Oma Pets

Ashley, when she was just a pup.

The beast is coming out in all of us.

Chloe (8) has a lot of dolphin in her. She's smart. With her nose in a book, even during dinner, it's hard to pull her out of the trance she goes into when she's learning. She corrects my spelling, my French pronunciation, and my button pushing.

The collection of remotes has me bamboozled. When I asked for help clicking over to the regular TV, Jess (6) informed me, "We don't have regular TV. Just recorded." Chloe said she'd fix me up before she went to bed.

They put on a DVD. After one segment of Animaniacs, they b-e-g-g-e-d for another. And then another. I put my foot down and said, "Bedtime." OK. I'm weak. One more. Then it started: "We're not tired . . ." "We can stay up later . . ." "Our mom lets us . . ."

"Nope. Time for bed. Now! Oh, and Chloe, can you fix the TV for me?"

Her shoulders sagged, her arm drooped, and she dropped the remote on the couch. "I can't right now, Oma," she said. "I'm just too tired." Dolphins aren't even that smart.

The Jess beast has a tattle tale. It was morning rush hour—gobble breakfast, pack lunch, sharpen pencils; brushes, headbands and barrettes at the ready. I was emptying the dishwasher when one of the glasses slipped out of my hand and shattered on the counter top. "Oh no!" shrieked Jess, and disappeared downstairs. Chloe found a roll of paper towels and Ashley pointed out silver shards. Jess eventually returned and said, "I just had to email mom that you broke one of her favorite glasses."

Ashley (5) is part kitty—purring softly, gliding in silence, but screeching when she's mistreated. Her fur goes up and her claws come out, ready for a cat-fight, but she can be calmed right down with a little loving attention. And she meows until she gets what she wants.

Her Barbie guitar mercifully stopped playing after an hour or so. "It needs new batteries," she said. "Hmmm," I said, looking it over, "I think we need to wait for your dad to fix it." Too bad. So sad.

"I know where his tool kit is . . . he lets me . . ." she was already out in the garage searching through screwdriver heads. She leaped up to the cupboard shelf and immediately had batteries of all sizes "I'll find the matching ones." Now she's doing her Elvis impression of "Polly-Wolly-Doodle" with a lot of twang.

Oma is an old dog learning new tricks.

I had a couple of requests for this recipe.
(The quick and easy version is to pick it up at the deli.)

Frog Eye Salad

This recipe uses a tiny round pasta called Acine di' Pepe (like orzo, but round) which gives it an interesting texture similar to tapioca.

1/2 cup granulated sugar
1 tablespoon all-purpose flour
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 (8-ounce) can crushed pineapple, undrained
1 (20-ounce) can pineapple chunks in its own juice, undrained
2 (11-ounce) cans mandarin orange segments, drained
1 large egg, beaten
2 teaspoons lemon juice
1 1/3 cups (8 ounces) Acine di Pepe Pasta, uncooked
3 1/2 cups (8 ounces) frozen non-dairy whipped topping, thawed and divided
3 cups miniature marshmallows
1/2 cup flaked coconut
Maraschino cherries (optional)

In medium saucepan, stir together sugar, flour and salt.

Drain pineapple, reserving juice to equal 1 cup. With whisk, gradually stir juice and egg into sugar mixture. Cook over medium heat, stirring frequently, until mixture comes to a boil. Stir in lemon juice. Cool mixture to room temperature.

Meanwhile, cook pasta according to package directions; drain. Rinse with cold water to cool quickly; drain well.

In large bowl, stir together pineapple juice mixture and pasta. Cover; refrigerate several hours or overnight.

Add crushed pineapple and chunks, oranges, 2 cups whipped topping, marshmallows and coconut; mix gently and thoroughly. Cover; refrigerate until cold.

Top with remaining whipped topping; garnish with cherries, if desired.

Makes 12 servings.

Guest Post:Parisian Oma

Chloe when she was 5. She's now 8.

As you can tell, this is a guest post by me, Chloe.

First I'll give you tonight's menu. First is some chicken breasts, frog-eye salad, and raspberry parfait salad. Cranberry sauce to go on the chicken, water for drinks, and for dessert mint brownies(Opa brought us this meal).

