Mopping (Again)

Today as I mopped the floor, I pondered that my mother used to mop her floor every stinkin' day!  Man!  It was so clean you could eat off it.

Then I decided that, really, you could eat off our floor, too, and you wouldn't even need to bring your own food!  Ha!  (You'd just have to lower your standards--and take potluck, or floorluck.)

Memories

Santa's Village New Hampshire

When we lived in Massachusetts, one summer we loaded up all five kids (Only five at the time--which back east gets the same amount of shock-value that having about 13 would here in the west)  for a Family Vacation.  We went to three children's theme parks; Santa's Village, Story Land, and Six Gun City, all in New Hampshire.  We camped in the White Mountains, stayed in a hotel or two, visited the Ben and Jerry's factory and graveyard of flavors in Vermont, along with some church history sites, etc...

Six Gun City

 

White Mountains

  

We played, we swam, we roasted hot dogs, we met up with friends, we rode rides, we saw SANTA and Peter pumpkin Eater.  For cryin' out loud, we did EVERYTHING!  It was the trip of a lifetime.  FABULOUS fun was had by all.

One hour from home we weren't very fresh anymore.  The entire minivan was coated in Cheerios and Goldfish crackers.  Three of the beasties were asleep.  We were so close.  We threatened death to anyone who woke the baby.  There was no more water in the water bottles. We would not stop at one more gas station to pee.  There were no more clean clothes.  There was no more fun left.  Ma and Pa Disney were done.  Home stretch.  Hold your breath.

At that point, Lil' Mama (Who was about 5 years old at the time) spotted the Golden Arches from the Mass Pike.  Suddenly her life took on a new meaning.  She was not tired.  NO!  She was STARVING!!!  

Encircled by an entire pound of Starburst wrappers, sitting on an empty box of Oreos that she had licked clean, her emaciated frame suddenly went limp as she whispered, "Mom!  Dad!  Pleaseohpleaseohpleaseohpleaseohpleaseohpleaseohpleeezzzeee?"

Few times have I felt so at one with my beloved.  As our booming, "NO!" resounded through the car, waking the baby, Lil' Mama started to whimper, whine, and then pout. (And NO!  The apples in the baggie at her side were NOT food!)

As soon as the baby settled again, this came from the back of the car:

"We NEVER do anything fun in this family!"

MPD

I never posted this, I'm not sure why, so I'm posting it retro-actively, even though she's not in this stage, anymore.  It's from probably Fall 2012.  Just wanted to make sure it made the book when I print it next year.

I'm afraid that my little Caboose has a multiple personality disorder.

Eevee is quite naughty.  (Eevee sounds a little like Evil.)  The picture below is what the Pokemon character named Eevee looks like; innocent, cute and cuddly.  When Caboose is Eevee, she paints the piano with fingernail polish, hides with a bag of chocolate chips, floats measuring cups in the potty, and tracks 24 hour brilliant red lipstick across the carpet.




Princess Nana twirls and sings and then bows deeply saying, "Thank you.  Thank you very much."  She hears the whistles and cheers of an imaginary audience.  Her kingdom adores her.  Princess Nana uses her loves as a valuable currency and is quite manipulative.

In spite of having six girls, this is the first one who has entertained the idea of being a princess.  What does one do with a princess, anyway?

Elevator Story

I know, right? One is missing.  Use your imagination, perhaps I'm sitting on her.

Yesterday, I opened my wings and gently gathered all my little chickies  around me at the pediatrician's office for strep tests.

If you'd ever like to be truly grossed out,
 go on Google Images and type in Strep Throat.

Only two babes were positive. (Also I've had it since Saturday.)  That's good.  And that's not the real story.  

Also, it's true that sometimes one has to wait a long time in the doctor's office.  We didn't.  Nope, they got us in and out of there REAL quick-like, uh-huh.  But that's not the story, either.

I didn't realize the true story in this experience until it hit me last night just as I turned the corner on sleep.  


THE REAL STORY:
By Jeri Keeley

The Elevator Ride

Me: "Quit pushing buttons, honey."

One man steps on, smiles kindly and moves to the corner.  The door closes.  There are 10 people on the elevator.  Eight of them are children.  My children.  All of the buttons are, of course, lit.

