All in a day's work

Do you ever have one of those days when everything goes right, your kids do all their schoolwork brilliantly, your toddlers play quietly and clean up after themselves while the washer, dryer, and dishwasher hum efficiently in the background--in essence, your home operates like a well-oiled machine?

I didn't think so.

On the home front so far today (okay, so it was yesterday 'cause I didn't finish this until now):

I grade a paper where "wouln't" is listed as the contraction for "will not."

An algebra lesson develops into a conversation in which I try to enter the mind of a 16-year-old boy and said 16-year-old boy tries to enter the mind of a 41-year-old woman, all unsuccessfully. My mommy radar goes off, propelling me towards my bedroom, in which (in what can only be described as a fit of insanity) I have allowed the toddler set to hang and watch Clifford, supposedly allowing peace and quiet for the algebra lesson. Engrossed in the antics of The Big Red Dog, no one notices my 21-month old daughter has poured half a bottle of baby oil into the carpet.

After a frantic Google search for "removing baby oil from carpet"--which yields lots of suggestions for using baby oil to remove stains from other things but only two useful suggestions for removing baby oil--I pour copious amounts of baking soda and baby powder on the carpet and scrub it with a brush, then attack it with my handy steam cleaner.

When I emerge from my carpet-cleaning frenzy, I discover that the younger kids have taken advantage of me and are in the middle of the street, and my older son has gone to his room with no expectation of algebra lessons in the near future.

What to do? Cook. So I start slicing and dicing and fill the crock pot with chili, because I have to actually accomplish something today, right?

My 16-year-old son and I do eventually reconnect (actually he and my 7-year-old daughter chopped the onions for the chili, then held wet paper towels on their stinging eyes) with a pop quiz in Russian [Here I was actually quite pleased, because I am never clever enough to come up with things like pop quizzes. I have a Cyrillic font, but I can't imagine attempting to type with it, so I wrote on the dry erase board; then I wondered if I should take a picture of the quiz as the only way to record it. . . ?] and eventually we get to algebra. I'm thinking Mr. Demme would not have been particularly impressed with my teaching today, but at least we did it.

I guess I'll stop rambling. I'll bet you're feeling really good about your day now. Glad I could help.

Here Ya Go, Baby!

I have a 21-month-old daughter, Lily Rose, who has me wrapped around her little finger. Lily has the limited vocabulary of a child her age. For a while she's been saying "here ya go" when she hands me something. Usually what she's handing me is something I wish she didn't have in the first place, like dog food. Or the kitchen towel. Or someone's toothbrush.

Yesterday, she handed me something off the floor and said, "Here ya go, baby." I immediately dropped it, hoping. I only got a "here ya go" the second time, but she said the whole phrase to me again this morning. Just as quiet Westley wooed Buttercup with a simple "As you wish," I am completely and utterly charmed by this simple four-word phrase and the child that speaks it to me.

From the mouths of babes

My observant and painfully honest three-year-old daughter sat behind me this morning while I was fixing my hair. At one point she said, "Mommy, your bottom is bigger."

Foolishly and with trepidation I said, "Bigger than what?"

"Bigger."

"Bigger than what?" [Did I ever mention that I'm a glutton for punishment?]

"Bigger."

I finally realized that I wasn't going to get a "bigger than a breadbox" kind of answer; what she was trying to say was "bigger than the last time I noticed."

It goes without saying that parenting isn't for cowards. Let me assure you that it isn't for those with much need of ego stroking, either.

The Greatest Job in the World

I have what some might call a fancy education. I took six years to get a four-year degree, and also married and had my first child during that time. In the months leading up to graduation, friends, family, and professors asked what I planned to do with my education. I realized, however, that more than any job, I wanted another baby. Ten months after graduation I gave birth to my second son and never looked back.

While my education helped prepare me for eventually schooling my own children, I never imagined the joys and the heartache--the gamut of emotions from sheer terror to pure bliss--inherent in the greatest job in the world. Today, just an average day, I experienced several of those moments that define motherhood.

---

Every mother who has had both a toddler and a set of stairs knows that awful sound: the thud, followed by wailing. I heard it today and I ran across the house, scared of what I would find. Lily was lying at the bottom of the stairs, scared and hurt. I sat and held her until she stopped crying, while she marked my black shirt with iridescent trails of mucous, a visible badge of motherhood. Then she snuggled in close and popped her little thumb in her mouth, content. I know it won't always be so, but I was blessed with a moment when I was all she needed to make everything better.

