Magic of Ordinary Days

I've been watching the Hallmark channel. A lot. It seems to be one of the few places left on TV where I can find generally clean shows. (I've had to delete even a few Hallmark movies because of questionable activities.) One of the shows had the above title and the movie was, "Meh," good at times, boring at others but didn't leave me filled with a sense of, "Why did I just waste 1.5 hours of my life that I'll never get back?!"

The point - the movie title, combined with Kari's comment here, combined with an article I read once somewhere on the internet (meaning no link) about how as a SAHM, every time my children say, "Mom!" is the same as the bells at a monastery calling the monks to prayer or to life devoted to God all add up to the idea that it is in the ordinariness and monotony of days that I find the true brilliance and miracle of life.

Granted, beyond the general idea, I don't see it much.

While I've gotten to the point in my life that I've surrendered to the idea that there will always be more laundry to wash and that I need to buy food even though it just becomes poo, I still have a hard time finding joy and opportunity and miracles in the service.


I have an even harder time finding the humor in these moments.

But I was thinking that the exercise of trying to blog more of daily life instead of deep thoughts *might* (I have some skepticism here) lighten me up a bit and just *might* improve my writing skills.

To that end, may I just say that my 10yo made dinner last night? I had to drive some errands for the business so he got dinner started with a few instructions over the phone: rice in the rice cooker; canned green beans heated in the microwave; and chicken boiled in 1/2 c. of soy sauce and 1/2 c. of apple cider vinegar. Nothing fancy. Nothing gourmet. But I didn't have to lift a finger to make dinner.

Priceless.

It's A Different World

I've heard it again and again: today's world is a very different place, even from the world I grew up in only, ahem, a few short years ago.

This could not have been further underscored than it was today by this realization: my children only know Christopher Walken as the nice farmer from Sarah, Plain and Tall, and Dick Van Dyke as the evil night security guard in Night at the Museum.

Montessori Campout

We went camping overnight (happily in cabins) with Q and Eliza's school (unhappily, we had to share cabins and thus more people are now aware of my snoring problem).

We had a lot of fun. We ate a lot of food that would soo not have been okay had this been a pre-Easter event (And may I say that the camp's oatmeal chocolate chip cookies were so good, I think they were laced with crack. Seriously. I kept waiting for them to set them out at another meal so I could be the fat lady walking out of the eating lodge with two dozen cookies in her pockets because I would have been completely OK with that moniker.) We played miniature golf (rural Alaskan style - small cement pads with large rocks as obstacles), shot BB guns, arrows, played air hockey and walked. And walked.

I felt like a pioneer child.

But the best moments were with my son in the middle of the night. There were a total of 15 people in our cabin, only 2 of which belonged with me. Two of those other 12 had been traveling all night prior to the campout and had thus been awake from 1am until 9pm and were ex.haus.ted. I was hyper aware of the need for my children to be quiet. So imagine my joy when, in the middle of the night, I hear, "ELIZA! GET OUT OF MY BED! EL! I! ZA! GET OUT OF MY BED!" in a piercing whispered voice. Q had sleep walked (?) or something and ended up in the bunk next to his where a little girl (about 5yo and NOT his sister) was sleeping. In his sleep filled delusion, he thought she was Eliza and that she was on her bed.

I managed, after a bit of arguing, to convince him that his bed was the next one over. He finally allowed me to move him and we all settled back down for sleep.

Sort-of.

From behind my eyelids I saw a light flash on and swing around and shut off.

"He's just getting settled," I thought.

It happened again.

And again.

"Q! What are you doing?" I stage whispered.

"I'm afraid of spiders."

"Do you want to come sleep with me?"

He was in my bunk quicker than you can say, "Bob's your uncle," and my back ended up crammed up against the wall for the worst night of sleep I can remember.

The ironic thing is that while we found no spiders on his bunk, when we were putting our sleeping bags away, we DID find one on mine.

I suppose it just matters what one thinks at 1am and not in the light of day.

Drama Mama

I have one daughter.

She has been a crash course in all things female; I swear she came out of the womb with a tiara and full on mani-pedi.

One thing I have noticed is about her is that she is a champion whiner. Seriously. I have two boys. They, believe you me, have done their share of whining. But Eliza - she takes it to a whole 'nother level.

Today she was sick.

Hoo boy.

I'm always uncertain how much to pamper and love and cuddle and how much to tough love.

