered what it must have been like for her. Yesterday, my mind retraced these thoughts but from a different angle. What was it that made her so wonderful?

I had concluded, a long time ago, that these experiences from her childhood, played a huge role in that. But, yesterday, I thought of her journey....of her faith.

When she was a teenager, she attended a Lutheran summer camp with a friend. While there, she stood at the meeting when the pastor announced, "If you desire to follow your Savior, Jesus Christ, please stand." Before the end of the camp, she became Lutheran. She became very active in the youth activities of the Lutheran church. I find it ironic that most of my dearest friends are practicing Lutherans. She continued to attend Lutheran services throughout her teenage years.

I don't think it was until she met my dad that she even knew what the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was. Her dad, when he found out that she was dating a "Mormon," was very unhappy. He got so he wouldn't let my dad step foot in his house.

When they married, to appease her father, they did so in my dad's parents' home. It was NOT to happen in an LDS meetinghouse.

In 1959, my mom joined the Church. When I asked her why, she shared with me that it was because my dad and she wanted to be able to answer my sister's questions as they knew she would have them as she grew. They wanted to be united in their answers. They felt that they were to be had in the faith of my dad's family--the LDS faith.

I never knew my mom as a new member of the Church, but I know people who did. I have met people who loved and helped her as she "got her feet wet" in her new faith. I am grateful to those people. It's been so fun to cross paths with them and learn a little about what it was like for her back then.

My mother was a very happy person. She was solid in her faith as long as I knew her.

The Church provided her with answers she sought for herself and for her family. She found that she could be bound to her family through the ordinances in the temple. I believe those are the things she searched for more than anything else--to be tied to her family eternally.

As I look back on these things, I have to chuckle when I reminisce on the fact that, just prior to his death, my mom's dad was listening to the missionaries. He passed away, before he could have baptized himself, but my, how his heart had softened. He saw the good it did in my mom's life and the great things it did for our family. He wanted that for himself as well.

I am grateful for the faith of my mom, and I'm so thankful for those who taught her. I am so pleased to watch my daughter change lives and give back a little of what our family has been given through this wonderful church.

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Ugh! There's Proof

Many times I've told people that #7's just like I was as a child. I honestly don't think people have believed me. Well, this morning, I went to Facebook. A friend from Japan had "liked" a few of my photos during the night.....

There you have it....Proof.

Yup. There's one in every crowd. I just happened to provide it for my crowd. She provides it for ours.

I'd now like to apologize to my mother....

Sweet Time with My Boy

I was working in the kitchen, emptying the dishwasher, alongside #5 today. The thought, out of the blue, hit me....This child is just different. He's different than the rest of us. Now, of course, I know that all of my children are different and individual, but he is much more serious and much more sensitive because he's the middle of my three youngest boys, I forget this fact rather easily.

Little did I know that that impression was necessary for today. I needed this information for what would happen later.

Today, fourteen years ago, I stood at my mother's bedside, alone, while she took her last breath. I shared a bit of the story of just what happened that afternoon in Primary today. #5 was sitting on the front row.

When I got done, I glanced over the kids from the back of the room, and I could see #5 hunched over, his teacher had his arm around him. I wondered if he was crying.

Within a few minutes, he came to the back of the room asking for the bathroom pass. His face was wet, and he was sniffling.

I took him by the hand, and we walked out of the room together. I directed him outside, and we stood there and hugged and cried together for a few moments. I asked him if he was sad about the story I shared. He confessed that he was. It was a sweet moment with my ten-year-old son, and I was able to share a lot of my feelings about life and death and the importance of Jesus Christ.

I was then grateful for the realization I'd been given earlier in the day--the fact that this boy was different. He doesn't joke around like the rest of us. Things hit him deeply. He feels deeply.

After church, I felt strongly that he was the one who needed to go to the cemetery with me--just him. So, we took off, flowers in hand.

As we drove, he, who is typically very quiet, piped up suddenly with, "Hey, Mom! Okay, I have a game. You ask me about my friends, and I'll tell you all about them."

So, I started in naming all the people I've heard him talk about: Brett, Eli, Tanner, Benny, Samantha.... He talked and talked and talked. When I ran out of friends, he came up with more. The talk went from friends to funny money (class cash) to state floats to his feelings about his younger brother.

It was a great day getting to spend it with a boy who never knew my mom in this life. I think he grew in his appreciation for her today. I think my mom would have been happy that I grew in appreciation of him. So glad he's my son, this sweet, sensitive, serious boy.