It's about 6:10 P.M. right now, and it's raining. My parents are in Paris for their tenth anniversary right now, and Oma's babysitting us. So far they've been to the Eiffel Tower, L'Arc De Triomphe, the Norte Dame, some museum(where they saw Van Gogh, Seurat, and another artist I don't remember), River Seine, and a street market.

I was begging to go with them and this is how it went:Me:Can I come with you too? Parents:No. Me:PLEASE! Parents:No. Etc. So as you can guess, I'm not in Paris. I'm in same old Utah, doing the same old things, at the same old times.

Anyway, I just finished a really good book(if you're a fan of the Baby-sitters Club, stay tuned), and it's called:The Baby-Sitters Club:Babysitters Summer Vacation! Super Special #2. Long title, ain't it? Anyway, the babysitters in this book are Kristy, Mary Anne, Claudia, Stacey, Dawn, Jessi, Mallory, and Logan and they decide to go to Camp Mohawk for two weeks. Plus, a lot of their babysitting charges are going to camp too! The babysitters are Counselors In Training(except for Jessi and Mallory; they're junior CITs)and the charges are campers. It's a pretty good book, especially with Nonie the lisper and Old Meanie.

Here's my favorite conversation."Where are the bathrooms?" asked Freddie."They're separate buildings, group bathrooms."replied Charlene."EW!"everyone screamed.FROM DAWN'S CHAPTER. Hee hee hee.

I'm Chloe, I was blogging for myself and also for my Oma, so peace out!

Rays of Sunshine

Chloe, Ashley, Jessica, 2008

I'm being swallowed by a boa constrictor,
I'm being swallowed by a boa constrictor,
I'm being swallowed by a boa constrictor
And I don't like it very much.

Oh no, (oh no) he swallowed my toe (he swallowed my toe)
Oh gee, he's up to my knee,
Oh fiddle, he's reached my middle,
Oh heck, he's up to my neck!
Oh dread, (oh dread) he swallowed my . . . slurp.

The girlies left a bit of sunshine at a rest home today. This song brought the house down. OK, actually the house was just one room, and one of the two patients ("I think technically they're called roommates" said Chloe) has had a stroke and didn't say much. But Aunt Marie gave them a standing ovation (although technically, she was laying down.)

They performed "Once upon a time, in a nursery rhyme, there were three bears. Cha—cha." and said all the right things: "Were you really the star of a play?" "We already know you were Grampa Jigg's baby sister." Having learned technique from Marie herself, I had coached the girls on enunciating, talking slow and loud, and answering with more than one word. On the way home Chloe said, "I was almost laughing because she asked all the questions we practiced!" It's hard for them to believe I was once the little girl singing "You are my sunshine" to standing ovations at Grama's house, accompanied by Aunt Marie's ukulele. It's fun to skip through generations, holding the hands of grands on either side.

The girls weren't weaving sunshine all day, however. This morning they were huffing in each other's faces, describing the smell of bad breath. "You stink like dried throw-up." "Did you swallow a poopy diaper?" I tried to change the subject, but it kept creeping in to the conversation.

After the rest home (where the bathroom had a Pine Sol tang, and we decided we didn't need it after all) there was an emergency need for a potty stop. Seven-Eleven was handy. I think we may have drifted into a bodega on the set of Law and Order, the kind of place that the audience knows will soon be the scene of a murder. It was pretty scary.

At first we couldn't find the bathroom, and nobody seemed to speak English to give us directions. We wandered toward what seemed to be the back of the refrigerator. A man in a turban, unloading cases of beer, pointed us to a locked door next to a wall of water pipes. The key was at the cash register.

Jess and Chloe were dancing frantically, holding it (figuratively and literally) while the clerk searched for the key. Ashley had darted towards the slurpee machine, and was trying to fill her cup with blueberry slush. She is a child who gets what she wants, and her sisters understand, so they waited while she painstakingly picked the right straw and lid, and then we made the ten-yard dash, blueberries slushing onto the already sticky floor.

"This place stinks!" "Somebody should clean this toilet!" "What is that?" Luckily, I had to stand guard outside the bathroom and protect Ashley, so I didn't get as up close and personal as the girls did. Everybody could hear their review of the place—it's too bad nobody could understand. "THERE'S NO SOAP!"

