Goin' Fishin'

Frankly, I have had some concerns about being the mother of three boys. Perhaps not all boys are challenging mischief-makers, but on occasion --mine have been.

They wrestle with Dad. They like to throw things. They "forget" parental instructions quickly.
They think camping is fun --anytime. They don't mind getting very sweaty. Boys.

Last weekend they were up well before the sun. They were off for a day of ice-fishing (all except the baby).

Don't you wish you were out there too?
Is this a true sport I wonder? I lack the vision for it's entertainment value, but my boys were giddy with anticipation. When at 6am Br. Marshall's knock was heard at the door, Sam made an amazingly graceful leap (much like an antelope or deer) from the entry to the porch --all the while giggling delightedly. They had a splendid time, and thankfully for me, caught nothing.

Fisherman Sam

Dr. Marshall with one of his awesome "toys"

Today I went fishing.

You see, I realized --too late-- that the reason Schuyler was so contented in the laundry room was because he'd made some mischief. In an effort to help him gain identity and industry, I have been finding ways for him to contribute to household chores. I don't know that it's a really super idea, but since I was a early childhood education major --I keep trying to be true to Jean Piaget and John Bowlby. When doing laundry I pull the stool up to the washer and let him pour in the soap. I hand him clothes and he puts them in for me. Then he makes a big mess as he fills his soapy lid to the brim and dumps some in the washer and most down his front.

We'd just started a load to wash. I emptied the dryer and took the armful into my room to sort. When I returned he'd climbed in the dryer.

Industry vs. Inferiority
Ahh --how cute. I laughed and smiled at him and told him how smart he was, and then noticed he'd removed the lint catcher. I looked for it and then glanced inside the slot where it should've been. Whoops, silly boy --he'd gathered the lint off of the screen thing and pushed it all back down in the slot. I tried to reach it with a pencil, and then saw something shiny further down. Oh no! He'd pushed three toothbrushes down there as well. I found a wire hanger and tried to fashion a hook. I spent an amazing amount of time trying to finagle the toothbrushes out with one hand, while shining a flashlight with the other. Ever anxious to offer his services, S. was determined to hold the light, and the whole episode ended with him in angry tears.


Mischievous Max

Much later, after all the boys were down, Star's steady hand was able to retrieve the last toothbrush. And I was able to finally dry two soggy loads.

some of the loot

It takes real patience to be a fisherman.

Mistakes Were Made

NPR features a show called "This American Life." One of the episodes was entitled "Mistakes were Made."

It is a fitting title for our morning. Zach has a new elective he's crazy about: Healthy Living. He is called upon to demonstrate push-ups, sit-ups, and stretching techniques. The students are asked to keep a log of what they eat and when they sleep. Today was his day to bring a healthy snack. His Mom offered a veggie tray or a fruit tray, but Zach has become adept at cookie making and wanted to do some baking. She pulled out her Feed Your Kids Right cookbooks by Lendon Smith (unfortunately gathering more dust than it should) and Zach chose a muffin recipe.

He woke early (wanting them to be fresh) and set to work. The batter he displayed for approval didn't look like the right consistency for muffins. After studying the recipe and he realized that he'd only doubled the baking soda and salt, but nothing else. Also the oatmeal was supposed to be put through the blender first. Oh well.


He was trying to remix the stuff in between Dad's scripture study presentation (which not only went over poorly but also kept him from being ready when his ride came.) After the muffins were baked Mom allowed the baby to have one (they were mini-muffins and he was hungry). Then his Mother tried a bit of the stuff stuck to the pan. She said, laughing, "You might want to bring some honey butter or jam or --something" (not great for a fledgling cook's ego.)

She also suggested transferring the morsels into a basket, but he was eager to go and wanted to keep them in their pans. Three pans proved difficult to maneuver past the other Halls trying to grab backpacks, shoes, and coats. After wrestling Max-O into his coat, his mother turned around quickly, her shoulder bumping a whole tin of muffins out onto the garage floor. Poor Zach fled the scene. The children helped retrieve the muffins. Mother explained that it was simply like they'd been in the fridge for a minute, and that since the garage floor was so cold, the dirt couldn't stick. She nestled the muffins with plaid towels in a basket, put some butter and knives in a Tupperware and called to her oldest.

In the old van Mother danced and sang to Cyndi Lauper in an effort to lighten the mood. She signed bits of paper for make-shift Spanish logs, and wished them well. As Zach opened the door to step out, she said laughing, "did you do that on purpose?" "What?" he smiled back. And then she made some comment about his appearance. His face showed surprise and hurt.