Tonight's the Night

One of the biggest rites of passage in the LDS faith is going to the temple for the first time. #1 will have that experience this evening. What an exciting time!

If you'd like to know a bit more about LDS temples, here is a good article, or I'm sure I know a couple young men or young women who could tell you more if you're interested.

Here are some past blog posts in which I've mentioned the temple:

• The experience of taking our youngest son inside the doors of the temple.
• The temple's impact on our family history (sorry the video no longer works).
• How the temple figures into my view of success.
• The interesting find in my stolen purse.
• How the temple centers me.

So looking forward to #1's experience this evening. The temple will touch her for the rest of her life.

***

I just now received a phone call from a good friend telling me that her dad is dying. Ugh! Looking at the calendar, today is the day my mom slipped into her final coma and stayed there for five days dying. This coming Sunday it will have been 14 years since she left us.

Here is yet another reason why I love the temple. It gives me hope that I will see her again. I'm so glad that this friend has this hope as well. It just makes that awful pill a bit easier to swallow.

I Cannot Be My Mother

My mother did EVERYTHING for us kids. Seriously, everything--laundry, dishes, cooking, cleaning, you name it, she did it. Yes, I was VERY spoiled. By the time I left home, I knew how to dust and set a dinner table. Please don't judge my mother by this. She was an only child raising six children. I firmly believe she was doing the best she knew how and those were different times.

Because of that, though, I decided that as a mother I would do things differently. My children would learn how to do for themselves, and for the most part, they have.

This morning started out rough and led me into my mother's life (for the second time). Let me explain....

We, the Warden and I, began with a conversation surrounding the topic of a habit one of our children is adopting that might not bode well for the future. Such is the case with bad habits, right? In discussing this, I explained my opinion that this wasn't something that could be forced. We had to somehow help this child come to the conclusion that this wasn't a good thing and that the child would have to somehow decide to change it. We could not force the change. All we could do was explain and attempt to persuade.

We finished our conversation, and I went to talk to the child. Things were easily understood, and an agreement was peacefully made. Phew! It honestly took about two minutes. But, I also added that if what we had agreed upon didn't work, we would have to come up with something more to take care of the problem. That also was understood. Did I already say "Phew?"

All was seemingly handled, but then it unraveled before my eyes. We walked to the kitchen, and the Warden completely sabotaged my efforts. That child stormed out of the house and walked to school--no breakfast, no lunch in hand, nothing. Ugh!

I'm sure the Warden didn't mean to sabotage me. We hadn't even had a chance to discuss the terms of the treaty I'd pushed for yet. Did I already say "Ugh?"

image: tumblr.com

Add to this picture the fact that when said child walked out the door, I thought all that had happened was that the child had gotten into the car for the customary ride to school. I sent #7 out with a peanut butter sandwich (very like my mom would have done), so that the child, who has sports after school wouldn't collapse while doing said sports.

#7, after a few moments, rang the doorbell, she had accidentally locked herself out. We opened the door, and there she was standing there with her little blonde head against the wall, tears spilling onto the uneaten sandwich. Her words as she sobbed: "[Child]'s not there."This was when I understood how angry the older child really was.

image: theatlantic.com

Let's add to this picture, shall we? Immediately after that car drove away with its occupants, the last remaining children were milling around the kitchen. One of those kids comes to me and says, "We never have breakfast." In other words, we never have sugary cereals anymore.

That was IT! Really? Why is it that no one else around here can do what I do? I mean, that was the idea behind this motherhood thing, right? Teach them to do for themselves? Are they really this helpless?

image: mrbreakfast.com

I walked into the kitchen and showed the breakfast-less child the English muffins, oatmeal and bread. I explained about a dozen things that could be done with those ingredients.

I would like to step back in time for a moment....

Back to this, which was my rebuttal to some really ugly comments on this from March 4, 2011:

image: wakemedvoices.org

I confess

I made my 2nd grader go without lunch today.

My children make their own lunches.  They are given enough lunch money through their accounts at school to buy four lunches or one lunch a week for the month.  This particular child overdraws his account monthly.  It's to the point that the recorded voice from the school district calls and leaves messages daily about his account being overdrawn--they call until it's been paid off.  I only pay on the first of the month, so sometimes we're five days into the month when the calls start in.  He was warned last month that if he overdrew, it would be his last month with lunch money in his account.  So, you can see what happened.