We'd come full circle. After they were all showered and disinfected, the smell of strawberry shampoo and toothpaste filled the kitchen along with their silly giggles. "Your breath smells like candy canes." Homework, stories, prayers, excuses, and finally—bedtime. My back aches and my legs are tired, but my heart is warm. There's sunshine on my shoulders.

Chloe May

Eye-Opening

I'm looking at things differently.

I'm a TravelinOma this week. In just eight hours we've torn apart the play room and put it back together again. We've been to a family party, had two sets of snacks, found, lost and found three pairs of shoes, painted toenails and fingernails, and read several stories.

I accidentally set off the burglar alarm, and had to wake Chloe up to turn it off, and I just spent an hour trying to figure out how to set the alarm clock so we'll be up to get dressed, make beds, eat breakfast, practice, comb hair, brush teeth, clean rooms and be on our way to school before 8:00 am. I know this is the routine for most of you, but I'm old and challenged in more than technology.

Luckily I'm seeing my little charges more clearly. They are competent, dependable, helpful, considerate and don't have too high of expectations for their Oma. They're dying to step in and babysit me. Isn't that what this whole relationship bit is all about? I'll take care of you and then you'll take care of me. I've got to make this week all about fun memories for them to draw on when they're pushing me around in my wheelchair on their duty visits to the rest-home. I want them to remember I was once a spunky Oma with ideas popping out for ways to live regular life with a Mary Poppins flavor.

I was going to plan our tomorrows extravaganza with your support as I blogged ideas that would take breath away from kids, moms and Omas everywhere. Unfortunately, I'm already breathless and I haven't got a single idea. The alarm got all my attention and the plan will happen whether I plan it or not. These girls look at things differently, too. They just want to keep the grandmas and grandpas alive and smiling so they can get their prize from Paris. I think we'll work together very well!

Tomorrow we'll discuss it all with my eyes totally opened.

Snoopy

The diary was just sitting there, begging to be read.

Babysitting had its perks. Once I saw a stack of Playboys in somebody's bedroom. Another time I read someone's will. (After all, they'd told me to make myself at home.) My favorite gig was tending the Watson twins, because of the diary.

I was thirteen and my mom used to volunteer me to the neighbors. Kids didn't interest me much, but I enjoyed snooping through people's stuff. Tucked in the Watson's bookshelf was a diary, with a lock. Conveniently, the key hung from a little ribbon attached to the binding, almost as if they wanted me to read it.

The entries started the summer Mrs. Watson was fifteen. She and Mr. Watson had just met at a church Roadshow practice. Over the weeks she wrote about their romance, how they wrapped up in the stage curtains and kissed, how they snuck out to sit under the lilac bushes of the house next door, how they walked home on sidewalks lit by nothing but stars.

Friday nights couldn't come fast enough for me. After the little girls were in bed, I'd curl up with my fantasy life and dream of being fifteen. After the roadshow ended, the young couple couldn't figure out how to be together, and by the time school started, they had drifted apart. He was a senior, she was a sophomore and it was as if the summer had never happened. I studied the daily entries, looking for times he said "Hi" in the hall, or waved to her from a convertible full of girls. He was as elusive for me as he had been for her.

After he graduated and went off to college, she came into her own. There were parties and football games and she even got elected as a junior class officer. Her major responsibility was planning the Junior Prom. She made the posters, lined up the intermission band, and decorated the gym, but she didn't have a date. After all the work, she sat home alone.

The garage door opened earlier than usual, and I jerked out of my reverie, stuffed the diary under a pillow on the couch, and tried to look innocent. Mr. Watson opened the refrigerator while Mrs. Watson went for her wallet, and I jammed the book back in its place.

It was a couple of weeks before I went babysitting again. The diary was gone. My face got hot, and my heart started pounding. They knew! Oh my gosh, they knew! Writhing in embarrassment, I waited for them to come home, expecting . . . I didn't know what I was expecting, but I was mortified, ashamed of my blatant snooping. Nothing was said, but a few Fridays went by before Mrs. Watson called and asked me to tend her kids.

There on the coffee table was the diary, unlocked. Maybe they had just been reading it themselves, or maybe one of the kids pulled it down. Whatever. It was just sitting there, and I had to see how it ended.

