Rewind...Valentine's Day

I just had to share my kids' Valentine's Boxes.  They had loads of fun putting them together and were so proud of the final result. 

Ethan's-----------------------------------Conner's----------------------------------Aubrey's

Hope that Valentine's at your house was "monstrously" fun too! 

Tea Party

Aubrey just turned five!  In our home we only have "friend birthday parties" every few years, so this was her first birthday party with her friends.  She was so excited to help me prepare and set things up and as the time got closer for her guests to arrive her excitement grew exponentially. 

The Set-up

We decided that a Tea Party has certain requirements regarding attire so, our activities were geared toward getting the girls outfitted for tea time.

1st- Each of the girls decorated paper fans.  I ordered them from here. The fans turned out adorable and the girls loved fanning themselves dramatically.  More than once I heard someone exclaim, "Oh my! It's so hot in here! I need my fan!"

2nd-  The girls strung lifesavers and other cookies and candies with holes in them onto strings to make necklaces.  The girls loved the necklaces but if I were to do this activity again I would make sure to get "beads" that didn't have any chocolate on them.  Most of the girls left the party with chocolate smudges on their shirts.  Oops.

3rd- We helped each girl make a fancy hat to wear to tea.  We made the hats out of wrapping paper and the girls decorated them with flowers, feathers and butterflies.  Each hat was so fun and unique. 

After everybody was successfully "fancied up" (including a feather boa each) it was time for treats.

The Food

There were all kinds of fancy cookies, candies and the like.  Notice the cute teacup cookies- I love them!   Jen from All Things Exquisite has been a friend of my family's since our childhoods. She is so very talented! She decorated the cookies to match the invitations that we used, they went with our theme perfectly.  They were beautiful and tasty too! 

 Tea Time!

It was so fun to watch all of the girls eat their food daintily.  

Five

This was such a great way to celebrate Aubrey's birthday!

Happy Birthday Sweet Pea!

Do You Want to See Something Cute?

Such CUTE kids.

 They really can't help it, I mean, have you seen their dad?  Yowza!

Growing in the Summer Sun

Growing in my backyard are feathery, pink and white peonies.  I love them for how they look.

Growing in my garden are impatient, green tomatoes.  I love them for how they'll taste.

Growing outside my kitchen window is a warm summer's day.  I love it for how it makes me feel.

Growing around our house is the freshly mowed grass.  I love it for how it smells. 

Growing in the summer sun are three dirty, energy-filled children.  I love them for who they are, and who they are becoming.

   

Hot Dogs for Breakfast

Last night the kids had a "late night" with some friends.  They played soccer and built Legos and around 9:20 we decided to put in a movie.  The plan was that the kids could watch a few minutes of the movie then around ten we'd send the neighbor kids home and we'd get to bed. 

The kids were loving the movie, I thought it was pretty lame.  It featured jumpy, awkward camera shots, an antagonist who never materialized into anything more than a burst of wind and some intense music, and a story line that left me scratching my head.  (My punishment for borrowing from the library rather than spending a dollar to get a "real" movie from the Red Box). 

At about 10:15 the plan backfired.  I got the neighbor kids out the door without a hitch.  I watched them cross the street and get into their house safely.  But back inside the house my kids were disappointed that they weren't going to be able to see the rest of the movie.  Normally, I can hold my ground without a problem but there were three factors working against me last night. 

The first is that the boys are off track. When we don't have to worry about school the next day, bedtime becomes a lot less black and white and slides into the gray area. 

The next is that Kedar is out of town.  If he has to be gone for work, I try to do some "fun things" with the kids to make the time go by more quickly for all of us.  Staying up late and finishing the movie seemed to fit into the "fun thing" category.

And the final factor, that ultimately caused me to cave, was the way that they asked.  There was no whining and crying or pleading.  My three children looked up at me with angelic faces and spoke to me to me in loving and polite tones.

So, we were up late last night. 

This morning the kids were unfazed but I was still bushed.  I sat up in bed trying to pull myself out of my sleepy stupor.  Aubrey came tumbling down the stairs and into my room.  Her hair was a curly, early-morning mess and the smile on her face said that she was ready face the day.

"Mom, stay in bed!  I'm gonna get you some food," she said and was in the kitchen slamming cupboards in a blink.