Today, I volunteered in his classroom.  He came to me and told me he'd forgotten his lunch.  I told him I wished he would have told me earlier, so I could have brought it with me when I came to volunteer.  It was then that I found out he hadn't even made one.  His teacher was standing there--sweetest person in the universe.  She told me that he'd forgotten yesterday too.  She explained that she hadn't called because she was pretty sure what I would say.  This teacher is very good friends and a former co-worker with my mother by marriage, so she knows how things roll with the Hesses.  So #5 went hungry at lunch yesterday too.

I have full confidence that he'll start getting this.  Yesterday his teacher gave him some crackers to get him through the afternoon.  I thanked her.  She said she could do that again.  I asked her to please have him do something for her to compensate her for the crackers.  She agreed.

Do I sound like the worst mother in the world?  It all goes back to the idea of feeling entitled.  I don't want any of my children thinking that they can have what they want if they manipulate the system just right.

So, there will be a nice, healthy snack for him when he gets home today.  Like I said, I sure hope he learns this lesson soon.


Have I softened since that time? Maybe, but I don't think so. I am stressed about a child who goes off without breakfast and won't be home until after 5:00 tonight and will be doing sports in the meantime. I, however, wouldn't stress about a child who's had breakfast and misses lunch to come home to a substantial snack and dinner a couple hours later.

But, the child that went off without, set me off.

I decided that I'm tired of being sabotaged. I decided that if I'm the only one who cares, then I will be the only one who works. I will become my mother for awhile and see if there's maybe something I'm missing. I will touch every base. Every child will have a clean room and will be well fed. I will make sure of it ALL. They will wear the clean clothes I picked out for them.

At this point, I've finished four loads of laundry and three loads of dishes, fed seven people breakfast and four people lunch, put dinner in the crockpot, wiped tables and put clean tablecloths on, picked up #7 from preschool, visited the bank and deposited some checks, and welcomed two friends at my door. There is much else to do, and like my mother, I won't sleep tonight until they're done.

image: nairaland.com

I have to confess that doing this for a day makes me feel great love for my family. I now see why my mom did it for us. It was her way of showing selfless love, and in this I find my confusion. In serving them, I feel love for them, but what I've learned from teaching my children to do for themselves is that the greatest thing I've given them is self-esteem. When they are self-reliant, they come to see their own capabilities.

Is one right and the other wrong? I'm not sure, but I tend to think not.

Am I being a martyr? You'd better believe it, but I quickly learned that I can't do it grudgingly for very long. It has wrought a bit of a change on this morning's upset heart.

So, I wonder, will they notice my work and jump in to help? Yah, I doubt it too, but there was a little glimmer of hope this morning.....

#6 got up after all of this had gone down, having afternoon Kindergarten has its benefits. He asked what there was to eat. I told him about the bread, English muffins, and oatmeal. He immediately went for a bowl. He didn't sit around whining, begging me to get him a bowl, or to make it for him.

image: michelleprice.ca

Being in the mode I was, I think he was surprised when I took the bowl from him and poured the oatmeal and again when I took it from him as he was heading for the water and did it for him. I then took it, after he'd pulled it from the microwave and took over the job he was already doing of putting brown sugar in it. I think he was a bit confused as to what was going on. I think he wondered if I somehow found him incapable.

I was grateful to see that his natural tendency, at the age of six, is to do for himself. It isn't in his nature to sit around wondering who's going to serve him. He serves himself.

I have learned that my mom was wonder woman. How did she do this day after day after day?

Yes, I will continue this through today--picking up after everyone, every little thing they put down--but I don't know if I can do it like my mom did. Actually, I know I can't. I know my kids are capable of much more than sitting around, but this little perspective makes me appreciate my mom that much more. It reminds me to love and appreciate my family and all that they do and to overlook all of those things that I have been viewing as sabotage.

Maybe I need to find some balance--somewhere between me and my mom.

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A Little Step Back into Hesstory: Calvin and Me

image: 1000awesomethings.com

Forget Christmas Eve or the day before my birthday. You can even throw out the night before I got my driver's license, the night before my first date, and the night before every first day of school in my life. Last night was, without a doubt, the  most difficult sleep I've EVER had.