Mr. Watson had visited Mrs. Watson on that bleak night of Junior Prom, and told her about his mission call to Finland. They picked up where they left off, and she was at the train station to wave him good-bye on his three-year adventure. (Missions were longer in those days.)

The very last page of the diary told about the day he came home. "He rang my doorbell, and when I heard his voice I flew down the stairs into his arms. He said he loved me, and asked me to marry him. We're getting married in just six weeks."

Obviously, I already knew the ending, since I was babysitting their twin daughters. Even so, I wiped away tears as I finished the story and put it back in the bookcase a full hour before they got home.

The next morning I remembered it had been sitting on the coffee table when I arrived. Whoops.

*Homework:

~Write about a time you snooped. What did you find?

The Write Group

JJ saw them in reflection before he heard the words. About to say "Howdy" he caught the drift of a conversation that would change his life.

"Ruby Barlow sure ain't no Sunday School teacher. Sam Lester had her working as an upstairs girl over at The Fat Chance ten years back, even after she had that kid 'a hers. Passed him off as Leo's boy, but he came a mite too early for that."

JJ recognized the Sullivans as the rumor-mongers. "Pa, they're talkin' about Ma. Aren't you going to say something—set 'em straight?" Leo didn't look away from the store window, staring in at the glossy black boots with their two-inch heels, digging his own into the soft dirt. He couldn't meet the dare in his son's eyes. "Pa, didn't you hear . . ."

"Quit dawdling, Jage!" His father could bark harsher than Turk ever did. "Get the buckboard, and load that sack of grain."

It was typical of Pa to ignore gossip. He stepped around contention as nimbly as he did cow-pies. But why wouldn't he defend his own wife's honor? It reminded JJ of a time he trailed a fox to a nest of Texas bobwhites. The hen let out a shrill whistle and spread her feathers to protect her young, while the male scuttled soundlessly into the brush. Disgusted, JJ let the fox go and took "daddy quail" home for dinner. Ma had agreed the coward deserved roasting.

As usual, the ride back to the ranch was silent. If Josey were here, he and Pa would be talking about books. Pa was obsessed with anything to do with letters—why else would he insist his two sons both be called by their initials? It was humiliating. Miss Milner announced to the whole school that the Barlow boys were there mainly to teach them their alphabet. His older brother was named after Uncle Josey, as well as Grandpa Manchester Josiah Barlow, and called MJ to avoid confusion, although it hardly seemed necessary since both his namesakes were dead. JJ had taken to calling him Josey just to spite Pa.

"What does JJ stand for?" This question never failed to rile his father. "I hate not having a real name."

Leo gave his stock answer. "Son, you have to make your name for yourself."

—Son of a Gun, by Marty Halverson

If you've read this far, you're an honorary member of The Write Group. You are my connection to the outside world. I've become a hermit, making up imaginary friends because I'm neglecting all my real ones—writing a book is solitary work. I read somewhere that the most important writer's tool is "bum glue." (It keeps you stuck to your seat.) Another crucial tool is feedback.

Without referring to the excerpt above, can you answer these questions?

1. Who is this book about?
2. Where and when is it taking place?
3. What is the problem this character is trying to solve?

I need to know if I'm communicating!

*Homework:

~Write an introductory scene. Without intruding, have the character introduce himself, tell us where we are and what his problem is.

What Shall I Say?

Art by Mary Engelbreit

So, I've run into some trouble-spots in my novel. I can google "prairie flowers in Texas" and "saloon decor in the 1870's" but my characters are having issues. They need to talk things out, but they don't know what to say. Any ideas?

• Ruby was seduced by a cowboy just passing through town. She has just realized she's pregnant, and knows her recently widowed mother will be devastated. How does she tell her?
  

• Leo has fallen in love with Ruby who works in a saloon "entertaining gentlemen" to support her son. She thinks of herself as a fallen woman, unworthy of a decent man. Leo needs to convince her that she is a good person. What does he say?
  

• JJ is ten years old, shopping in town with his father, Leo. He overhears someone say that his mother was a "tramp" and that he was illegitimate—the result of a one-night stand. He's furious that people are spreading hateful rumors about his mother. Later JJ tells Ruby what he heard, and she has to tell him it's true. How does she explain it?