Sitting in my bed this morning, I had an internal struggle.  I could hear the kitchen being summarily trashed and my first thought was to rush in and intervene.  But then I thought about what my daughter was trying to do, how excited she had been to do something nice for me and I resolved to stay put.

She came back into my room holding in one hand, a plate full of irregular slices of hot dog and in the other, two forks.  She clambered up onto the bed with me.  Together we enjoyed a breakfast of cold hot dogs and lots of giggles.

Not a bad way to start the day.     

Isn't Eight Great?

Ethan recently celebrated his 8th birthday.  While we were building one of the Lego sets that he got as a birthday present I interviewed him about what it's like to be eight.  (You'll notice Legos are a common theme in his answers.)  Here's what he had to say.    

So far, what's the part about being eight?  Ummm.  Probably the presents.

What was the best thing about being seven?  I got to go to the swimming pool.

If you could drive, where would you go?  To a hot dog place, then a Lego store.

What is your favorite meal? Strawberries, watermelon, burritos and chicken nuggets with ranch.

What do you like best about being a kid?  Sleeping!  No, building Legos... and sleeping.

What's the best part about being a grown up?  I'm not an adult, I don't know.  Probably building Legos.

What do you want to be when you grow up?  A Lego inventor and an Army man.

How old is someone when their "old"?  50, 60, 70, 80, 90 or 100.  Or 190 million.

If you were an inventor what would you invent?  More Legos!

What's the best part about second grade?  P.E., I like playing the games.

What's the worst part about second grade?  Math- 'cause I hate math.  Scrubba, dub, dub!

Where do babies come from? Heaven. It's TRUE! Why are you smiling!?

Who's your best friend?  Jack

What are you really good at?  Building Legos and drawing.  I'm not be the best artist in the world, but I might be one of them.

Describe the best day:  Saturday. Why? Because that's when I can play video games!

What does it mean if you have a girlfriend?  You love them.

How do you know if you love someone?  If you're staring at a girl.

Do you have a girlfriend?  No, not anymore.

If you found a magic lamp and could make three wishes, what would you wish for?  1- To have all of the Legos in the world.  2- To have 8 more wishes.  3- To have 100 more wishes.  Then with the 108 more wishes, I would get all of the new Lego sets when they come out.

Happy Birthday, Mister E!  We sure love you.

The History of a Haircut

After Kedar and I had been dating for a couple of months he posed a question that would change the course of my life forever.  My hands shook and my brain raced as I tried to put my answer into words.  I didn't want to say "no" but I wasn't sure that I was ready to say "yes" either.  It was a defining moment in our relationship when he asked me "Will you give me a haircut?"

I finally caved and told him that I would try cutting his hair.  We went into the bathroom with clippers, scissors and Kedar's over-grown hair.  We came out of the bathrom 20 minutes later with tiny splinters of hair covering both of us and an uneven mop on top of his head.

We walked down the stairs and Kedar continued into the kitchen where the family that he was living with sat at the table. I lingered on the bottom step.  Each face turned in our direction and shocked looks turned into stifled snickers as they took in the damage that I had inflicted.  My face burned with humiliation.

I promised myself that I would never cut Kedar's hair again.  Never.

Over eleven years later, there have been only two times, since that first haircut, that Kedar has paid to have someone else cut his hair.  One was for our wedding and the other was about a year ago when our schedule was just too packed to squeeze in a haircut at home.  He went to a Sports Clips on his lunch hour armed with a coupon.

Very few things have stayed the same since that first haircut.  First, I like to think (or at least, I hope) that my skills have improved.  Second, Kedar is no longer the only one at the mercy of my scissors; Conner and Ethan are also my regular customers.  Lastly, there is nobody waiting in the kitchen to laugh at the final results.  If anybody in the house laughs now, they know I will just get even with them the next time they are in need of my services.     

An Exclusive Invitation

This afternoon exclusive event took place. 

The VENUE: A quaint out of the way locale in our hallway near the kitchen.

The GUEST LIST:  An intimate group of A-listers only.  Here the renowned guests are pictured; from left to right they are:

Penguin (the penguin), Maddie, PinkandPurple, Bunny (the bunny), Lollipop, Lollipop's Dad, and Minnie.

 

The MENU:  Local growers provided plastic fruit, watery "tea," and faux desserts.  The lusciously light meal was served on the finest in pastel china. 

The HOSTESS enjoyed herself immensely as she mingled with her guests. 

