The great mystery of motherhood

Our friend Cailean posted a blog about her children's personalities and how much influence she had/didn't have over them. She used a great art analogy, and it inspired this image that I just can't get out of my head. To me, being a mother is like being an artist. Except that as you work, your strokes take on a life of their own, moving across the canvas, shrinking, expanding and changing colors. I was bound and determined that I would raise peace-loving boys. At four and six, they love soldiers, superheroes and weapons of any kind. I had to laugh as our hometeacher walked out the door last night, trying not to slip on the little metal balls that are the "bullets" to Brigham's slingshot. He had spilled them all over the front step. Eric said something like, "Yeah, we like to throw those out when people come over, make it a little challenging to get into our house." :) Currently there are two arrows stuck into the shingles on our roof, evidence of little Eric's attempts to shoot a bird. And yet.....something tells me they'll grow up to be loving, gentle husbands and fathers. I guess that is the great mystery of motherhood...how much influence do you really have? What parts did you create and what came with them into this world? Personally, I plan to take credit for all the good things and blame the rest on genes:).



And, I just had to post this picture of our poor, depressed dog. You see, he got neutered a few weeks ago, and we were supposed to watch him and make sure he didn't lick at the stitches. You try watching a golden retriever h-bent on licking his crotch every second of the day while trying to make sure your sons aren't shooting arrows at the mailman. After about a week, Eric noticed that there was "stuff" oozing out of the wound, so I took him back to the vet, who claimed he had never seen a surgical wound get this bad. I looked at my feet and cleared my throat a lot. Mustang had to have another surgery to cut out the infected skin and re-stitch the wound. This time they sent us home with an "e-collar", pictured, since we had proven ourselves to be such inattentive pet-owners. You've never seen a sadder dog than Mustang has been these past few weeks. He's not allowed to roam around in the backyard or go running with me, which is his favorite thing to do. And he has to run around all day with a giant white cone around his neck. As I write this, he's having his way with a stuffed jack-o-lope. I just don't have the heart to take it away from him...he has so few pleasures left in life. Only one more day until he gets it off, thank goodness!

A southern gentleman and a four-eyed monster

Here, finally, are the promised pictures of Eric at cotillion, and Brigham in his new glasses. Life has been turned upside for the last few weeks: we got new carpet (and the smell makes me want to vomit when I walk in the house!), the dog got neutered, we survived the sugar avalanche that is Valentine's day, and a few other mishaps as well. Things are finally settling down, and I find I have a backlog of things to blog about, so.....





As I believe much of our readership is of western origin, I should explain cotillion. Here's the wikipedia definition:

In the United States, Cotillion has become training that children and young adults attend to learn manners and proper social behavior in the context of formal dance. The participants dress up in formal attire and some cotillions emphasize the use of white gloves. Modern day Cotillion takes the form of classes and parties. These programs use dance as an interactive tool that breaks down inhibitions and teaches important social skills. Some of the dances currently taught include waltz, fox trot, tango, swing, cha cha and many other ballroom dances. The parties are typically "graduation" parties usually held after a series of classes.

Eric is only old enough to do "junior cotillion", which is just manners, no dancing. In a class of twelve kindergarteners, Eric was the only boy. I was afraid he wouldn't want to go back after finding this out on the first night, but he never batted an eye! The last night was graduation, and we dropped Brigham off at his friend McKenzie's and had a special night with Eric. He was SO handsome and self-possessed!

One of the nights that Eric had cotillion, Brigham and I went on a "date". Yet another perk of having sons:). Daddy gave him some money and a short tutorial on opening doors for girls, and we were off. I let him choose where he wanted to go and he chose Chick-fil-a (I LOVE that place!!). We had ice cream and lemonade, played on the jungle-gym, met a police officer, got a balloon and then headed home. All in all, one of the best dates I've ever had:).