Me:  "Please don't even think about putting that in your mouth"

Several kids do a strategic jump as the elevator starts to descend.

K: "Was everyone in that office there getting strep tests like us?"
Uncomfortable silence.  (I didn't even correct her grammar.)  I stare at the floor.

P: "Hey, that looks, like MY blanket!  You have my blanket, that's my special 'throw-up' blanket from the hospital!  MOM!  Make her give me my blanket back!  It has my germs on it!  (The hospital was 8 years ago.  Her voice is loud.)
K:  "No!  I had to get a shot!  I used it to hide on the floor!  Stupid school nurse! (That's another story; we missed a Kindergarten shot.  Dang. Now she's current, but she was not happy, no sir.)

Fighting over the blanket--fragmented screams concerning who is sickest--me trying to explain that I JUST WASHED THE BLANKET.  Man in corner grows smaller, somehow.

Elevator door opens, a sandal flies out, and a little hand grabs it just in time.  People waiting to get on wisely decide to continue waiting.  Mr. Cool manages to look somehow as though he's never seen any of us in his entire lifetime.

S: "Look, guys, we can make it move if we all jump at the same time!"
K:  shrieking:  "NOOO!!! That's too much!  It's gonna fall!"

Me:  "You're maybe getting too big to do that, buddy.  I'm gettin' seasick.  Let's all just stand real still and listen for the ding so we can get off."

The bell dings.  We step off, I chase the Caboose through the parking lot.  But what happened to the nice man from the elevator?  Wish I'd stopped to look back, maybe wink or something.  Also wish I'd had a camera.

Sorry nice man.  

Bet you take the stairs next time.  

If you start feeling puny, you might want to get checked for strep.
Plus, sometimes I have to giggle about what just happened to you.  You really had no idea.

Photo Documentation and Memory Implantation

Today I've decided that the keys to parenting are held in the phrases "Photo Documentation" and "Memory Implantation."

Mama Sez:  "It happened the way I say it happened."

As parents, we wind ourselves into a tizzy trying to create the perfect scenario for our children, who are going to remember the situation in a hazy, inaccurate way anyway.  In the end it is easier to just provide the photos and doctor the memories.

Aunt Claudia made Little K a giraffe cake for her b-day

For example.  Monday was Little K's birthday.  I don't know if I've mentioned this, but I've been having a couple of headaches lately, and it's been tricky trying to make any kind of life plans.  So, I called a bunch of friends Sunday night and told them to meet at Chuck E. Cheese at 11:00 the next day unless they heard differently from me by 10:30.  It's a birthday party!

Monday morning, I swapped favors with my friend next door because I was running late.  She picked up three boxes of Little Debbies Snack Cakes for me, and I took her son to the party so she could volunteer at the school.
Now I had cupcakes for the party!



At 10:45, as I was applying the finishing touches to my face, with dripping wet hair, the phone rang.  I really should have been on my way to the party--I'm sure some people were probably already showing up.  Anyway, all of this ceased to matter, as it was Princess on the phone with the stomach flu.  Oh!  No!
So, I ran down to my friend Jana's house with the four little people behind me (hers, mine and neighbor's), got them all buckled into her car, threw the cupcakes in with them, thanked her again, and raced to the school for Princess.

Jana would start the party, and I would meet her there after getting Princess settled.  Handsome would come work from home.

On my way home with Princess, Jana called to tell me that Caboose had just puked in her car. 

This was when I came up with my pitch for a really, really bad TV reality program.  Also I started a headache.  I wonder if these are stress-induced?

Little A and Little K at Chuck E Cheese
Happy Birthday!

 Long story short:  I helped hose down Jana's car, bought a couple of pizzas and 2 million tokens, thanked everyone for coming, threw a sobbing Caboose into the car, stopped for a slurpee for Princess and some chocolate for me, and headed home to nurse my head.  Jana took over the party, making sure to get some good photo documentation as proof that it happened.  When it comes up later, it will appear to have been a well-planned fun-filled birthday party and if Little K assumes that Caboose and I were actually there, too, well, what can I say?











That's not the end of the story.