All in all, this distinguished Tea Party was a smashing success!

Inquiring Minds Want to Know

Ethan: "Mom, were there leprachauns when Jesus was alive?"

Piano Lessons and Prayer

When Conner was a colicky little baby one of the things he would respond best to was music.  Every night he would fall asleep to our "Celtic Lullabies" CD.  Evenings were his fussiest time and we wore a trail into the carpet in his room, bouncing him back and forth through the moonlight.  His music would calm him when our other attempts failed. 

He was three when we realized that memorizing melodies came effortlessly for him.  We would sing or hum a line from a song and ask him where he had heard it.  If he had seen a movie, heard an add on the radio or heard it in nursery even just once he could almost always tell us where he had learned it.

He would toddle around the house or busily play with bugs in the yard while singing the music that he heard around him. 

His love for music has grown with him.  When his alarm is blaring in the morning, instead of getting out of bed and turning it off he will lie quietly, listening to the words and music,  then those songs become his anthems throughout the morning as he gets ready for school.

So, we waited for the time that Conner would be old enough to take piano lessons.  We imagined the satisfaction that he would get from making music and not long ago, we decided he was ready and put him in lessons.  Soon we learned he loves making music and he loves listening to music but he hates practicing.

Yesterday, when it was time to go to his piano lesson he locked himself in the bathroom.

"Conner, it's time to go!" I hollered as I gathered up his books.

"I'm not going!" His muffled response came from the other side of the closed door.

"Why don't you want to go?"

"He'll ask me to count out loud!  He'll make me name notes and I don't want to play scales!"  He listed his objections with vehemence.

After some persuasion the door was reluctantly opened and a little prodding got him into the car.  I pulled up in front of his teacher's house but when I climbed out, Conner stayed firmly in his seat.  Then he locked all the doors.  I tapped on the window with my finger and pointed to the lock on the door.  I must have my "mother look" perfected because he unlocked the door immediately.  I dragged him up to the door and we went inside.

Conner's teacher was waiting patiently for us.  He watched as we came into his music room.  Our situation must have been pretty obvious because Merrill walked over to Conner and put an encouraging arm around his shoulders.  "Thank you for coming today even though you didn't feel much like it." 

He spoke to Conner about the joy that music can bring, but emphasized that sometimes its work too.  He explained in kind words and loving tones how important it is that we each learn how to work.  His next words were not what I expected.

"Conner, would it be alright if we started our lesson today with a prayer."

In the sweet prayer that he offered, Merrill asked for Conner to feel comfort and peace.  He asked the Spirit to direct him as he instructed Conner.  He thanked Heavenly Father for Conner, expressed love for him and acknowledged the great love that our Heavenly Father has for Conner.  It was a simple and beautiful prayer.

Tears filled my eyes as I listened to Merrill's words.  In praying he had expressed humility and love.  Humility to ask for Heaven's help and to recognise that He knows a better way, and love for my son, a child of God that He loves and is mindful of.  Prayer had taken a negative situation, and in an instant, set the stage for a positive learning experience.

The most valuable lesson taught yesterday in Conner's piano lesson had nothing to do with notes or scales, it had more to do with faith and love.

“Drawing is putting a line around an idea.”

-Henry Matisse

I was filing some papers and came across these drawings Conner gave to Kedar and I a little while ago. 

I just love the "idea they put a line around."

This is the one he gave to his daddy.

He gave this one to me.

I love that we are all connected.  My arm is linked through Kedar's, Kedar has his arm around Conner's waist, Conner's holding Ethan's arm and Ethan has his hand on Aubrey's shoulder. 

(He even included Jasmine the gecko and Swirly and Spike the hermit crabs.)

Turnabout is Fair Play

There are some traits that I don't mind passing on to my kids;  My brown hair?  Fine.  My brown eyes?  No problem.  My second toe is longer than my big toe.  Not a big deal if my kids end up with that either. 

However, there are other traits that I'm not as sure that I want my kids to have;  My fingernails bend when they grow.  I have always disliked this and don't want them to have my deformed fingernails.  My toes creak and pop all the time.  This bugs me whenever I walk down the stairs, I hope they don't have this either (mostly because of the aches that go along with noisy toes).

Then there are some traits I have that it scares me to think that my kids might end up having too.  Recently, I recognized a trait in Conner that has me shaking in my parental boots.

