A Contradiction

What do Starburst have to do with dentistry?

Not much.

Except I simultaneously decided I disliked them both on the same day.

I was a little kid and at the dentist I had a fluoride treatment which very nearly quashed my desire to carry on with this mortal existence (maybe an exaggeration?). And the taste of it reminded me of Starburst. I haven't eaten a Starburst since.

But I like this commercial.



Each child has a dentist appointment today and the two older ones each have an orthodontist appointment. (That's five appointments if you're like me and not good at math in your head...five appointments.)

Would I rather eat a package of Starburst or proceed with this day?

It's hard to say.

Growing Up

When I was pregnant with Braeden, I was a school teacher.  The other teachers...most of them my own mother's age...were thrilled by my pregnancy.  They sprinkled me with motherly advice and often, often told me things like, "Well, you're about to get busy." and "Your life is going to change."

I sort of believed them that I'd get busy but I didn't really know how.  I mean, I wouldn't be teaching school anymore.  How busy would I be?

Busy enough that I thought I may curl up and die.

Then I added Emma to the mix and thought, "How was THIS ever hard?  One little newborn is a breeze!"  And on and on.

I continue to look back with fondness at how busy my life wasn't.

When Braeden was 3 and Emma was 1, I know that I thought I was busy.  For the life of me I can't remember what I was busy doing.  When I think back on that time of my life, it feels cozy and warm.  If I think hard enough I remember lonely and overwhelmed but I can't remember why I was busy.

We had a pretty good routine.  At 9:00 each morning, Braeden would watch Little Bear and Blue's Clues on Nick Jr.  After lunch both little cherubs would nap.  Adam got off work at 5:00 and he had a 10-15 minute drive home from his job on Yale's campus.  Sometimes I'd go to pick him up (if I'd needed the car that day...we only had one).  Once a week I went to playgroup.  We went to the library too.

Does that sound busy?  Or like a vacation?

I've always adored Little Bear.  It reminds me of Braeden and Emma and snug days in an apartment in Hamden, Connecticut.  I was thrilled when Mark read it for school.  Braeden was thrilled too.  He said, "Little Bear!" and sat down to listen to the story.

Last night after dinner, and with a dish of ice cream balanced on each of our knees, our whole family watched a half hour of Little Bear on DVD.  Mark had never seen it and that had to be remedied.

I wanted to cry from the nostalgia I felt for those simple days of routines and sippy cups and graham crackers.  I looked over at my son draped on the couch with his big feet and long limbs.

He was my little bear (sniff).

And if I could talk to Thelma-10-years-ago I would scoff and say, "You are NOT busy, silly."
Will there be a time that I look back on NOW and think, "How could I have possibly thought I was busy?"

Sheesh.  It's a scary thought.  Surely not.  There won't be days ahead that are busier than homeschooling three children and carting them off to various pools to swim.  It won't get busier than this trying to squeeze in dentist and doctor and orthodontist appointments and laundry and keeping the house clean-ish and Target and Costco and Albertson's and what's for lunch and what's for dinner and visiting teaching and will you drive me over to my friend's house and the library and the van making a weird noise and on and on and on.

There's no way.

So I felt somewhat relieved.

This is as busy as it gets.

Then I remembered that in a few years, we will begin our 10 year stint of early (6:00 a.m.) morning seminary.

I'm going to go take a preemptive nap.

In all my spare time.

Great, Now I Have a Complex

We are back at swimming.  One of the coaches emailed me and told me our new time was on Tuesday and Thursday.  Before our two month hiatus we had been going Monday, Wednesday and Friday and two days are better than three so I was happy.

On Tuesday I sent Braeden and Emma on their swimsuit clad way and hunkered down to corral Mark's exuberance poolside for the next 45 minutes.  Or try to.

Braeden and Emma came shuffling back over to me.  "The coach said we're not in this class."

???

I went to the coach and said, "Braeden and Emma aren't in this class?"

He said, "No, they used to be in the Monday, Wednesday, Friday class."

I told him about the email.

He said, "Well, they're not in this class.  It's below their level."

Sure enough, all the kids were waist high to them.

I said, "So what should we do?"

He said, "They can swim today but bring them back tomorrow for the right class."

I said, "OK."

And that was the conversation.