And here is Brigham with his new glasses. It turns out he's almost blind in one eye. The day we got the glasses, I put them on him and he just looked around, blinking. Then he said, "Mama! I can see far away!". During lunch that day he told me that his Doritos looked like "fire in the night". Eric was pretty jealous of all the attention. It brought back memories of the time I was in fourth grade and it occurred to me, halfway through the routine vision test at school, that I could fake not being able to see the letters and get glasses. The problem was that when my parents took me to the doctor, I couldn't remember which eye I had faked and I accidentally faked the wrong one. Needless to say, I didn't get glasses. So Eric and I look on in envy together!



And that brings me to my last thought for the evening. The blue chair in the picture is the one that my friend Lindsay and I reupholstered...it still needs a cushion, but you get the picture. The green one I found on Craig's list last month. I think there's an invisible line that you cross when you acquire a lime-green chair. I've crossed it and I'm not looking back!

Some time to think about it

There are a hundred things I should be doing right now, like taking a shower and cleaning the kitchen up, but I had to get on and post some thoughts about President Hinckley.

We are, of course, members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, or Mormons. Gordon B. Hinckley was our prophet, and he died last night at the age of 97. In the car on the way to preschool this morning, I turned around in my seat and told the boys that something sad had happened- that the prophet had died. Eric corrected me, saying, "It's not really sad though, because he's with Heavenly Father now, and his wife (who died several years ago)." But as I turned back around in my seat, I couldn't hold back the tears. I was thinking of a time when Eric and I were first married and he smiled and said to me, "I love the fact that President Hinckley is the only prophet you've ever known." In a few days that will no longer be true, and it feels like a huge milestone. I joined the Church a week after my eighteenth birthday- almost ten years ago now. The changes that have come over those years are overwhelming. When I first encountered the missionaries at sixteen, I was confused about life. I had wonderful parents who loved me, but didn't love each other, and hadn't for as long as I could remember. I knew I had a great mind and the support of my family to be whatever I wanted in life, but my hopes for a strong marriage and a close family were not high. I can remember the missionaries telling me that God knew my heart and my deepest desires. I thought about what those might be, and concluded that the thing I wanted most in the world was a wonderful husband who would be my best friend. I never dreamed that He would drop one in my lap when I was only nineteen. And not too long after that our two precious boys arrived, almost before I knew how much I wanted them. I still know that I can be anything I want to be in this life, but the thing I choose to be is a wife and a mother. It turns out that having a loving, eternal family is very, very hard work, but it is possible. It's the toughest challenge I've ever taken on, but with the help of the gospel of Jesus Christ and the example and teachings of President Hinckley, I truly feel like each day I learn and grow and get a little closer to the incredible woman that God knows I have the potential to be.

I know, of course, that President Hinckley, at 97, was ready to go, and that he's in a wonderful place. But I can't help but be sad when I think that his life on this earth has ended. It feels like the bookend to an important part of my own life.

www.lds.org

Mustang the i-pod slayer

My lonely reign as the queen of destroying expensive electronics came to and end two weeks ago. We arrived home from church and as I was taking my shoes off in the bedroom, I heard a VERY loud crack, which I later discovered was the sound of Eric's hand connecting with Mustang's rear end. This was followed by a pitiful display of submission by the dog, which, of COURSE involved him peeing on the floor. Turns out he'd chewed Eric's i-pod while we were gone. I may drop things, submerge them in water, absentmindedly yank them from their power sources and drive off with them on the roof of the car, but I've never, EVER left fang marks in them.

I'm SO frustrated that our computer is broken right now (my fault, of course), because I have adorable pictures to post of little Eric at pre-cotillion and Brigham and me on a date. You'll have to stay tuned....

For now though.... I've just finished a great, thought-provoking book that I highly recommend. It's called Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, by Barbara Kingsolver. It's a little sanctimonious and over-the-top at times, but it really makes you think about where your food comes from, and what it's cost the environment to get it to you. It's basically a challenge to try to eat locally as much as possible. So last week at the store I searched the entire produce section for something from North Carolina, and finally found one thing: Rutabegas! I've never had one before- funny how California oranges and Washington apples are so ubiquitous that a rutabega from your own back yard seems exotic. The plan is to cook it tomorrow night....I'll let you know how it goes. Oh, and best of all, it contained this excellent quote from Mark Twain:

"Sometimes I wonder whether the world is being run by smart people who are putting us on, or by imbeciles who really mean it."