What do you say?

(Put in a good word or two
and I might mention you when I'm on Oprah.)

*Homework:

~Everyone has a unique voice. Write a short dialogue between two characters, and make them sound different from each other.

~Listen in on a conversation and notice speech patterns. What do they tell you about the person?

~Write a paragraph using slang words that pinpoint when you were a teenager. (Example: "We went to a groovy flick. It was boss.")

Meet Me in St Louis

Hannah's baptism.

I travel for a living. Not a living as in getting paid big bucks—a living as in getting big payoffs. With twelve of our grands in four different states, we keep our bags packed. This past weekend we got to see the Missouri Heroes.

Mack's ballgame.

They enticed us with a coconut cake, but there were a few extra perks.

Chase's scrambled eggs.

1. Late night chats.
2. Breakfast in bed.
3. McKay's trumpet solo.
4. Chase's violin concert.
5. Hannah's white dress.
6. Homemade bread every day.
   
7. Mack passing the sacrament.
8. Gorgeous spring greenery.
9. Antique village in Faust Park.
   
10. Kids who hug each other after family prayers.

It was a short, intense burst of Oma joy.

Smiling at Mom

Junie, 1940

"When mamma smiled, beautiful as her face was,
it grew incomparably more lovely,
and everything around seemed brighter."
—Leo Tolstoy

My mom had the cutest smile. A crooked side tooth slightly covered her front tooth—she called it her personality tooth. There was a bump on her nose, inherited from her dad, but she never talked about fixing anything. She was satisfied with herself. I think that's why I'm satisfied with myself. I learned that smiling was the most important thing.

Mom wore pedal pushers and blouses during the day, but when it was time for my dad to come home, she always cleaned up. She'd change into a skirt, fix her hair, and put on red lipstick and a squirt of perfume. It was like she had a date. I knew she loved him, and I could hardly wait to have someone like that in my life. They were married for 51 years before she died, and they always seemed like sweethearts.

Me, Polly, Tommy and Mom at Grand Canyon, 1958

"I am my mother's daughter...and although it's been years since I left home, her sayings form a perpetual long-playing record on my inner-ear turntable." —Carol Shields

A few things I still hear my mom say everyday:

1. "The dishes aren't done until you sweep the floor and wipe off the top of the refrigerator."
2. "Wipe off the faucets and dry the sink when you wash your hands."
3. "Stand up straight."
4. "I'm right here."
   

"You never will finish being a daughter . . .
You will be one when you're ninety."
—Gail Goodwin

I think about Mom every day. When I iron I remember how she sang On a Bicycle Built for Two, and Mairsie Doats. I remember the nurse cap and cape she made me, and how she'd put my arm in a sling with a dishtowel so I could play broken arm.

She walked to the Dairy Queen with us, pushing a stroller, to buy a chocolate dipped ice cream cone on summer days. We sat in the porch swing and she taught me to whistle and blow bubbles with Bazooka, while we waited for Dad to come home. She showed me how to play hopscotch and jacks, and use a hula hoop.

I never had a doubt that she believed in God, and she taught me that he answered our prayers. I wish I could hug her for Mother's Day and have a fun visit. Someday.

Mom, just before she died, 1997

"They always looked back before turning the corner, for their mother was always at the window to nod and smile, and wave her hand at them...the last glimpse of that motherly face was sure to affect them like sunshine." —Louisa May Alcott

I know she's still smiling.

A Mom Celebration Re-run

This is the story of our family.
Once upon a time there was a girl named Marty and a boy named Dee.

They fell in love and decided to get married.

They lived in a little tiny house called a trailer. All their stuff fit in perfectly, because they didn't have very much stuff. It was their first home and they were a happy family.

But Marty wanted to be a mom. So pretty soon they had a new baby. They liked her so much they wanted some more.

When they had their third baby, they moved into a regular house. The kids had stuff, too, and it wouldn't all fit into their little trailer. Their new house became a home because there was a happy family living inside. Lullabies, baby quilts, and squishy stuffed animals gave the home a soft, cozy feeling.

By and by they had even more kids. It was getting pretty scary! There was yelling, teasing, crying, and loud music. Home didn't automatically feel soft and cozy anymore. It took some effort to make every person feel happy.