But as I was telling Adam later, the coach looked really uncomfortable the whole time I talked to him.  He kept shifting his eyes away from me and then looking at his feet and shuffling from side to side.

I couldn't figure it out.  He's not a big muscular intimidating guy, but then, neither am I.  For one thing, I know he could out swim me if I was too scary.

Adam said, "Maybe he's used to parents that are angry coming to talk to him."

I said, "I wasn't angry.  I was just trying to figure it out."

Adam said, "Well, you don't look very comfortable when you talk to people and I think that makes them feel uncomfortable."

"I make people uncomfortable when I talk to them?"

"Sometimes."

Now I love and adore Adam but that wasn't the most supportive thing he's ever said to me.

It's true that unlike most of the people I'm related to, I don't enjoy small talk with strangers.  At all.  While I've been known to talk the ears off my nearest and dearest, I have also been known to studiously avoid talking to people if I can help it.

But still.  I make people uncomfortable?

I've been defending myself (in my own head) and I remembered the people that used to stop me in the store and ask me what I was feeding my robust bald headed babies.  That seems approachable right?

And then I remembered all the other people that stop me in the store...like the guy who wondered what kind of onions to buy if he was making lasagna for his girlfriend and the grandmother in Costco who begged me to tell her a healthy cereal that her grandchildren would eat.

I'm all kinds of friendly, right?

But now I'm worried.  Am I making people uncomfortable?  By talking to them?  Should I be more smiley?  Chatty?  Somehow that seems like it would be more frightening.

So this is where you leave me a comment:

"Dear Thelma:  You have never made ME feel uncomfortable...by just talking to me."

You can cut and paste that if you want.

Next Time

There's a reason this isn't one of those blogs about wonderful crafts I've created.

Braeden wanted to make a fleece blanket--the kind you tie on the edges.  I decided to make Mark one too.  (He picked the garish fabric.)

 this is Braeden's sleeve and representative of every surface in our downstairs

Next time I'll listen to the woman at the cutting counter who told me the fuzzy strings would go everywhere.  (I believed her but Mark was crooning over the soft garish fabric in an irresistible manner.)

***********

Braeden talked to his cousin Clarissa on her birthday.

As soon as he got off the phone, he wanted a cell phone too.

Next time I'll try to limit Braeden's exposure to cousins that are more fortunate than he is.

***********

Saturday night I had a date with Mark.  On a scale of how-I-normally-am to me-as-my-best-and-entertaining-mother-self, I did pretty well.  We went to a movie, then to Chipotle for dinner, then to Kohl's to buy Mark a Mariner's t-shirt for the impending baseball season.  (I know, he never had it so good.)

Mark said, "How about you buy me a Webkins to thank me for being your hot date?

Next time I'll choose more carefully who I ask out on dates.

The New Side of Me

Ahhhh, spring break.  Yesterday I played hooky all day.  First I finished the novel I'd been reading then I had a long and overdue phone conversation with Janet.  Delightful.

Earlier in the day though, Braeden had been bugging me about his friends.  He gets an idea in his head and won't let it go.  He wears me down and wears me down until I give up.

Just GO Braeden.  FINE.  Pack a lunch.  Be gone for as long as you want.  Just stop pestering me.

I get that this is really a horrible way to mother.

I confessed it all to Janet and she told me that on the bright side, those tenacious qualities of Braeden's will serve him well someday.

Emphasis on someday.

Although they're working pretty well for him now.  Because he certainly gets what he wants if he badgers me enough.  Someday I wouldn't be surprised if I just hand him the keys to the car and my credit cards.

Just for some peace.

When Braeden finally came home I found out what he'd done all day.  I knew which friend's house he rode his bike to (I'm not SUCH a terrible mother, see?) and they'd been there most of the day.  Along with another friend, they'd played basketball and watched some of the movies they've made together.  Then they got the idea to go swimming.

Braeden had come home, while I was upstairs, on the phone.

He'd retrieved his swimsuit and YMCA membership card.

They'd gone swimming at the YMCA (one of the mothers drove them because she was out doing errands anyway).

This all staggered me.

"You came home?"

"Yes."

"And I didn't even know?"

Braeden shrugged.

"How did your friends get in to swim?"

Braeden said, "They didn't even check my membership card.  That place doesn't have very tight security Mom."