Here's the combination of last night's insomnia....First, the Warden was gone to the coast with a bunch of scouts. I never sleep well when he's gone. Second, #7 was up over and over and over again with a fever. I gave her some medicine and moved her into my bed, but then she would stretch out while she slept and push me to the outer limits of the king-size bed. Last and the most obvious reason, was that envelope  that currently sits by the head of #1's bed. All I had to do was think about that envelope or ponder her future, and my heart would leap. THAT was the WORST!

image: en.wikipedia.org

I finally remembered health class in high school. I remember sitting on the floor of the wrestling gym and somebody, a special guest, coming to show us some relaxation techniques. Yup. That's the kind of high school I went to. I remember being told to take deep breaths and picture myself descending (or was that ascending) a staircase. As I breathed, I was to relax parts of my body starting at my feet and working my way up. Wow! Am I grateful for that little health class! It saved me last night, and I finally got some sleep.

So, all of this waiting has taken my mind back to waiting for my own call, and although I wasn't a Hess at the time, I'm still going to use the title above because, let's face it, Hammtory just doesn't work all that well.


My mom was just cute. Every morning she would drink hot chocolate and eat toast with peanut butter and boysenberry jam. The one thing I didn't know until the day I finished the mission paper process and had my papers mailed off to Salt Lake, was that while she ate breakfast, she read the comics. Cute, huh?

That morning, she shared this:

That's right. The day I turned in my papers, Calvin turned in his proofs of purchase for a beanie.

From that day on, Calvin and I waited together.

And waited....

 And waited....

One morning, weeks later, my mom came to me excitedly. She was carrying the Oregonian with her. "Look! Calvin got his beanie today! Wouldn't it be funny if you got your call today?!"

By this point, my response was, "Yah Mom, really funny." I was SICK of waiting and felt like it would NEVER come.

my brother and me - pre-missions

My younger brother had put in his papers very close to the same time I had, and his call came within two weeks. Here it was three, and mine still hadn't come. Ugh! I was dying!

But, sure enough, that was the day.

I don't remember there being a big hoopla. We didn't have a party. We didn't have relatives to invite. Mine was the fifth and final call to be received in that house, and mine was the least expected. My parents had saved for the four boys to serve. They hadn't expected that phone call from me my freshman year at BYU. I'm sure I totally caught them off-guard, but like #1, I finished the semester my sophomore year and returned home to earn a portion of the money needed and to wait until I turned 21.

Other calls that had arrived at my childhood home were to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania; Anaheim, California; Cali, Colombia; and Hartford, Connecticut. Because my dad served in the military at that age in his life (at the very tail end of WWII), he didn't get the opportunity, but all four of his boys did. I think this was something he was very proud of.

Because my younger brother had received his call to Hartford, Connecticut, as I recall, the monthly cost to send a missionary there was $380, I started stressing about the financial burden on my parents. I had earned money, but I hadn't earned all of it. My parents would up the rest. I found the list of mission costs and started praying, no, more like begging, for Lima, Peru and its $59 per month. Nightly, I petitioned the Lord.

image: todayinsci.com

When I opened the envelope the day Calvin got his beanie, I already knew what line the actual location of my mission would fall on (having so recently seen my brother's call), so to be honest, my eyes slipped for just a second, and instead of seeing "Iowa," as I had expected, or Peru, as I had hoped, there was the word "Japan." NO WAY! This must have been somebody else's letter.

After we all whooped and hollered for awhile and perused the accompanying documents, I found the bottom line. A mission to Sendai, Japan, would cost $485 per month. UGH! How could this be?! Not only was it the most expensive mission in Japan, it was one of the most expensive in the world. NO!!!

I guess you could say that at that point, my prayers changed. I begged and pleaded that we'd have enough money to cover the expenses, and that I'd be able to make it to the end financially.

A week after I entered the MTC, I received a letter from my dad--typewritten on the computer with his slanted left-handed signature and the face he drew for me so may times during church. Someday I will scan this for posterity's sake. On every letter he wrote me, the face he drew became his official stamp. I loved it!

his shop now - image: city-data.com  

In this letter, he shared that the day I boarded the plane to head to the MTC, he went to work and was astounded at what he found....The cars were lined up and filled his parking lot. My dad was an auto mechanic and that particular day was the busiest and most lucrative he'd ever had.

He shared with me that he knew from that experience that I was being watched out for, that the Lord was going to take care of us, and I was doing the right thing.


My dad has since shared with me another financial miracle that occurred later on as I served. There was no doubt that we were being cared for. Just when we'd start to forget, He'd remind us.