She woke me up at 3:15am, crying because she was coughing so much she couldn't sleep. I patiently took her back to bed, propped her up on lots of pillows, got her tissue to blow her nose and laid down with her (no mean feat given that she sleeps on a twin bed and last night was her turn with our 70lb black lab), my head tucked at her side and my hip grinding into the floor. When she was safely contented, I told her I was moving to the front room couch and to come get me if she needed anything. She was maybe 10 minutes behind me.

I shared the couch with her but to say we actually slept would be to use that word improperly; sort of like using "slumber" in slumber party. She moaned and whined and complained and cried and would sleep fitfully. I felt bad for her too but at 4:30am, my reserves of patience are woefully low.

I sent her to bed early tonight and I'm wondering what tomorrow holds and how patient/impatient I should be with her. She is only 7. She really doesn't feel well. But my ears . . . .

Like Daughter, Like Mother

Sunday was the Primary Program.  This year marked my last opportunity to enjoy a sacrament meeting without any children by my side.  It was lovely.

It was also quite lovely watching all three of them sing and talk.  The downside is that I always cry. 

And cry.

And then cry a bit more.

It's just how it goes.  My children seem to have accepted this.  In fact, it seems to be coloring their world view.  The kids wrote most of the program (after adult prompting to be sure) and my daughter's piece went something like this:

"Knowing Jesus loves me makes me happy when I'm not crying, tears fall from my eyes."

Due Diligence

I'm really trying to post when I'm not depressed. 

At least you know this is day two of being fairly upbeat.

My oldest, Raph, is home sick today.  It's the oddest thing; Eliza got sick last month with strep throat but didn't have a fever as a symptom.  Now Raph is home with head and muscles aches and muscles weakness but no fevers.  Is this the flu?  Is this some random virus?

It feels quite different to mother a sick almost 12yo than a sick 6yo.  Raph just wants to be left alone and only occasionally waited on.  Eliza wanted to be snuggled and held.  *sniff* When did he get so old?

We have snow on our mountain tops already.  The first dusting appeared on October 1 and we've been playing the "here today, gone tomorrow" dance for the last few weeks.  It's exciting to watch the snow slowly descend and then disappear.  (Notice how I didn't add anything about my nerves regarding actually having to drive in that snow once it hits sea level - focusing on the positive!)

Q has to perform community service every month as part of his schooling.  He then has to write an essay about his experience.  (I really am loving his Montessori more and more.) He has selected (shockingly!) to volunteer at the local Humane Society.  He's so excited about the possibility of seeing Jenny.  I don't know whether to hope that she's adopted out or still present when he goes next Monday. 

I did find it fairly amusing that the person whom he spoke to at the Human Society, knowing that he was only 9, told him that volunteer hours were from 9:30am to 2pm on the weekdays.  Hmmmm....what about school?  At no point did she ask to speak with a parent, which I also found interesting.  Happily, we were able to switch him from Wednesday (a school day) to next Monday (teacher in-service day).

I made fried chicken thighs and macaroni and cheese with vegetables for dinner last night....

I actually made it to bed, lights out and all, by 10pm.....

I think the fact that I have so little to write may end up depressing me after all!

My Failure as a Mother

My favorite 11yo in the entire world (also known as my oldest son Raph) lost his very last baby tooth.

A month ago.

No tooth fairy in sight.

Poor Raph.

He knows the truth so I know he just keeps blowing it off.  "Mom forgot. Again."

Really, I am just waiting for him to walk up to me some afternoon and say, "Look, the tooth's MIA - probably lost under the bed somewhere.  Can I just have my $1?"

Montessori Musings

What can I say? I'm enjoying alliteration these days.

My oldest, Rafe, is finishing elementary school this year and should be enrolling in the local middle school come fall.  However, I have been feeling unenthused about the middle school (it probably hasn't helped that I'm still not certain where the building is actually located) and was wanting something different for Rafe.  We'd been tossing around the idea of homeschooling him since we moved; Alaska has some great homeschool programs that assist with the planning and help fund homeschooling so that the first $1800 of supplies and programs I used would be paid for.  I think Rafe would enjoy homeschooling but there's a slight hitch: I work.  And since we've moved north, I'm working more hours than ever (for the same pay - ah, the glory of owning your own business).  I'm usually home by the time they get home from school but, clearly, I wouldn't be able to work, spend hours homeschooling, be there to help my other kids when they got home from school or homeschool all three children, and then accomplish the other zillion things I like to do in a day.  I know, I know.  You thought I was Wonder Woman and now you are crushed.  I am so sorry.  I guess I'll have to return the Lasso of Truth.  Damn.

