Pets? Probably Not.

Once I talked about pets. Now, Kid 4 is at it again. As his birthday approaches, he's asking for a turtle. Ick. They smell, I think. Husband agrees.

Advise me, wise ones. Does Kid 4 actually need a pet to become a well-rounded, upright, employable adult at some point?

And is there anything as easy as a turtle that smells less... um, stinky?

It's Gratitude Week

Happy Thanksgiving Week!

Here at my blog, we'll be jumping on the Grateful train* and talking about all manner of things to feel grateful about.

And what am I thankful for? Today, and increasingly over the years, I am grateful for my family. I have a really, really good Husband. He's a kind, hard-working, funny, talented, handsome, generous guy. He hands over compliments like Halloween candy. He'd rather be at home, with us, than anywhere in the world. He uses his talents to make the world beautiful**.

And then there are the Kids. The healthy, happy, smart and adjusted Kids. They like each other. They love each other. They grow their talents and they are obedient and they are kind.

Kid 1, quiet and reserved in normal life, lights up like a sparkler when she's on stage.

Kid 2 is self-motivated and hard-working, and makes lovely music.

Kid 3 keeps me laughing*** with her diva ways.

Kid 4, totally not a baby anymore by the way, shares his love, spreading his friendship all over the kindergarten and beyond.

This family, it's my greatest blessing. I thank God every day for them, for their goodness and their sweetness.

*which, naturally, reminds me of my favorite scene from "Oh, Brother, Where Art Thou?" where the 3 convicts, still in ankle chains, leap onto the train car and then fall off. Priceless comedy.

**Kind of like these pictures.

***you know, when I'm not beating her

Who Knew?

Blog O' Random, coming at you.

* Bathrooms don't actually clean themselves. However, the amount of time you spend in your house in inversely proportional to the number of times someone says, "Hey, what's that smell?"

* 2500 words in a day is a lot to write. But dialog makes those words come faster.

* Sick little boys who would rather be coughing in Kindergarten than watching "Newsies" in my bed = Massive Cuteness.

* It would be cool to have Personal Assistants/ Vice-Beccas / Counselors for every aspect of my life.

* The community theater production of "Annie, Get Your Gun" premiers tonight. I have to put some curlers in my hair.

* Husband is emailing occasional photos of handsome Islander men from his work trip to Hawaii. The photos are not directed to me. But I still manage to find them. Because I routinely read the Kids' email.

* I haven't had a professional haircut in more than 19 months. This should probably be remedied.

* Contrary to popular opinion, I am not addicted to edamame. I could quit any time I wanted to.

* My dad's birthday (64) is later this month. I have no good ideas for gifts, and only partly because he's not a "things" kind of guy.

* NaNoWriMo is not conducive to exercise. Or maybe it's just the valid excuse I've been looking for.

*Okay, time to tackle those bathrooms. And those 2500 words. (And go read some blogs - later. Maybe.)

Mama Train

For more than fourteen years, I have considered my job as an exercise in futility. The job? Motherhood. The futility? Everything I do today must be redone tomorrow, and nobody notices a single thing I do... unless I don't do it. Over and over and over.

Do you know this feeling? The second the laundry is folded, someone throws up in his sheets. The minute dinner is cleared and dishes done, someone is STARVING. As soon as the kitchen is swept, along comes King Kong, stomping on the Cheerios he just poured onto the pantry floor. Ah, Baby is finally sleeping... just as Toddler throws herself off the edge of my bed and requires stitches. Vacuum? Why bother? That sweet mommy-voice I've tried to cultivate? Doesn't get the job done. If I start the bartering process with a shout and a throbbing vein, chances are good I'll end it faster.

What's the point, right? So I skip the vacuumming. And the carpet turns to velcro instantly. So I take a break from laundry, and suddenly everyone is naked and IT'S ALL MY FAULT. Don't feel like making dinner? Or lunch? Or that hot breakfast? "Hello, this is Child Protective Services, we need to have a talk*."

But a funny thing is happening around here.

I hesitate to confess, but I'm among friends, right? So huddle up. Shh. Here it is. I think it's getting easier.