I look forward to #1's experience today and for our family's experiences for the next number of months. What I foresee are a number of joys and a number of trials--each of those trials leading to an increase in all of our faith.

The first of those trials may have been last night's lack of sleep, and I'm sure I'm not done with nights like that. As my daughter's off serving in the world somewhere, I'm sure there will be many nights of worry and concern for her well-being, and then there are others to follow in her footsteps in this house. They will lead to some sleepless night too, I'm guessing.

image: harrypotterfanzone.com

Yes, my hope is that there will be many nights of waiting for beanies. I finally got so I called #1's letter "The sorting hat" because that's exactly what it feels like. Funny similarity--a beanie, a sorting hat.

At this point in the game, I only have one thing to say.....Thank goodness for the time spent in the wrestling gym. That knowledge might just get me through these missionary years in the Madhouse.

image: songworm.com

My Definition of a Successful Mother

As I approached my closet yesterday, I got to thinking about what to wear. Lately, it's been all jeans and the usual faire, but because I was going to a meeting across town. I needed to look nice. On these occasions, I try to think of what my sister would wear, and I try to imitate her. This is often tricky because I really have spent very little time with her in my life. I did my best, and I think I would have made her proud yesterday. Nice, but not overstated--a blouse, khakis, earrings AND a necklace--unheard of. Oh, and yes, I did wear shoes. To be honest, I wouldn't if I didn't have to.

image: portlandpowersearch.com

I dropped my children at a friend's house and headed for the bridges of Portland to get me where I needed to be.

As I drove, I got to thinking about random things. Yesterday, probably because I'd just been thinking about her, I got to thinking about my sister. I thought of how different we are and how much I love and admire her. Then I found myself thinking that although we're both so different, we're both people who are striving to be good and do what we feel is best for our lives. Here's a little bit of where my brain went....

I was raised in a family of eight. I was the fifth of six children. My sister, who I think is the most beautiful person that walks the earth is the oldest. She was followed by three brothers, and I have one brother younger than me.

My sister and three of my brothers

The funny thing is that, even though we were raised by the same parents, we are two VERY different people.

image: namanu.com

There was one morning, about ten years ago now, when I woke up in a very large adult cabin at Girls' Camp. As I got moving that morning just after I threw on my jeans and t-shirt and got my tennis shoes tied up, I found a woman I didn't recognize. I approached her and introduced myself to her. She shared her name with me and said that she'd just moved into the area.

I asked her where she had moved from. When she told me, I was floored. It was the same town where my sister lived. I asked her if she knew her. She did. I told her that she was my sister. The look on the woman's face was priceless. She was speechless for a few moments and then said, "She's your sister?"

Now, let me explain a little something--probably the same things I explained to this woman....


My sister left for college a few months after I was born. She was raised an only child for eleven years. She was raised by a much younger, energetic mother. I've heard stories of wearing white gloves and catching the bus into town for a shopping trip with mom.

I also need to explain that those things are completely foreign to my way of thinking. Here's why...

I was raised among four brothers. I was the tree-climbing, fend for yourself type. I'm quick with a comeback because I was raised to be. I was in the middle of the fray. My legs had constant bruises. I was disheveled and couldn't have cared less what I wore for most of my childhood.

My world was completely different.

I must state that I believe my sister to be perfect. Even though, she tries to convince me otherwise, I know better and nothing she says will prove that what I'm thinking isn't true. I know it's not fair to place that expectation on her, but she really doesn't have to do anything to maintain that position. Maybe this is how little sisters are supposed to view their older sisters. I don't know, but in my case, it's true.

I also need to add that just because I think she's perfect doesn't diminish me. We're just so different, and I know that I'm doing good enough being me. We're both moving in a good direction because our mother taught us the direction to go. We both continue on that path even though our mother isn't here anymore. Our mom did a good job.

That is where my mind wandered as I drove. Now that I look back at that thought pattern, I see what a tender mercy it was.

After my meeting, I went to go pick my children up from my friend's house. As she opened the door, she shared with me how AWFUL my children had been. I was shocked. I had never heard this kind of report from anyone before. Maybe my youngest children are always awful and no one has been brave enough to tell me. I was so happy that this woman had the guts to stand up and say so so I could do something about it. It is being handled (a future post will cover this topic).

In these cases, it's so easy to blame myself because I'm the only one I can truly control in any situation, and I know that I don't control them. I can love them and persuade them  to do differently. I know, though, from my own upbringing, that they will decide for themselves who they will become and what they will do with their lives.