Sometimes their home seemed like a giant party, when they played games together, laughed and were kind to each other. It felt peaceful.

Other times it seemed like an Insane Asylum. Chaos ruled.

Short people were hanging around everywhere making a racket and doing crazy things, concentrating on themselves and forgetting to be nice to each other. It was noisy and raucous.

It was enough to give a person a headache.

But at the end of the trail, everyone was still smiling. And the whole family had learned important lessons from trekking through life together.

It's hard to see the big picture when you're inside the frame. You're so busy trying to be happy,
it's possible to forget how happy you already are. It's helpful to look closely at the memories.

I see it all in better perspective when I spend time with the next generation. I feel so blessed that I got to be a mom. Now I celebrate Mother's Day with an attitude of gratitude.

I love the encouragement the Lord gives moms in this scripture:

"Wherefore, be not weary in well-doing,
for ye are laying the foundation of a great work.
And out of small things proceedeth that which is great."
Doctrine & Covenants 64:33

Happy Mother's Day to everyone in the Mother'hood.

It's a great place to raise a family!

Motherhood: Shaping a World

All art by William Adolfe Bouguereau

There are those who think motherhood is menial and a waste of any talented woman's time. Some believe that if you're not making money, you're not successful. Others say marriage and motherhood are confining. In my experience these statements are false. One blessing of mothers is to help shape the world.


With seven children, our home was noisy and busy, but it wasn't usually chaotic. It was a bustling schoolhouse where kids were learning to work, cooperate, forgive and communicate. Tutoring and study groups were held in the kitchen; collaboration and reasoning workshops took place in the bedrooms. Besides flute and clarinet, multiplication tables and setting tables, life skills were being taught: doing the laundry, fixing a sprinkler, organizing a garage, planning a meal, or changing the oil. And while I was teaching this home-school, I was learning, too.

Among other things, I learned to listen, to counsel, to motivate and support. My kids shaped my world while I was shaping theirs. The writer Ellen Goodman said, "The pleasure of being a parent is the extraordinary experience of having short people who hang around a while, who push and prod and aggravate and thrill you and make life fuller."

Encounter

by Ellen Bryson Remington

A learned friend from time gone by
When my pursuits were intellectual
Crossed my path today; and glancing
Quickly at my rounded middle,
Noting the smudges there from little hands,
The wrinkles, too, from childish tears,
He asked, "What are you into now?"

I wish I could have made him understand.
"I'm into graphic arts—a type
Advanced beyond the popular conception.
I deal in shapes so intricate, so exquisite
That in this life I'll never know their limits."

I thought how every day I shape so many things:
I shape the edges of a pie,
I shape a diaper to the tiny leg,
I shape some flowers from our small backyard
Into a bright bouquet,
The covers on a bed till they are
Soft and welcoming.
I shape small eager hands around a ball
And show them how to throw.

But also, with my mind and with my love
I shape the tense and troubled hours;
I take them formless, dark, and shape them
Into light and warmth for spirits' growing.

I guide a pliant, loving mind,
Now fresh and good from God.
I try to show him things our Savior would.
I shape the design of his temperament,
The pattern of his moods.
I shape desires in his heart
Of this world and another.

And now in me another life is shaped—
The way he'll look and stand,
The contours of his hands—
And God is partner to that shaping.

Let those who do not understand
Think I am lost in merely mothering.
I smile—and shape my daily chores
Into eternal joy.

Life in the Mother Hood: Weaving Sunshine

Krakow, Poland 2008

It was supposed to be perfect, but it rained.

It took months of groundwork, weeks of planning, and extra days of traveling to get to Krakow, the ancient capital of Poland. We were excited to see the largest medieval square in Europe, "alive with history, pigeons, and people."

Rynek Square, 2008

But from our well-chosen hotel room, famed for it's ideal view of the market, we looked out on huddled umbrellas and slick, wet cobblestones. Colorful awnings, outdoor cafes and flower stands were tucked under dripping eaves, and the horse-drawn carriages we expected were nowhere to be seen.