The work still must be done, and done every day. But if I don't want to switch the wet laundry out of the dryer because I'm up to my elbows in pie crust, I can ask any one of four talented and capable kids to do it for me. And chances are, it will happen. Before said wet laundry grows fur. I can still spend 3 hours making a meal that will be a memory in seven minutes, but I WILL hear at least 3 people say "Thank you" for it. Does that make the meal taste better? You better believe it. I still have to sit next to the piano for many hours of practicing every week, but somehow, my urge to strangle Kids into proper hand position ebbs.

I've spent** far too many hours of my life waiting for the other shoe to drop. Because, hey - if it's going to drop, it's under the control of gravity, and there's very little I can do about it. So I choose to ride this train. I have fairly healthy, relatively happy kids who like each other. This is what most parents crave. Pray for. Work toward. And I should, can, will enjoy it, for as long as it lasts.

*Please don't worry. This is a hypothetical phone call. Plus, we have Caller ID, so I just wouldn't answer that one.

**Translation: Wasted

The List

It's creeping up on me - this weekend, when so many things are my responsibility, and I am prepared for NONE of them. I'm dabbling in the art of overscheduling myself this week, and it appears that I'm capable. I can create too much junk for me. But it's all good junk (and so I guess I need a new word).

My List of things to do (including blogging, because - duh!) is whittling down this morning, and some things have to be put aside. And some things that I've procrastinated for far too long have to shoot to the top of The List and be dealt with NOW NOW NOW.

Tomorrow, though, there's only one thing on my calendar. The rest of that empty space is a thrill to me, I can admit. Even though the things this week is full of are great, and important, and even fun, it turns out that I am that girl who would rather have nothing to do. The girl who would rather read a book than host a luncheon. Who would rather take a bath than volunteer at school. The girl who would rather make a family dinner than go to a meeting, rather haul kids around than get a job, rather write than perform for a crowd.

But for this week (minus beautiful, beautiful tomorrow) I will do those other things. With a smile. And I'll be glad to do them. And then, after it's over, I'll remember how to say "no, thank you" and be here, home, at the computer, relearning how to do that thing I love. That creative thing where words come pouring out of my fingertips and fill pages with giggles and sometimes tears. That thing that's going back on the top of The List.

True Story

Once upon a time there was a very young Mommy who had one sweet, beautiful, well-behaved child. (Oh, stop. This is all true.) This happy child loved her Mommy and followed her around, sat still for hair-doing, and went to bed without any fussing.

The young Mommy thought, "I must be the best Mommy God has ever blessed with a perfect child." She thought, "I am going to do this again and again, because I am so very, very good at it."

The Mommy watched her happy little girl play with her dolls, being a sweet littleMommy to them, singing to them, kissing their plastic faces. The Mommy said, "Yes, indeed. We should do this again."

So the Mommy, in the family way once again, spent her days watching her little girl play, vomiting in the toilet, and playing at the swimming pool. The sweet child patted her Mommy's back and sat gently on her lap for many, many stories every day.

Then one day, the Mommy watched this sweet, happy child playing littleMommy games with her baby dolls. And heard these words: "Smarten up, baby." (Have we mentioned that this sweet little girl was almost, but not quite two years old?)

The Mommy feared that she had ruined something precious. All was, perhaps, lost. The good, wonderful Mommy could no longer assume that because her child mimicked her sweet-Mommy words, she was only a sweet Mommy. Because now that the good girl also copied her impatient-Mommy words, that would have to mean (gasp) that she was an impatient Mommy. A burned-out Mommy. A real, live, human Mommy... just like everyone else.

Turns out that the timing on this was inspired, because it was Very Important for this Mommy to learn that lesson. Because the next child was healthy (mostly) she was beautiful (in a bald way) but she was not happy. Not ever. Not for a year and a half. That's eighteen months. Seventy-eight weeks. Five hundred and forty -six days. And nights. And the Mommy carried on. She learned that sometimes God just gives us gifts. And sometimes He sends us challenges. And sometimes, when we're ready for it, He lets us see that our challenges are also great gifts.

Epilogue: Once upon a slightly later time there was a nearly middle aged Mommy who had four sweet, beautiful, well-behaved children. Not one of them was perfect. Not one was constantly happy. But they were all loved, all wanted, all appreciated, and they all loved their sometimes burned-out, tired, cranky, sometimes fun, silly, happy, always human, always learning Mommy.