Amen.

It's burning a hole in my pocket

As I was brushing my teeth just now, my mind was spinning, thinking about....well...spending money. Deep, I know, but for Christmas this year my wonderful mom gave me a check- which I know she felt bad about, because she loves to buy presents and, I think, really wanted to find the perfect gift for me. But time was short and I wasn't very helpful with suggestions, so she got out her checkbook. And can I just say what a fun, fun thing it is to have money that I'm actually SUPPOSED to spend on me? Not that I have a problem buying things I need- if there's one thing I don't have, it's a martyr complex. There's just something different about having money to spend that someone you love WANTS you to spend on YOU. Almost out of nowhere, one of my last memories of my granddad popped into my head. It was just before Christmas and he called me into his room to tell me that for Christmas he wanted to give me some money, and that I could spend it on anything I wanted- something for the house or a pretty dress, anything. Something about that moment, I think it was the thought of a pretty dress- do those even exist anymore?- broke my heart. Bills came up and I never got to spend the money, but one of these days I'm going to buy a pretty dress, and every time I wear it, I'll think of my grandfather.

It's always a scrimmage....

I know I haven't posted in a while...apparently when the kids are on vacation from preschool I stop blogging. I had a great New Year's post all cooked up in my head, but first I took a detour to Youtube and, well, this is so much more entertaining than anything I could say. Bless those random male duos with nothing better to do than make awesome Youtube videos...

I promise I'll write a real post soon!

The five objects I would save if the house was on fire...

But first, here are some pictures from Thanksgiving...
These are the turkey cupcakes I made for Brigham's class "feast"


Brigham's preschool class all dressed up as pilgrims and Indians. They even had pilgrim and Indian names- Briggie was Squanto!



My twin cousins Thomas and Charles, who remind me of Fred and George from Harry Potter- one of them dressed up in an inflatable Santa suit after Thanksgiving dinner. The boys were a little confused as to why Santa supposedly lives at the North Pole and yet has a pronounced southern accent...


Eric and Brigham changing the oil pan gasket in our car...



This was a giant gingerbread house that they had at Wild Dunes for all the kids decorate. They each got a little tray with icing and some candy to stick on. Great idea!



And here we are, earlier tonight, decorating our Christmas tree, which we cut down all by ourselves, using a combination of sawing and chopping (little Eric just really, really wanted to use an ax). Interestingly, the two states in which Eric and I were born are the number one and two producers of Christmas trees in the U.S.- Oregon (#1) and North Carolina (#2).


And that brings me to the inspiration for this post. The five objects I would save if the house caught on fire. Our Christmas stockings. There are very few domestic pursuits in which the women of my family distinguish themselves. In fact, there is exactly one: knitting. My Mom, grandmom, aunt and cousin can knit absolutely anything, and they have. But the pinnacle of knitting achievement in our family is the Christmas stocking. You're not a real member of the family until you have one. Before my Mom and Jeff got married, we used to say of her various boyfriends, "What do you think? Does he have stocking potential?".

If you're really exceptional, you even have two stockings, like me:). Actually that's because my grandmother knitted me one when I was born (which is the fifth object, not pictured), but my mom accused her of using inferior wool, which is a grave insult, and knitted me another one. And thus was born, the Bird Santa (pictured below). It's a Santa, in the shape of a bird, as you can see. My mom can do two styles of Santa, the Bird Santa and the "traditional" Santa. We all have Bird Santas- they're the coolest. My brother and Brigham both have camels on their stockings- those are pretty cool too.

So thank you, Mama, for the gift of always knowing that of all the people in the world, I have the best Christmas stocking there is, complete with the original Bird Santa and a cashmere panda! I'm sure I'll never live up to your incredible knitting prowess, but I know I've got to try, in case you ever start trying to use substandard wool ;).