Showing off for all the neighbor kids.

The amazing thing was that having been one of those "awful children" in my day, I could see both sides of this coin--the mother's view and the child's view. As I ponder on my own children and their lives and upbringing, I often wonder if they're all going to make it. I am very aware that I am not the same mother who raised #1 and #2. I am different. I'm older and much more tired. I wonder if they'll succeed. 

I can see that #7 is very much in my shoes. Will she turn out like me? Will she look at her older sisters and see them as perfect? Will she eventually realize that her upbringing by a tired mother is part of what will make her who she is? 

There is no question that she will be quick with a comeback. She will be bruised and scraped from playing with her brothers. She is in the middle of the fray.

So, I've wondered: will my children turn out successful? Will they recognize the path that I'm striving so hard to lay out in front of them? Will they be able to follow it no matter if they were raised by the young mom or the older mom? 

Our crew

I've realized that my definition of success is really quite simple. I will consider myself successful as a mother if each of my children is worthy to enter the temple at any given moment in their lives. That's it. But it really is up to them ultimately. It's their choice. I just hope that my example, no matter what my age or energy level, is strong enough for them to follow.

Somehow, my mother, who was me when she raised me--older and a bit more tired--was successful. Each of her children have been worthy to enter the temple at any given moment in their lives. At least as far as I've seen. At my parents' 50th wedding anniversary, we were all together, their children and those grandchildren who were of age, in the temple. It was a wonderful day and a wonderful testament to faithful, loving parents.

So, I apologize that my children are awful right now. I hope you will understand and give them the love and patience you can while this older, more tired mother raises them. I hope that you, with me, will hope for their success. It may take some time, but if we don't give up on them, they will get there.

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Back to the Old Schedule: Just What February Needs

Of course it's February. I didn't catch onto that fact until I hung up from calling my dad today. Immediately after hanging up, I said out loud--no one was with me--"Can I talk to Mom?"

Every year at this time automatically, my heart goes to my mom. EVERY year. It's now been 14 years. It never fails. I become very down.

It wasn't until I said that in the car today that I realized what was hanging me up. Well, duh! It's February. Nothing else need be said than that.

The happy thing is, I'm not even half way through the month, and I life is already looking up. I resurrected this schedule and started following it yesterday. I feel a bit more in control now. It was sitting in the Annex blog, so I needed to repost it here, so I don't have to search there for it anymore.

5:30am

• Pray
• Scripture study

6 to 8am

• Shower
• Wash face/brush teeth
• Get dressed
• Make up, hair, earrings
• Straighten bedroom
• Make bed
• Start laundry
• Make breakfast
• Dishes
• Straighten kitchen
• Clean sink

9 to 11am

• Straighten house
• Sesame Street (one episode together)
• Read with kids
• Today's mission (see below)

11am to 2pm

• Make lunch
• Clean kitchen
• Clean sink
• Read, sing, and pray with L/L's naptime
• Laundry
• Free time

2 to 4pm

• Prepare snack for kids
• Time with kids

4 to 6pm

• Prep for dinner 
• Kids' jobs

6 to 8pm

• Dinner
• Clean up
• Straighten house
• Shine sink

8 to 9:30pm 

• Floss, wash face, brush teeth
• Wipe bathroom sink
• Jammies on
• Last load of wash into dryer
• Lay out tomorrow's clothes
• Check calendar for tomorrow
• Set up schedule for next day
• Pray

Missions:

• Sunday - planning day
• Monday - laundry and upstairs
• Tuesday - grocery prep and kitchen
• Wednesday - desk tasks and downstairs
• Thursday - catch up 
• Friday -  errands, car and date night
• Saturday - deep clean and family fun

I originally shared this schedule back in August of 2009. This works for me. I'm glad I had written it down. It was nice to have it there when I needed it and not have to go reinvent the wheel.

Life is just good if I can get going before the kids are up. I've also learned that I can't follow a strict schedule. There are just too many other schedules I have to work around at a moment's notice. What works best for me is to have broad times as guidelines and a list what I need to do during that time. If I do this, I don't feel so stressed. 

So, bring on February. This year, it's not going to get me down. This year, I'm on top of it. Thanks to a blog post written three and a half years ago. Yay!