What kind of mother does that? Shame on that mother. She knows better. She apologized several times. It was heartfelt, but she stewed all the way home.


Do you know that muffin-man? Pray for him today.

Mistakes were made.

That Darn Agency

My youngest daughter usually thrives on "being good." I have joked sometimes that she came after Sam in order for me to know that God really lives up to the "reward after the trial of your faith" idea.

Last week she was thrilled with her new primary class due largely to the piece of jewelry her teacher gave her. Millie made the announcement that she was now old enough to be a CTR, and then with much fanfare, she twirled around and displayed it --repeatedly.



Since that day we have lost it and searched for it well over 20 times. She becomes frenzied and tearful when she discovers the empty spot on her thumb. The ring (although "adjusted" ) does not stay on unless she keeps her thumb bent.

Lately her behavior has visited the "disobedient" side, and her moods have resembled a roller coaster. When trying to discuss the errant actions, she tells me mournfully, that she can't possibly remember to do the right thing, because she can't find her CTR ring, or she isn't wearing right then. The other day I decided to pull out the "Thumbs Up, Thumbs Down Decision" lecture. "But, Mom" she responded before I could finish, "it's hard when my CTR ring isn't on my thumb."

I was hit with a brilliant idea, "Well, Millie you have been an obedient girl for years before you owned the ring. And even when you don't have your ring, you'll aways have your thumbs." I offer a role-play experience to illustrate more fully the "Thumbs Up, Thumbs Down" idea. She smiles and answers each scenario correctly. I feel like a good and empathic mother.

Today we went to the store in search of a baby gift for my friend in Colorado. Millie ran away from me the minute we entered. She fed green and yellow skittles (the only flavors she doesn't like) to Max who was fussing in the cart. She then put stuffed animals and books in the cart for him to touch with his sticky hands. I took them and the skittles he's been pulling in and out of his mouth.

He begins to yell. She asks me for toys. I tell her, "not today sweetie." She turns up the volume and asks again. My little brain flips through the what to do when a child is misbehaving in public file....Ah-Ha! "I know you're frustrated and I'm sorry, but the answer is No" I say calmly (the broken record technique from Dr. Wells).

After a panicked rush to the restroom she begins in earnest again. Max is inconsolable by this time and my calm-broken-record-voice is sounding more stern. We check out while the cashier tells me that she has children just about the ages of mine, but she has a rule about not allowing them to enter any store with her. I smile. Then I turn and repeat for the zillionth time, "I'm sorry but the answer is No."

In the car, after she has refused to climb in and I have had to forcibly remove her from the pillar at the store's entrance, I say low and cross, "Millie, I am disappointed in choices today." She begins to sob. "Mom, my thumbs really don't help at all. They're just there on my hands and I don't even remember to be good without my CTR ring. It's just too hard."

I know it's wrong, but I sort of wish she'd never been given a CTR ring... this agency and accountability bit is tricky.

Rational Repile Expert

Sam feels pretty confident that he's the Hall with the most knowledge about reptiles, dinosaurs, and strange phenomenon. These topics take hold of his able mind, and interfere with many of his thoughts. It shows up in his spelling sentances, pretend play, and on all car rides longer than 2 minutes.

In the middle of our homework session after school yesterday, he looked up from his math and said the following:
"People think that elephants could be the answer to the mystery of the Loch Ness Monster. Some books talk about it, but I think there are four reasons why 'Nessie' would not be an elephant.
1. Elephants weigh over 100 lbs.
2. Elephants DO NOT live in England.
3. The Loch is over 700 ft. deep and if anything weighs over 100 lbs. it could not swim in that water.
4. Elephants are not as big as the Loch Ness Monster is."

Now--I had already requested several times for him to focus. But this was just such a well organized argument, that I asked if I could write it down and asked him to repeat his reasoning. He smiled and said, "sure Mom. I love that you believe what I believe in."

"Try to Remember the Kind of September..."

Have you ever seen the old LDS film about the Last Leaf? My fuzzy recollection is of an elderly invalid who watches as the autumn comes and goes. She believes that she will die when the final leaf falls from the vine outside her bedroom window.

The master bath features a large window that looks out on a distant row of tall cottonwood trees. I felt much like the woman in the film this Fall --worried that as the colors changed, and the winds began to blow --that one day I would open my shutters and see that the last leaves had released their tenuous hold. I stewed and worried. I dreaded winter's return. Cold grey days can be hard on my system. My Anticipation Syndrome set in full force.