Practical Application of Theory

Wherein I return the favor and help Jana with Little A's party

See, a long time ago, Jana found a really good deal on some fun little toys that would make great party favors.  She purchased them, and then planned a theme party around the favors for her daughter's 5th birthday!  (Little A)  For reasons out of her control, she was unable to have the party the weekend of the birthday, so she kept the decorations up, and the party plans on hold.   

It's been two months.

So, here's my take on the whole thing.  Jana has paid for the party that technically never happened.   She paid for the party favors that no one has received.  She's paid in 'brain time' and fretting and by keeping the dang decorations up, with all the guilt she experiences each time she sees the decorations and is reminded that she hasn't thrown the party yet.
Not only that, but then she paid for it by having the neighbor kid puke in her car and by printing out Chuck E Cheese coupons for the neighbor kid's party and then taking over the party and doing photo documentation of the neighbor party where her own daughter and all of her friends had a great time eating pizza and playing games.  AND her daughter is in all of the pictures of my daughter's Photally Documented party, so...
Why shouldn't Jana just use the photos from Little K's party to document Little A's party-that-never-happened and then just implant some memories for little A?*

Who's birthday was it?

She can just sliiide into it.  Each day, when no one is looking, she can take down one decoration.  Every day she can replace the decoration with one small suggestion, craftily worked into the conversation.  "That birthday party at Chuck E Cheese was super-fun!"  That's all.

The next day, "You always did seem to want a birthday party at Chuck E Cheese." Wistfully.

A few days later, "I sure wish we could have used my idea.  Maybe next year."  (This inserted when things are a little hectic.  Sort of subliminal-like.)  "But you have good ideas, too!"

*This is totally ethical, our government does it all the time!

So that when taken all together, subliminally, what her brain says, deep inside is:
"What?  No, honey.  That was your party, not Little K's party.  Remember?  Mommy drove, and Caboose down the street threw up in our car and we had to call her mommy to come and get her?  Remember?  You played on all the toys, and we ate pizza, and had Little Debbies Snack Cakes after?  And we saved the cute little party favors for another party because you really, really wanted a Chuck E Cheese party?"  Disregard the man behind the curtain.


According to my theory, all Jana needs to do is gently cultivate this seed carefully over a period of about a week, then casually refer to is about six months later, and voila!  A memory is made.  

Back it up with some photo documentation, and Little A fondly remembers her amazingly flexible Mother who laid aside her desires for a coordinated theme party in their beautifully decorated home to accommodate her beloved daughter's wishes for a birthday party at Chuck E Cheese with her little friends.  Slap a gold star on that woman's forehead, no one misses the decorations, and mama has moved on to the next source of guilt.

Yo Mama Sez "If I say it happened that way, it happened that way.  Look in your scrapbook."

And they lived happily ever after again.
________________________________________________________________________


Random Factoids:

Today Little K volunteered to be my "Personal Yodeler" all day if I would only allow her to come into the bathroom with me.

There has been a "Bucket 'O Panties" floating through my house for the last three weeks.  It pops up in random places.  It hasn't motivated Caboose to actually use the facilities, but it sure is fun to have around.

Letter to Friend Upon the Arrival of Her 7th Baby

Clip art

Dear Friend,  (She knows who she is.  I don't want to publish revealing info.)

When I heard that your little Amy (who is very beautiful by the way) was not so little—16 lbs and 7 oz—I gasped in horror!  That’s a rather sizeable offspring, which I’m sure you fully realize.  Being the unfeeling friend that I am, I immediately started shooting out quite a few “big baby” comments, some of which, I am ashamed to admit, weren't the most tasteful.  My favorite among them, if you’re curious, were the ones referring to her ability to mow the law upon her arrival home from the hospital. 

          Did she really think that you were going to be willing to raise her in-utero? 

          As these unworthy thoughts entered my head, I realized that I was risking our friendship by sharing them with you.  Remember in college when I offended you by saying that baldies are clearly superior to hairy babies?  (I stand by that, by the way, as all of my children were clearly superior until they were at least two years old—overachievers.)  

Does this baby have hair?  She was wearing a cute little cap and nothing else in the picture I saw.  (Scandalous.)