It's Been Awhile Since I've Just Blithered to Blither

I just need to write to write tonight.

image: principlesforlife.org

I got my bedroom all straightened up and rearranged last night. It feels so good. I've been really grumpy lately, so I think I did it mostly just to see if it would straighten me out a bit. I think it helped quite a bit. I really have no reason to be grumpy, and I'm usually not one to be that way.

image:en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Writing

I'm thinking that I need to go back to writing everyday. Maybe it'll help me even out a bit. It's funny. When I have lessons that I'm learning or things that bug me, I have no problem writing them, and they seem important, but when I don't, like lately, I wonder why anybody would ever want to read it. It makes me hesitate to write anything. It seems that I've forgotten the whole reason to keep this blog isn't really for anybody but me. Sorry. If you're at all interested in reading, go for it, but for awhile things might be a bit boring. Nothing's bugging me right now.

image: manassascity.org

I'm working on emergency preparedness. That's hugely on my brain right now. At this point, I'm just working on clearing spaces and attempting to create a plan so that I cover all of the necessary bases. I'm still working on editing the document about this topic. Because of the guilt I've been feeling as I've been editing (am I doing enough?), I thought I'd keep a very simple blog about the steps I'm taking to prepare my family for the future. It's not much, but if you're at all interested in reading along and joining in, here's a link. It's really not a big deal, just kind of a daily log to keep me in check and accountable.

The two birthday boys

I can't believe October starts tomorrow. We'll have two birthdays in the next ten days. #2 will be 17!  Woah! That's so hard to believe. Two years until we send out our first missionary.Yay and yikes at the same time.

I've got some pretty serious birthday shopping to undertake in the next few days. I did a little bit this weekend. You won't believe what #2 wanted for his birthday. I'll have to share later.

image: jennyphillips.com

We're getting ready for our Primary presentation. We have such great kids in our ward. They did great today as we practiced for the first time. It was wonderful to see things come together. It's times like these when I come to understand why my counselors are my counselors. They are such beautiful, strong, talented women. I'm grateful to work with them.

image: groworganicmeals.com

So, I have to share a funny story....my son and one of my counselor's sons sing in a regional LDS choir. We discussed carpooling, and I told her I'd just drive. It gives me two hours of uninterrupted time to get some things done on Sunday evenings. She asked me if she could help with gas. I told her, jokingly, that I liked to be paid in chocolate. Last Sunday, her son got in the car and handed me a really AMAZING chocolate bar. Again, tonight, there was another one. These aren't like Snickers bars, these are like gourmet chocolate bars--the likes of which I've never tasted before. I tried to tell her today at church that I was just joking around with her, but she assured me that she's made it part of her routine when she goes grocery shopping on Fridays to find me some kind of yummy chocolate. Wow! Okay, so this may sound funny, but even just knowing that somebody thinks about me makes me happy inside. I told her I'd happily drive her son anywhere any time.

image: housefulofhandmade.blogspot.com

This kind of reminds me of when I was a kid....A woman in the ward brought something to our family. I can't remember why, but it was food in a 9"x13" pan. Somehow, the pan broke, so I remember my mom going out and finding the prettiest 9"x13" pan she could find to replace it. She also found the yummiest dessert recipe she could to put in the pan. She made it and gave it to the woman who originally gave us the food. The next week at church, that woman gave the pan back to my mom with something yummy in it. Prior to this, my mom hardly knew this woman, as her family was new to the ward, but this went on week after week trading delicious things back and forth. I remember being so excited about that pan coming back to our house every other week. My mom was close friends with this woman from that point on--even after they moved from our ward.

image: ksl.com

We got the missionaries written to today. It's fun that a few of them are #1's friends. It's very weird to write for #6. Today, he started his letter "'Sup dudette?" as he wrote to a sister missionary friend of ours. It's been such a fun experience for our family. I'm so glad for dearelder.com.

image: clearci.com

Sometimes it's just so good to blither. Nice to get some of the overload out of my head and heart. If you've taken the time to read this far, thanks! Hope you have a great week!

Too Much to Handle Alone

#s 5, 6, and 7 were out in the backyard playing this afternoon. It was just like any other Friday when the weather's good.

image credit: nachi.org

Suddenly, I could hear #7 crying. I wasn't familiar with this cry, but #2 was talking to the boys trying to figure out what was wrong. When the crying didn't subside after a few seconds, I went out to the backyard. #7 had been trying to get a bike from the side yard of the house. I asked the boys what had happened. I heard, "A bee was on m' hand!" Said between shrieks.