We were blessed with a lovely autumn, and every day I committed to recognize that the leaves were changing, but that I didn't have to. And then one day, when I almost lost Sam, Jaynie showed up and sent me on a drive. I turned on Jed's new Pilot CD (all humble folk hymns) and drove toward the lake. I discovered the old Vineyard city park. I put Eric Whitacre's choral symphony in my ears and began walking. By the time I had circled the park several times, I knew --no matter the season, no matter my personal season, Heavenly Father loved me and could speak to my heart in a way that would grant me the tenacity I needed --to hold on.

And as Nephi, I wanted to share it. That Sunday as the good bishop was busy "well-doing", I took the children back to that park. It was cold, but the colors were glorious.

"Hey Mom, we could have as many pumpkins as we wanted.."


Enjoying a little snack

Schuyler tries his new walking skills

Mom turns the guidance job over to Abbie so she can get more photos

...something looks different...

A close-up

Whoops --someone's had enough...

Is that a look of desolation or what?

Maybe Mom has an important role after all

A Tragic Farewell

There are times when one must say goodbye --to an era, a lifestyle, a beloved object.

Early this morning it became apparent that today was going to be such a day for me:
After racing around, forcing children to eat their hot cereal, reminding others to take their vitamins, and combing heads of hair at the breakfast table, Abbie gagged on her pills. I thought to myself as I looked at the mess all over the table and woven rug beneath it, "Is her oatmeal Okay?"

I grabbed the 409 and some rags. "Abbie, come and eat," I said as I moved her bowl to the counter. She gave me a wilted look, "Mom, I really don't feel like I can eat that." We didn't have any time to argue further, our ride was honking out front. I sat down with Max and helped him finish his cottage cheese-yogurt mixture. I turned on Baby Einsteins for him while I tried to fix the vacuum Zach had taken apart for me. I succeeded. I removed the baby (happily using his new, "Mama, dowwnn" phrase) from his highchair, washed him up some, and stripped him bare. I went into the mudroom feeling very pleased. I had 4 children off to school, and I had just reassembled my own vacuum. My bargain pink slippers clicked on the tile floor as I grabbed the diaper from my nicely organized cupboard there.

Max was laughing and pulling himself across the pleather chairs. I grabbed him, kissed his face and tossed him onto the ottoman. Hmmm --my right slipper felt kind of...sticky?. I looked down, and lifted my foot up. Surely that could not be what I thought it might be...I looked down at my giggling wriggling child. There was still much of the goop on his behind. I hadn't brought wipes with me from my nice mudroom cupboard. I decided to waste the diaper. Deftly and swiftly while keeping one still slippered foot balanced precariously in the air, I put him in the diaper. Off came my beloved slipper. Then I moved the ottoman over the incident site, and retrieved the wipes and the phone (somebody was going to have to share this me). "Starling," I said. "Ah-oh. I don't like it when you begin conversations with my full name." As I relayed my clamity while speaking in my plugged-nose-voice, and scrubbing furiously through half a package of wipes, he just laughed. (Why do I think it will make me feel more supported if I share these things?) I felt very much like quoting Shakespeare's Lady Macbeth, "out damned spot!"

I have now soaked both of my nice woven rugs with Oreck's "No Return" spot remover. It is guaranteed to "remove spots caused from urine, feces, and vomit." Should prove to be a good investment around here. Max is happily resting with his Zebra. My new Scentsy candle (all children and youth like to visit the Bishop for fundraising support) is putting out lovely vanilla aromas, and all should be right with the world.

But it isn't. I have placed my pink floral slippers in a plastic bag, and bid "adieu." Such an unexpected and tragic end.

Identity Crisis?

You might not know it, but I am an educated person. I have traveled Europe. I have acted in a number of plays, and even helped direct a few. I used to think it impossible to drive to the school or store if I weren't "fully dressed" (including that smile).

However, fifteen years and six pregnancies later, I have taken on a secret identity: I can be found wearing the same mis-matched scrubs I slept in --to drop the children off at school. My hair has always had a mind of its own, but these days I don't bother to tame it before making the "drop-off." I have even walked Millie into her class room in my bargain-pink- floral -granny-slippers from Big Lots. I am offering $0.50 incentives to my third born for getting ready for school without being nagged. I have dared to wear shoes to church without nylons (partly because Abbie borrowed them and find them). My baby sometimes has gunkus in his nose and crumbs on his clothes and I still take him in public, and kiss his messy face. When asked about "maturation topics" I hardly blink before I give an honest and (fairly) open response.

I no longer feel that praying can only be done on my knees, in private.

I wonder if my Secret Identity will become my Only Identity?

In some ways it might not be too bad.

Maybe I'll change it up a little with some circus scrubs or pink floral ones to match my slippers --only if I find them on clearance though.

At least my secret identity is a bit more "flexible."