Towels not included, Krakow 2008

Instead, guys in plastic encased golf carts were giving tours around the city. Our guide spoke very little English, and it was his first day on the job. Unfamiliar with the route, he dodged buses and trucks in rush-hour traffic, while we wiped mist off the fogged "windows" and dried our mud-splashed legs.

Often the dream is better than the reality. Luckily the memory is better than the reality, too. Although the sightseeing in Poland was dreary, the experience was dazzling, and now the rain adds to the ambiance of our story.

On my travels through the Mother 'hood I had similar episodes: the Christmas Eve everyone threw up all night, Disneyland when everyone got the measles, that Thanksgiving the boys swung on the room divider and landed on mom's dining room table—I could go on for hours. Anticipation and preparation aren't guarantees when children are involved; tantrums and tears can dampen every parade. I've had to learn to deal. A blessing of motherhood is realizing that purpose trumps circumstance.

I now apply this truth to any situation. When I decide what I want to have happen (strengthen relationships, have fun, learn something, relax, accomplish a task, etc.) and make plans to achieve that goal, I know a storm won't make any difference. This insight is as valuable as any umbrella.

Sunny Polish Countryside, 2008

"Weave, weave, weave me the sunshine, out of the falling rain . . . "

(Christie won the Kid Giveaway hands down.
Read her story here to laugh, cry and see why.)

Growing Kids in the Motherhood

Image from Golden Legacy

Inch by inch, row by row,
Gonna make this garden grow.
All it takes is a rake and a hoe
And a piece of fertile ground.

Inch by inch, row by row
Someone bless these seeds I sow
Please keep them safe below,
'Til the rain comes tumbling down.

I've really never grown anything successfully—except children. But I think a garden is a good metaphor. One blessing of being a mother is to learn how blossoms bloom and grow.

When I was new to the Mother 'hood patch, I was too busy with weeding, mulching, and constant irrigation to appreciate what was happening under all that manure. Now as an Oma I can stand back and observe the process.

Most baby animals instinctively know how to eat; many stand up and walk almost immediately. But human moms and babies have to cooperate to learn natural activities: sucking, nursing, sleeping, even burping. Apparently God has a reason for this. Since none of us can remember learning this stuff as a newborn, I think the system must be for the mother's benefit. She can watch the challenge, effort and mastery involved with growing on a daily basis.

When one of my kids talked at 18 months, and another didn't talk until age three, I worried. (They both talk now.) It was the same with writing, climbing, reading, sharing; I gradually discovered that everyone learns on an individual timetable. I'm more patient with myself and others knowing we'll all master most things, but on different schedules.

Someone said, "I myself am made of flaws, stitched together with good intentions." One day my friend called to report on my five-year-old son's colorful vocabulary. She said, "I'm telling you this out of love." Of course his cuss words of choice were the ones he'd heard from me. The whole setting an example thing is the scariest part of the 'hood.

Third Man

Parents are continually humbled—humiliated, in fact—by the kids following in their footsteps. I learned the truth of: "Judge not that ye be not judged."

A baby grins, and notices his mom's excitement. He does it over and over because he likes the reaction. Pretty soon he mirrors her expressions and sounds, and before long he copies her attitudes. I used to think it was totally unfair that I couldn't be in a bad mood without the whole family spiraling down with me. I'd have my little pout or sulk, and then end up coaxing everyone else out of their funk. It seemed less trouble to hide my doldrums and pretend to be chipper, because the rest of the group followed my lead.

Glee Club

Another blessing hidden in the Mother 'hood was the discovery that if you act happy, you become happy. "As a man thinketh in his heart, so is he." It's the secret of a cheerful mother's nature.

Plant your rows straight and long,

Nourish them with prayer and song,
Mother Earth will make them strong
She will make it fertile ground.

I spent a lot of time raising my crop, watching them blossom.
But I think I've grown the most.

What has motherhood taught you?

Family: My Happiness Project

♫. . . we are a happy family! ♫

Forty years ago we started an experiment in happiness. A family is the perfect laboratory for testing philosophies on religion, education, health, relationships, finances . . . actually every philosophy is tested in a family. Living right in the Mother 'hood, I could observe, analyze and evaluate what creates joy.

My first discovery: being married is much more than getting married. There were lots of crazy ideas about love floating around in 1969. "Love means never having to say you're sorry" turned out to be a bad one. I thought love meant being patient with Dee until he realized I was right. That wasn't any good either. My experiment in happiness has taught me about marriage.