I asked the boys if she'd been stung. They didn't know.

image credit: bee-stings.net

I got her into the house, and she continued to cry. Sure enough on the middle finger of her left hand right above the middle knuckle was a very large stinger with all kinds of nasty-looking puss coming out of it. I knew from first aid classes I've taken that you don't use tweezers to get a stinger out, but in the state that she was in, I knew I had to hurry, and I had to be smart. She was freaking out and wasn't going to be all that patient.

I asked for my computer to be brought to the table. The instructions were LENGTHY. I didn't want long explanations of why you do things, I just wanted to have a couple words telling me what to do. UGH!

image credit: wired.com

I had the two little boys standing there staring at me doing nothing; maybe they were just waiting for instructions. #2 had returned to writing his paper in the front room. I guess he knew I had things in control. Don't kids always think that about their moms? I asked one of the boys to get me a needle (to flick the stinger out with). I asked the other boy to get some ice. They both went to get what I'd asked for. Although, a needle couldn't be found, so I was handed a safety pin instead--no matter, it was just to flick with, so whatever.

I flicked the stinger out and asked for some rubbing alcohol and some dirt to make mud with. Dirt was not brought back, it was a mixture of old dead grass and who knows what else. I was a bit frustrated at the lack of knowledgable help I had standing around me. Where were the kids I could count on to know where everything was that would just jump and do it without too much being said?

image credit: en.wikipedia.org

During all of this #7 was still screaming. Ugh! It also became apparent that there was another stinger. After asking about it, she moved to reveal one in her right forearm--just where it's hard to reach with her sitting on my lap. I flicked that one out also and applied the ice as much as she'd allow and then doused two cotton balls with rubbing alcohol and put them into place. She kept hollering that she needed a bandaid, so #6, trying to be the best brother he could be, prepared the bandaids. The entire time, I tried to stop him from wasting bandaids, "Buddy, she's not bleeding. She doesn't need a bandaid." Somehow her pleas were more important than mine, so there he stood, on the ready with a bandaid in hand and poised for application. 

The screaming on #7's part and the lack of listening on #6's part were stressing me out. I finally couldn't take it any more.

image credit: ehow.com

It's been that kind of day from the beginning, so I put #7 down on the chair and went up to my room and locked the door. How could I handle this better? Yes, there was chaos downstairs, but I had to have a second to think. I knelt down and expressed my inadequacy..."I can't handle this...." and asked for help..."Take it away."

When I got up, I calmly opened my door and said, just loud enough so the kids downstairs could hear it, "[#7], you may come up as soon as you're done crying." She started to climb the stairs, shrieking. I shut the door and, as I did so, reminded her that she had to stop. She did. I opened the door; tears were streaming down her cheeks, but no sound came from her mouth. 

She came in climbed onto my bed and the crying started up all over again. I walked out into the hallway, and as I shut the door, reminded her that she had to stop crying, and I would be back in as soon as she was done. The crying stopped instantly.

image credit: zombielogicblog.blogspot.com

I called to #2 and told him that he was the only one who could help me in this situation, so even though I knew he was working on a paper, he needed to stop for just a few minutes. I asked him to bring me an Excedrin from my purse (not sure how I knew to do this. My computer was still down on the kitchen table, and I hadn't gotten this far in the instructions....I was punting. I just knew I needed something with aspirin in it), a cup, and a spoon.

When he arrived with these items, I went into the bathroom and poured a very small amount of water into the cup and dropped the pill in. I sat and stirred it until the pill was dissolved. I asked #2 to lounge next to me on the bed and hold #7. She climbed onto his lap and laid her head back on his chest. She tried her best to stay calm.

image credit: head-fi.org

I asked #5 to bring me two Q-tips. With the Q-tips, I applied the Excedrin water on the spots. She cried as I did it, and I encouraged her to stop, so she whimpered instead. I can handle whimpering in situations like this. Soon the whimpering stopped and she just laid there leaning on her brother. I asked her how she was doing. She said, "Good."

"Do they hurt you?"

"No."

After a few minutes she started to whimper gain, so I applied a bit more. We kept this up for about ten minutes, and the pain had subsided. She got up and started running around, and things have been fine ever since.

image credit: flickr.com

I used to think that if I prayed, it would take time to get into heaven or something. I don't know what I was thinking. I just always thought it would take time to be heard. Since I've become a mom, I know that answers can be instantaneous. So glad to know He's watching out for us! I wonder if my mom knew this too; I'm pretty sure she did. That must be how she survived days like this.