It started as Conner and I sat at the piano together. We had just finished playing a duet of "She'll Be Comin' Around the Mountain" when we had the following conversation.

Me: "Conner, that was really good!  Make sure that you count out loud this time, okay?"

Conner:  Silence.     

Me:  "Conner?  Will you count out loud while we play it again?"

Conner:  Silence.

Me: Deciding to ignore being ignored and move on.  "Okay let's start at the beginning of the song, counting out loud."

We play the first few measures of the song, meanwhile Conner sits silently on the bench next to me.

Me:  "Okay.  Let's stop there and start at the beginning again.  We have to make sure to count out loud so we can stay together and get the timing right.  Okay?"

Conner:  Silence.

Me:  "Conner, do you understand why it's important to count out loud?

Conner:  "Yes."

Me:  "Alright, then, let's start at the beginning and we can count together."

We play the beginning of the song again.

Me:  "One, two, three, four.  One, two, three, four.  One, two, three, four...."

Conner:  Silence.

Me:  "Conner, are you counting?"

Conner:  "No."

Me:  "Why not?"

Conner:  Silence.

At this point, I had a vision of myself, sitting at the same piano in my childhood home.  When I was about 13 I decided that I was done taking piano lessons.  My mom tried her best to convince me to reconsider.

"Kari, you need to practice the piano now," my mom reminded me from the other room.  I put my fingers on the keys and played a stirring rendition of "Chopsticks."   

"Kari, that's not practicing.  Play your scales, okay?"

I said nothing.  Instead, I got up and went to the bathroom.

When I got back to the piano, my mom was waiting for me.  "You need to practice the piano.  Please sit down and play your scales."

I silently sat down and waited for my mom to leave the room.  When she was out of sight I plunked at the keys randomly until I heard her walk into the room again.

"Kari!  What are you doing?"

Silence.

"Please, practice your lesson!" my mom pleaded with me.

Without a word I diligently began practicing my scales... for five minutes, then I left the piano again and went into the kitchen for a drink.

This went on for several months.  My mom tried everything she could think of to get me to practice.  She grounded me, she bribed me, she hid money in the pages of my piano books, nothing worked.  After awhile she gave up and let me quit taking piano lessons.

Generally, I think that I was a pretty good kid.  I was usually very obedient but there were somethings that I would get very stubborn about.  I knew talking back would get me into trouble so instead I said nothing at all.  When my mind was made up my parents knew it because I became unusually quite, and no amount of convincing would change my mind.

My mind returned to the scene in front of me.  I looked over at my son who was staring silently ahead at the blank wall above the piano and I felt a bead of cold sweat run down the back of my neck.


What traits, good or bad, have you passed on to your children?  Tell me about it.

It Started with a Phone Call

This afternoon when the phone rang I was tempted to let it go to my voicemail, on the last ring I changed my mind. 

"Hello?"

"Hi.  This is Susan from the elementary school, is this Ethan's mom?" asked the woman on the other end.

"Yes..." I answered slowly, a call from the school during the middle of the day is never a good thing.

"Ummm. Ethan is going to need you to bring him a whole new set of clothes, he bonked his lip and he's got blood all over these ones."

"Blood?  Is he okay?"

"Well, he's calmed down now but you might want to just come and judge for yourself."

I had a feeling that I wasn't getting the whole story.

I pulled up to the school a few minutes later and ran to the front door, that's when I realized that in my rush I had forgotten the change of clothes.  Well, I'm not going home now, I thought as I pushed through the double doors.

I hurried into the front office and scanned the blue chairs for my son, they were all empty so I turned my attention to the woman behind the desk. "Is Ethan here?"  My face must have been a reflection of the anxiety I was feeling.  As she quickly stood up and escorted me to a small room she spoke to me in a soothing voice saying meaningless phrases like, "We're not completely sure what happened.  He won't really say much."  Honestly, I was barely listening to what she was saying, I just wanted to see my son.  Ethan wears his emotions on his sleeve, seeing his face would answer all of the questions jangling in my head; How badly is he hurt?  Is he scared?  Is he upset?  Does he need to come home? 

She opened the door and there he was holding a bloody paper towel to his mouth.  The front of his blue sweatshirt was a dark inky color that doesn't have a name.  He looked up at my face and that's when I melted.  He was trying so hard to be brave but his little chin quivered and his eyes brimmed with tears.  I sat next to my little boy and held him close.  I didn't notice his blood dripping onto my pants, "It's okay," I said over and over while he cried.