I think sex keeps a newly married couple in a state of frenzy long enough for them to start developing some relationship skills (communication, empathy, understanding, and patience) to add to the romance of it all. It takes some humility to realize you need those qualities, and some effort to gain them.

With practice, good relationship skills can mature into dependability, responsibility, trust and commitment; eventually the goal is charity, or pure love. The miracle is not falling in love, it's staying in love. Like Neil Diamond sings, "Love is not about you, it's not about me. Love is all about we."

Psychiatrists, therapists, ministers, teachers—think of all the experts who are trying to figure out marriage. A blessing of my happiness project is that I have studied it in depth and I'm beginning to get it.

Kids were the natural result of the frenzied years. We wanted them, but we weren't sure why. They turned out to be a combination of adorable, frustrating, entertaining, challenging and always there. That was the hardest part of living in the 'hood: the constancy. Love took on a whole new dimension, with no place to hide from anxiety, worry and stress. Crisis management and split-second decisions became daily events. There was no escaping it, so I learned to cope.

Again, think of all the seminars, discussion groups and drills designed to prepare folks to deal with emergencies. I gained those skills on the job. I can think fast, multi-task, create calm from chaos, and take charge. It's a blessing to know I would be a leader in difficult circumstances.

The blessing I cherish most is the relationship with our kids. Besides loving them, I like them. They're funny, smart, kind, caring, helpful, creative . . . they're my best friends. People ask all the time what we did to raise such a great group. I always answer that they came good. But there was some work involved: I read a zillion books on kids and tried all the trendy theories.

In the end, though, we subscribed to the best child-raising philosophy around. The scriptures
say:

"And it came to pass that we lived after the manner of happiness."
Nephi 5:27 (Book of Mormon)

So we looked into it. King Benjamin's advice became our standard:

"And ye will not suffer your children that they go hungry, or naked; neither will ye suffer that they fight and quarrel one with another . . . But ye will teach them to walk in the ways of truth and soberness; ye will teach them to love one another, and to serve one another."

—Mosiah 4:14-15

Our other motto was:

"And they shall also teach their children to pray, and to walk uprightly before the Lord."

—Doctrine and Covenants 68:28

I've had a lifelong Happiness Project.
And, I have to say, it's worked.

Life in the Mother Hood

"The family is central to the Creator's plan for the eternal destiny of His children.

The family is ordained of God."

—The Family, A Proclamation to the World

I had just moved to the hood—the Mother Hood. What did I know? I was twenty years old and I was a brand-new mom. No money, no experience, no education. I arrived in this new world with the barest necessities: a faith in God, a husband who loved me, and the example of a happy childhood. But life in the 'hood didn't come naturally to me.

I had enjoyed being the center of my own world. It was a shock to have a newborn who demanded all my energy and time, physically, mentally, emotionally—every tiny ounce I had to give! Some women prepare for this by postponing kids until after they've satisfied some of their own goals. This would not have worked for me. There would have been more to sacrifice. As it was, my initial feelings were still sometimes resentful and frustrated. Overwhelmed, I thought I wasn't ready for this season of selflessness. The time for preparation was past, and I had failed to prepare.

But I discovered something important. The abilities I wanted to have as a mother could only be developed by actually being a mother. I couldn't get them any other way. Just like a runner gains stamina from running, I would train best in the authentic mom-a-thon. This new baby was my first coach.

Oprah had a program highlighting all the negative stuff that nobody tells a woman about becoming a mom. You know: exhaustion, hemorrhoids, loneliness, boredom, lack of stimulation, lack of appreciation, lack of everything. I identified with it all, but I think she needs to have a program highlighting all the positive stuff nobody tells a woman about being a mom. The benefits don't come all at once, like a two-year-old's tantrum. They are scattered through the Mother Hood. I didn't find many of them for years, and I'm still discovering them hidden generously in nooks and crannies of my soul.

In honor of Mother's Day I'm going to write about some of the awesome blessings that have come to me through being a mother. I'm an expert, having had a forty-year career. Come back tomorrow and bring your friends. I'll raise your expectations of the Mother Hood.