While engaged in contemplating my navel the future, I stumbled upon a flier for an upcoming open house at an alternative district school. I dragged encouraged my homeschooling SIL to go with me and I was impressed with the presentation.  I even attended last Tuesday to observe the three different classrooms (a 1-3, 4-6 and 7-8).

The school is a Montessori program (I'm sure you gathered that from the title because you are so brilliant) and I loved the setup of the classrooms and the flexibility of the curriculum.  The class sizes are much smaller (at least half of what the regular school would be) and the kids actually get 1/2 an hour for lunch.  It's the little things that matter.  I think there will be a lot of benefits to my children attending this school.

So what's the problem?

I. hate. change.

I know.  It's shocking after my ready acceptance of moving my family over a thousand miles to the north, but it's true.  Moreover, I get nervous whenever I step outside of the mainstream unless I am certain of my path.  DH's sister once said that I like to get all my information in black and white and then say, "Hmmm...thanks.  I'll think about it."  So choosing a such a different educational style, even though I'm unsatisfied with the mainstream option, has been given me waves of anxiety.

A dear friend asked me why I was struggling with the idea so much as I, quite enthusiastically, attended St. John's College and enjoyed their great books program.  To which I replied, "If I make a mistake in my life, it's one thing, but if I make a mistake with my children's lives, that's another."

To sum: I hate change and I hate the idea of being wrong and I hate the idea of being different unless I'm sure that I'm right and mother guilt.  Ugh.

Again with the sticking my neck out.  Again with the brave helmeted mouse trying to steal the cheese from the trap.  At least that's how I'm feeling.

But I did it.  In a fit of rightness and passion, I signed the applications and mailed them off.  Now I just have to wait a month to see if my children were accepted in the first lottery. . . .

PS - I know this was a rough post.  All I can say is that my skills for making my mundane insanity amusing have waned a bit during the break.  Here's hoping they'll return....and rapidly!

Lazy Mom

Wednesday afternoon Q called me from school and said that he wasn't feeling well.  I picked him up and brought him home; he was so pale he made chalk look tan.  He vomited that night.

So, I'm sad that my child doesn't feel well but I have to say that I've become a very lazy caretaker.

I mean, sure, I snuggled Q extensively on Wednesday and through the night, but it was mainly because I didn't have to make dinner and got to go bed early instead of getting the other kids ready for bed.

Sure, I spent the day at home with Q on Thursday and didn't go to work, but it was mainly so I could play on the computer without having to really accomplish anything.  (On the other hand, my blogs never had so many new posts!)

Now Rafe is sick and I've relegated him to his bedroom so the other kids can play the Wii and so I have room on the couch.

*sigh*  After watching Supernanny yesterday, I'm pretty sure Jo would yell at me for my choices.

Oh well.  I guess I'll just have to go spend the day by myself, being left alone with no questions and requests, in the naughty spot.

Darn it.

See.  I told you I was becoming a lazy, lazy mom.

Of a Certain Age

I've been adjusting to being the mother of older children; there are no babies in my house, no babies to come either. There are no toddlers. All of my children are potty trained (Thank you Lord!). I only have school aged children. In fact, I'm only two years away from having a teenager, which, in parenting years, is really only a heartbeat.

But I'm growing and accepting and I'm even finding glorious benefits.

Not only can they each pee independently and wipe their own butts, they can get their own snacks and even make a few simple meals.

They can answer questions about their day (occasionally even more than just a grunt - boys start training so young!).

Last week Q and Eliza came home from church talking about their lesson, which had been all about prayer and fasting. Their were both quite excited about this new power particularly since it seemed to be something that was in their power to affect.

Q has requested that we fast next week for their dad and his bad back. He also wants us to fast and pray for people with breast cancer and that "they" find a cure. (I'm not sure what all the lesson talked about, but Q has been obsessed with helping people with breast cancer and he includes them in all of his prayers that he offers.)

One of our dear neighbors got sick and Eliza requested that we fast this past Sunday for her. And for dad. It was a wonderful thing to see. Living out their ideals was a bit harder than they imagined (we fasted for one meal) and there were quite a few discussions as to what we would be eating after church, but overall it was a good start: child led and everyone wants to do it again.

Of course, added to these wonderful, spiritual breakthroughs are also the ever extending length my boys take in the bathroom; does 8 seem a bit young to be primping and worrying over hair?