After a minute I tried to figure out where the blood was coming from.  First, I looked at his lips,  Hadn't somebody said his lip was bleeding?  There were no cuts on his lips.  Nothing on his nose either.  While I looked him over I asked him what had happened.  With a mouth that barely opened he mumbled, "Well... I don't remember...ummm... actually I ran into to someone."  His answer was less than satisfactory, I could see he wasn't ready to talk about it.  But when he spoke I got a better idea of where he was bleeding; inside his mouth.  I had him open up and saw that the gums above his front teeth were the source of all the bleeding and his teeth were both pushed further back into his mouth than their natural position.  Oh, boy.  I need to call the dentist. 

I signed the bright pink paper to get him out of school for the rest of the day. 

As soon as I got into the car I picked up my cell phone and dialed the dentist's office.  When they answered I explained the situation as well as I could (despite my asking again Ethan still wasn't saying much about what happened).  The friendly receptionist asked how quickly I could be to their office.

After a quick stop off at our house to change Ethan into some clean clothes, we were on our way to the dentist's.  When we got there Dr. DeHart saw Ethan right away.  He was kind and reassuring, just what Ethan needed.  When the dentist asked him what had happened, Ethan didn't say a word.  Dr. D didn't press the issue but looked at me with a raised eyebrow, I could only shrug my shoulders.  As it turns out Ethan's 4 front teeth (all of them permanent) are loose and were moved back by the "bonk" he received.  The good news?  None of his teeth were chipped or cracked.

The next week or so will be full of soft foods, ice cream (all he wants the dentist reassured) and lots of very mellow activities (wrestling was expressly forbidden).  Other than that, there's really nothing to be done but wait and watch.  Hopefully his teeth will heal nicely and move themselves back to where they should be.

So, what happened?  On the way home from the dentist's office Ethan was finally ready to talk about it.  At recess Ethan was playing freeze-tag with a group of kids.  He was being chased by the person who was "it."  While he ran at full speed he looked over his shoulder and hit mouth to head with a girl who was running toward him at her top speed.  When I asked how the little girl was Ethan replied.  "She cried for awhile but I think she's okay.  But mom, just so you know, I was running faster than her."  Several times during the ride home he reiterated, "Mom, I was running just a bit faster than her," or,"She was running pretty fast, mom, but not as fast as me."

It's important, in situations like this, that you know the most critical facts like who the faster runner is.

Mixing Church and State

I love to hear my kids sing the Primary songs that they learn in church each Sunday.  There are beautiful messages within the simple words and melodies.  But sometimes the words can be tricky for their little mouths to pronounce or for their busy brains to remember.

Recently they learned the song "I'm trying to be like Jesus."

I'm trying to be like Jesus.
I'm following in His ways.
I'm trying to be like Jesus,
In all that I do and say.

This morning Ethan was stomping around the house doing his jobs and singing this song.  He was singing with gusto, the rhythm of the song matching the marching rhythm of his steps.  I smiled as I listened to him.  When I gave my full attention to the words my son was singing this is what I heard:

I'm trying to be like Jesus!
I'll follow the USA! 

Maybe I'd better teach him the right words before the kids sing in front of the entire congregation for the Primary program.

Hidden Treasure

I was tucking Aubrey into bed last night and she looked up at me with a mischevious grin. 

"I know a secret," she said. 

"What's the secret?" I asked.

She looked around the room, deciding if she should tell me or not.  She finally whispered so quietly that I had to lean toward her to hear, "Me and Ethan hid something."

"What did you hide?" I whispered back.

Apparently this was a question she wouldn't answer.  I could tell by the stubborn look on her face that she would never tell me what they hid, so, I tried another approach, "Where did you hide it?"

She giggled behind her little hand, "In my closet!"

I walked over to her closet and slid open the door.  Immediately, I could see something was amiss.  All of the stuffed anmials had been piled into the back corner.  I bent down and moved them one by one.  First, Minnie Mouse, then Baby Jo Jo, followed by Puppy and Lollipop, until I saw what my kids had carefully stowed away.  An 80 oz jar of pickle juice was nestled in the back of the closet with every stuffed animal in our house standing sentinel.  I put my hand over my mouth, both out of disbelief and to hide the smile that was growing there.