---

Sabra, my 10-year-old daughter, had Keepers at Home today. Sabra loves Keepers, and I'm excited she has the opportunity to learn many skills that I do not possess. I try to learn along with her, but it's interesting sometimes. Rather than a domestic goddess, Keepers at Home seems to transform me into a domestic doofus.

Today was no different as we worked on our current project, sewing a tiered skirt. I was helping Sabra at my painfully slow pace while the other mothers and daughters seemed to fly through the steps. Then it hit me: Sabra doesn't seem to notice or care that I'm not as skilled as many of the other moms. She looks at me with the adoring eyes of a daughter toward her mother, confident that I can guide her. The blind devotion of a child is truly a sacred trust, and I was humbled and honored by it.

---

After a long afternoon of Keepers and band lessons, we headed for Moe's, where on Tuesday nights we can pay for 3 adults (hubby and I plus 15-year-old son) and feed the 6 that are 12-and-under for free. The kids always want quarters for the machines. My husband told me that our 5-year-old son, Clayton, had gotten a heart ring for his prize. When asked if he was going to give it to me for Valentine's Day, Clayton had said, "Maybe, or maybe Miss Fran." Miss Fran is our dear friend who is truly a Pied Piper. Our children adore her and I've told her that even when hers are grown and gone, my younger ones will still want to spend the night at her house.

While we ate, I noticed two ladies seated close to us who seemed to observe our clan. This is not uncommon for us; that many kids attract attention. I'm not a mind-reader, but it's obvious a lot of people don't understand why anyone would have such a large family, and their attitude is not always kind. As they left, one of the ladies leaned down and spoke in my ear: "Your family is adorable. Simply precious!" I'm sure I will never see her again, but her words will not soon be forgotten. As we were leaving, Clayton smiled his heart-melting smile, one any mother of a young son knows, and said, "Happy Valentine's Day," as he placed the ring in my hand.

---

When I read Proverbs 31, describing that seemingly unattainable model of female perfection, the verse that always jumps out at me is #28: "Her children arise up, and call her blessed..." That's the one I want--the one I can't attain on my own, the one that has to be given to me, undeserving though I am (much like salvation). Today I was beheld as comforter; teacher; object of blind faith, love, and affection. Though I seek to bless my children's precious lives, the truth is that they bless me immeasurably. I thank God for entrusting us with their care and putting the desire within me for motherhood, the greatest job in the world.

---

This post has been submitted for consideration in the Write-Away contest for February.

My Classy Kids

I planned a curriculum shopping trip today to pick up some odds and ends we need. My older kids had music lessons this afternoon, so the plan was to take the younger ones with me to a local homeschool supply company with a large warehouse and play area. After dropping off the older kids and starting on our way, Chloe tells me that she forgot her shoes. At the end of my huge spiel on never leaving home without them, Clayton admits he doesn't have any, either. Home was twenty minutes in the opposite direction, so that wasn't an option if I hoped to buy the books.

Since it's already September, I thought maybe it would be a good time to go ahead and buy their fall tennis shoes (that's sneakers, for you northerners). When we got to Ross, I discovered that Felicity didn't have any shoes, either! She was asleep when we left the house, but I had been assured that her shoes were with us. It is completely against my my standards of what is socially acceptable to take three (actually four, if you count Lily) barefooted kids to any public place other than the pool. I had hoped to cram all of them into a shopping cart, but Ross's carts aren't that big. Instead, two rode in the cart and two walked.

With the absence of a "No shirt, no shoes, no service" sign (do they save those for restaurants?), we entered the store. My goal was to get in and out, with as few people as possible gaping at all those bare feet. The kids asked if they were getting new flip-flops. I told them summer was almost over and we would get new tennis shoes. It was then that they reminded me they already had new ones. Let me interject that I am an incredibly frugal person, the kind who would never buy an unneeded item (like a second pair of tennis shoes) unless it was practically being given away.

At this point, Felicity squealed, "I just farted!" with all the delight of a child who is potty-training and becoming very aware of this sort of thing. This is a word which you will never hear me use; I even had trouble typing it. By then, I was just wishing the floor would open up and swallow me and my barefooted, redneck-acting kids.

We emerged with socks, panties for Felicity (her announcement made me remember she needed more), a much-needed new backpack for Chloe for co-op classes, and a couple of Christmas present ideas; at least the trip wasn't completely in vain. After we got everyone in the car, I made a call to Bryan and realized the book store closed in ten minutes. I guess this means we get to try it again. Maybe next time they'll remember their shoes...