For the second time that day, I confessed, "I'm a terrible mother."

Braeden said, "I like this new side of you."

"What do you mean?"

"This hands-off mothering side."

For the first few years of Braeden life I was rarely further than 4 feet away from him when he was awake.  I did everything for him and watched his every move.  He was my world.  I was so smitten with him, I couldn't imagine it any other way.

Thankfully (for both of us) when his siblings arrived, my time was divided and Braeden was no longer the only one for me to orbit in my solar system.

I need to strike a balance between that mother, the hoverer, and yesterday's mother, the delinquent.

Like I told Mark last night when he wondered if we'd even had lunch (we did, sort of), it wasn't a good day.  Tomorrow I'll be a good mother.

So here I go.

Easter

Yesterday after the end of General Conference, Adam found me with tears in my eyes.  By way of explanation, I told him I was full.

I couldn't explain it...I was full of inspiration, peace, gratitude, joy.  But since he's Adam, he Understood.

Besides the satisfying spiritual feast, we also delighted in these:

finnish rye bread, edam cheese, cucumbers...life is good

After Conference and our happy reunion with our Emma, we convened at Geri's house.  She magnanimously hosted us all after being gone four days.

The children were all sequestered in the family room with blinds tightly closed while the adults hid the eggs.

When there's candy involved, even teenagers aren't too old to carry around a pastel basket and fill it with eggs.

As old as any of them get though, uncle Scott is still the only one that can climb on top of the swingset to get the eggs that invariably get hidden there.

 Mark was the first to spot them.

Traditions bind families together.  Even families that have had a year battered with loss.

Maybe more than the traditions, the binds that make us whole and feel like we can rejoice is the sure knowledge we have.

Because of Christ.

Because of the Atonement.

Because of the temple.

We'll be together. 

Perspective

When little things are so important, it's because there aren't any big ones.

I read that recently in the book Mrs. Mike by Benedict and Nancy Freedman.  (It's our book club selection for the month.)

I keep thinking about it.

Because it's a profound statement.

I am really (really) good at making little things in my life become important things.  And I shouldn't.

When I can step back a little, I realize that mostly whatever is an annoyance/stress/anxiety/hassle is really just a little thing.   I realize that the reason it feels so big is because I don't have any big problems.

And for that I'm grateful.

Emma's gone to Oregon with her grandma and I took my boys on errands with me.  (What possessed me to do this is beyond me.)

As the errands wore on, I told myself over and over again, When little things are so important, it's because there aren't any big ones.   

When Mark groused about having "to be dragged along on errands when all I want to do is stay home", I thought,  little thing.  


When Mark crawled into the cart at Costco (yes I had to go again) and complained about how much room all the stuff was taking up and he was uncomfortable, I thought, little thing.


When Mark had to use the bathroom and I had to wait endlessly for him, I thought, little thing.


When he forgot his jacket in the bathroom and I had to send him back and wait some more, I thought, little thing.


When both boys thought they'd die of starvation and let me know the supposed end was near, I thought, little thing.


When they asked me every 30 seconds, how many more errands ARE there?  How much longer will this take, I thought, little thing.


When they disappeared in Fred Meyer and I had to hunt them down, I thought, little thing.

When they argued over which movie they thought I should buy them (I chose neither), I thought, little thing?


When Mark leaned on the self checkout sensor and caused it to go haywire and when they started wrestling spontaneously while I tried to appease the self checkout sensor, I thought, little thing?!?

When Mark had to use the bathroom again and I was waiting without a teeny tiny bit of patience left, I forgot the whole "little thing" idea.  I was annoyed.  I wondered why I brought the boys with me anyway?  I wondered why children are such a pain? Why?

The last stop was Albertson's and because Braeden could smell danger in the air, he offered to walk Mark down to Blockbuster while I shopped.  Of course that resulted in the eventual renting of movies but it was worth it.

Then I came home, feeling dejected.  I had been looking forward to Pleasant Spring Break times with my children.  And I'm not very pleasant.

I felt guilty that I'd let my new mantra out of my grasp. 

You can always reinstate mantras though.  Errands with children is a soul sapping, miserable pursuit.  That's all it will ever be.  But only when I have nothing bigger to cause me trouble.

I will gratefully take my little troubles.