When I pulled the jar out of the closet, I turned to Aubrey and held it up with a questioning look.  She just laughed and laughed in her contagious way that makes it nearly impossible not to laugh right along with her.

"What happened to all the pickles?" 

"Me and Ethan ate the last ones, then we were taking turns drinking out of the side of the jar!" she explained like it was the best thing she had ever taken part in.

I was still smiling and shaking my head in disbelief as I walked down the stairs after I had kissed her cheek and told her good night.  I hid the massive jar behind my back the best that I could then walked into my bedroom where Kedar was getting ready for bed.

"Guess what Ethan and Aubrey hid in her closet today?" I asked.

The Job Chart

Aubrey's five year old friend was at the house playing a few days ago.  While they played happily with the Barbies in the next room I scrubbed the toilet in the bathrrom.  A few minutes later, while cleaning the mirror, I saw Aubrey's friend's little reflection watching me.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

"That's so nice of you, but you don't want to help me clean the bathroom.  It's kind of a yucky job."  I was impressed she would even offer.

"I know how to clean the bathroom.  That's one of my jobs," was her proud response.

"Really?"  I was getting more impressed with each word she spoke.

"Oh yeah," like it was no big deal, "I scrub the toilet from top to bottom and use some cleaning wipes to wash the counters and I can even clean the sinks!  I'm not tall enough to clean all of the mirror though."

My jaw hit the floor.  Apparently, I need to give my kids more opportunities to help around the house.

So, tonight after I put the kids to bed, I sat down at the computer to make a "Job Chart."  The kids are dreading its completion and I really can't blame them.  Growing up I'm not sure that there were words that could strike fear into my young heart like those two.

"Time to rotate the job chart!" mom would say cheerily. 

To me it sounded more like, "Time to switch from Chinese Water Torture to the Rack!" 

"Can I go play?" I'd ask on a Saturday morning.

"Have you done all of your jobs on the job chart yet, Kari?" was mom's sunny response.

But what I heard was, "Have you worked your fingers to the bone yet, Cinderella?" 

Jobs such as loading the dishwasher, dusting the living room and cleaning the bathroom felt like insurmountable obstacles that were invented for two purposes:

1- To torture me and
2- To keep me from having any fun.

I am quite sure that my own children have a similar attitude about jobs, but a mom's gotta do what a mom's gotta do and this mom needs a little more help.  So, starting tomorrow the job chart comes out. 



What have you done to teach your children to work?  Do you use a job chart or another method?  Do you give an allowance?  Do tell, I'm curious to hear what others have tried and how it went.

Dim Sum, Anyone?

Last weekend we were out running errands and making a few visits.  Things were taking longer than we had anticipated and lunchtime was quickly approaching.  From the back of the van we could hear the desperate cries of our children, "We're STARVING!  Please, can we stop somewhere for lunch?" 

This is the moment where things can get a little dicey for our family. 

Should we press forward with our errands, making the young'uns wait another hour (at least) for lunch, but at the same time teaching them valuable lessons?  Lessons such as: a person cannot starve to death between breakfast and lunch.  What about the important principles of budgeting and spending wisely?  By waiting and eating the perfectly good food that we had in our own kitchen wouldn't they learn to understand these things a little better?      

The halo-clad angel perched firmly on my right shoulder presented these arguments quiet articulately.   But she was quickly drowned out by the whining that echoed off the interior of our van, "Mom!  We're soooo hungry!  Pleeeeeease can we stop!?"  The guy with the pitch fork lounging on my left shoulder didn't have to say a word.  He just smiled smugly.

"Where do you guys want to eat?" I asked.

Within 2 minutes we'd weeded out 99.1% of the nearby eating establishments. 

"McDonald's!" the kids chanted with enthusiasm.

"NO!"  Kedar and I retorted, matching their gusto.

"Tacos?" someone suggested.

"BLURRRAH!!" one of the kids countered with elaborate fake vomiting noises.

"How 'bout Subway?"

"YUCK!"

"Sizzler?"

"Eeeeww!"

On and on this back and forth went until it was quite apparent that what we needed was a leader.  Someone to take charge and make a choice.  Someone who wasn't afraid to make some enemies, knowing that not everybody would be happy but still willing to make the best decision for the group.  It is in high pressure situations like this that leaders emerge. 