The real Amy

         

Anyway, I have repented, and I no longer have any latent “big baby” comments in my entire being.  

Also, I have since noticed that she may have only been 10lbs and 7oz.  Whew!  That is a big difference.  I’m happy for you.  And very, very, proud of you.  Especially since I know that you usually have your babies without the assistance of any drugs.

For this reason, and also because I have eliminated myself on at least 11 different fronts this year, I am humbly conceding the “Mother of the Year Award” to you.  It should have come with a gold star for your forehead, but I can’t find them.  Also, I have a feeling that your toddler would have just tried to eat it, thus eliminating you for the award. 

I know that you had contemplated allowing Amy to stay securely in your womb, and you’re probably feeling a little guilty at this point, so I’m writing to reinforce your decision to force her out, and congratulate you on a choice well made. 

1.  Babies smell like Heaven, and are easier to inhale when in your arms.

2.  Baby hair is soft and feels the best when it’s on your cheek.

3.  Sometimes it’s easier to bend over when no one is blocking your bender.

4.  Little girlies are fun to dress, and it’s easier this way.

5.  When she has the hiccups, you don’t have to have them, too.

6.  Children make better decisions when they can act on their own.

          (Or so I’ve heard.)

 

Well, that’s all.  I wish I could deliver this myself and sniff your little angel’s head.  I would bring you some dinner and maybe pick up some stuff before I left.  (My family reading this over my shoulder is snorting now and I can hear little comments like, “Sure, who’s gonna cook US dinner or clean OUR house?”  Go away, folks.) 

I miss you and have been a lot whiney lately.  Wish we were living a little closer to each other.  I’m honestly very jealous that you have piece of Heaven in your home right now, but I don’t envy you the post-partum stuff.  Hope you rebound quickly and get some sleep again some day.

I love you!  You are such an awesome instrument in the Lord’s hands, bringing His precious little spirits into the world to a home where they are wanted and loved and safe and taught the Gospel.

Go!  Fight!  Win!  When you get a second, I’d like to see some pictures.  (Maybe graduation.)

Yo Mama Squints

For My Mother
I love you, I love you, as long as time can be,
For you are my mother, as far as I can see,
I love you, I love you, I love you, I do!
Three cheers for mother, I love to love you!
--Princess Age 9 Mother's Day 2013



Awoke at the crack of dawn to a lovely plethora of Mother's Day gifts; a really cool waffle iron and the deluxe double chocolate-chocolate chip waffles to go with it, (which Lil' K had allowed me to anticipate for a full THREE weeks 'cuz she spilled the beans!  Pay attention here!  Handsome had actually PRE-MEDITATED a gift and purchased it weeks in advance!  He was amply repaid.  Umm, hmm...) a sweet yarn flower vase and tissue flower assortment, sugar foot scrub, bath salts, and several cute construction paper cards and poems.  I felt very very very loved.  


Caboose came home from nursery with the cutest little paper plate and cup made into a flower pot with a picture of herself inside the petals--adorable!  She was so dang proud of that thing.  I asked her if she made it for me for Mother's Day.  No!  It was hers!  Oh.

I was pretty sure that Mr. Lamadingdong's teachers wouldn't fail me, and about 5:30 p.m. when he hadn't produced anything, I finally told him to pony up.  He presented me with a hastily scribbled message on the back of a Sunday School hand-out.  The entire message reads as follows:

"Hi mom I Love you so much That They even made a holiday for you It mothers day.  You are so awesome I love you because you help with chores and do most of them.  You love me and make dinners and you bought me my things and y"

If I read is slowly and only partially open my eyes as I read, I get the general gist.

 Mr. Cool's Sunday-supervisors each forced him to write me 2 touching cards.  Unfortunately, Mr. Cool doesn't do touching.  He does "almost touching, with a twist of definitely not touching, but could have been touching if you squinted really hard." (Which, if I have to be honest, is my favorite kind.)

For example, in 1st grade, Mr. Cool made a "progressive card" that was a long piece of construction paper folded down a million times to a fancy potted plant.  Two plants, actually, "growing" in a pot as you unfold the paper (a Mommy plant and a Mr. Cool plant).  The caption along the side read something like, "Mother, my love for you grows...and grows...and grows...and grows!"