I noticed it happening gradually; Kedar slowly distanced himself from the circular banter, his driving evolved from aimless wandering to purposeful guiding, and his jaw set in resolution.  He'd made a decision.  The car grew quiet as we all waited to see where we would be eating our lunch.  A sharp right turn off of Redwood Road found us in a parking lot, the sign read "The Red Maple."

Our food was delicious, I believe the words "the best Chinese food in the valley" were spoken during the course of the meal.  When our chopsticks were clean and our bellies full the check arrived along with, of course, the fortune cookies.  The kids looked at them with expectation on their faces. 

Conner insisted the "authentic" way to acquire the fortune cookie meant for you was to pick one and then trade with someone else.  So, trade we did.  One by one we held our delicate treats in our hands and snapped them into two pieces.  The magic of anticipating what the hidden message may say found us all and buzzed in the air like static electricity.  We took turns reading our slips of paper.  The kids wondered out loud how their fortunes would play out in reality. 

"Mom, will I really bring sunshine into someones life?" 

"Do I bring sunshine into your life Dad?" 

"What does "priority" mean?"

"Why should my family be my highest priority?"

I was enchanted as I listened to our children.  Conner's paper said he would "bring sunshine into some body's life"so he believed that he would.  For the value that they put on them, these words should have been engraved on gold instead of printed on paper.  For three little minds that have no qualms believing in Santa Clause, Tooth Fairies and Leprechauns, putting faith in something as tangible as a fortune cookie wasn't a stretch at all.  Because they believed, I wanted to.

When my turn came to read, the words hummed in my head.  The realization hit me: there's no reason not to believe in these positive expressions.  Believing words of encouragement, no matter where they come from can only have a positive outcome.  So, I made the choice to believe.             

      
Motivation can come from many places, last Saturday it came to me in a crunchy Chinese cookie.

Past Bedtime

Last night we got home late, too late.  Aubrey was tried and cranky, even the smallest inconveniences threw her into a tantrum. 

We got jammies on.  She cried because she didn't want to change.

We brushed teeth.  She cried because she couldn't find her blankie.

We quickly read scriptures.  She cried because she didn't want to hear us talking.

While we had our family prayer she was still crying.  We said the final "Amen" and I opened my eyes, with tears still flooding down her red cheeks and sobs choking her voice she said, "Mom!  Now I can't remember why I'm crying!"

Definitely time for bed.

Four

I'm getting bigger everyday,

My hair is longer too.

I used to be a little girl

But now I'm four! Wa-hoo!



Torn Pages

I gave Ethan a journal about a year ago.  Just a simple spiral bound notebook to get him in the habit of writing down his thoughts. 

While we were in Texas he wrote in it everyday.  He would write and become completely engrossed.  His tongue would slide out of the corner of his mouth in concentration, he would complain that his little hand was achy but still he kept writing.  Sometimes he read to me what he had written.   His phonetic spelling, which was illegible to me but was perfectly logical to him, made it necessary for him to translate.  He read pages and pages of his six-year-old-feelings to me.  When he grew tired of writing he resorted to drawing.

His drawings were detailed pictures of himself and our family.  They were simple and beautifully transparent.  When he was angry with his brother his pictures were a reflection of that emotion, when he was sad you could see that in his drawings too.

I walked into my room two nights ago, across my beige carpet the white pages of his journal were scattered haphazardly.  I knelt down and hurriedly scooped the torn pages into a neat pile. 

"What happened to these?" I questioned Kedar.

"Oh, Ethan tore them out.  He decided he didn't want them in his journal anymore."

As I knelt there on the floor, I think I felt my heart break a little.

I hated seeing those pages torn so carelessly from their simple time capsule.  I scanned through each page slowly and wondered why this was making me upset.  Why didn't he want them anymore?  The answer to this one question was at the root of how I was feeling.  Was Ethan's seven-year-old-self judging his abilities from a year ago?  Did he think that his best effort from then wasn't any good now?  Didn't he see the value in them and the feelings they reflected anymore? 

What I saw clearly, as I looked at the mess on my bedroom floor, is that my little boy is growing up and that's a hard reality for this mom to face.  For one reason or another those pages aren't important to him anymore.  So, instead of throwing that pile of torn papers into the garbage I tucked them safely away because even if he's ready to let them go, I'm not.