The teacher didn't count on the fact that Mr. Cool could think on his own, however, and when I unfolded the final crease on Mother's Day it revealed a little Mr. Cool plant with monster teeth devouring his Mama plant.

Mother's Day is always a little like this; mostly wonderful, (my part is to squint and laugh a lot).

Here's Mr. Cool's finishing touch to the day.  There's a beautiful tribute to mothers on LDS.com.  This is not it.  It will bring tears to your eyes.  If you squint long enough.  If it doesn't work here, get on YouTube and search Rhett and Link Yo Mama.  Happy Mother's Day.

http://youtu.be/JG1_393MvaQ

Wherein Mommy Has a Stroke and Leaves Too Many Kids

This has been a year of trials so far for me, seemingly tailor-made.  One of my biggest challenges is trying to be the nice mommy when I am exhausted, or with a headache hanging over me all the time.  Add to that my intense desires to be a good mother, citizen and friend, and the struggles that some of my kids and friends are having, and I have been stretched to my limits.

Luckily I signed up for BYU Women's Conference.  Just to have two days alone, with my own thoughts, and a pen and notebook, being fed by the Spirit.  Ahhh...

Not only that, but when an apostle of the Lord, Henry B. Eyring, spoke to a full conference center, and we all sang praises to our Lord and Savior while we waited for Elder Eyring's car which was stuck in traffic was overwhelming.

The world shouts wickedness and bad news at us all day, and to see that there are so many righteous women who are trying just as hard as I am to prepare for the second coming of the Savior refilled my soul with hope and strength. 

I thought of all my friends, many of whom are not members of my church, who also feel this way.  We are an army of quiet, serving, loving disciples of Christ.  We'll never have recognition, we don't want it.  We just want our children to make good choices so they'll be happy.  We want God to be a part of society because we are blessed when He is.  We want to be good friends and neighbors.  We are quiet and mostly unobserved, but there is a power in our sisterhood.

_______________________________________________________________

Along those lines, I went to a neurologist yesterday about my constant migraines.  I'll spare you the details, but let's just say the experience wasn't totally positive.  She freaked out when she heard that I was taking so much Imitrex--essentially refused to take me on as a patient as I am going to have a heart attack or a stroke at any minute.







Uh, OK.  I'd been worried about the pain stuff, but not about the Imitrex.  So, now I'm not taking it, and will be going to a pain management clinic. I'm honestly just trying to do my best, and I've been working with so many doctors and pharmacists, you'd think one of them might have mentioned these risks before now.


She freaked when I mentioned a chiropractor.  (He'll kill me!  I'm now starting to wonder about this neurologist a little.)

Then she cussed me up one side and down the other for having so many children.

This has happened to me before (the large family issue) and I calmly assured her that they were all planned, that Handsome and I had both prepared our whole lives to live this way, that we are both educated and out of debt and that I stay home with them.

I don't want to be self-righteous when I speak to someone about big families, and I am careful with what I say and how I say it.  But if they are brazen enough to give me their opinion, they are going to have to listen to my side of the issue.  Frankly, it's none of their business.  I'm not going to criticize her life-choices, and she can give me the same courtesy.

If she hadn't flat-out refused to take me on as a patient I probably wouldn't have gone back.  But she made it very clear, she is not my doctor, and when I die of a stroke, my blood is not on her hands.

OK, then.

Like I said, I had just refilled my cup at women's conference, and everything was going well at home, aside from the dang headaches, but by the time I left her office, I was so wound up and freaked out that I was once again Crazy Mommy last night.

This is the fantasy version of Crazy Mommy
If I were this put together, I don't think I'd be as crazy.

So.  Now I guess my next step is an Imitrex "Detox" and some pain management.  Can we please at some point try to find the source of the dang problem?  The migraine came before the Imitrex.

I'm going to make an appointment with a hormone specialist.  Also, I've made an appointment with a sleep apnea guy.  The Prince says I snore.  Hmmm...

In the meantime, I'll go back to the gym and keep taking the vitamins.  They haven't helped the migraines, but overall I feel better.

And just for the record, I'm keeping the kids.  And if anyone wants to hand me more, I'll take 'em.