Half full

Would you consider it a good thing or a bad thing to find your daughter who's had the flu left her mark on the Sam's Club block of cheese?
Good because she's obviously getting an appetite back? Or bad because she may have compromised the entire two pound brick?

I guess, here at Thanksgiving time, the answer should be a no-brainer. I should be happy and grateful. I am grateful. (That she didn't nibble on every corner. That she didn't throw up cheese all over the carpet. That my family didn't mind us hanging out with them even though we probably got every other grandkid sick.)

My goal this Thanksgiving is to be grateful not just for the things that are easy to be grateful for, but to look for the silver lining on the things that aren't easy to be grateful for. I'm working on being grateful for my weight. If there is a gigantic famine, I can hibernate on all the chocolate chips I've stored up for winter while my family starves away around me...

Okay, so it's obviously still a learning process--this being thankful for trials.
But I'm pretty sure it's possible--to always see the glass as being half full.

Six years ago I put up a little Thanksgiving thought and I've had it up near my sink ever since (except for the last month because it's still in an unpacked box). It's crinkled with six years of watermarks, but I'm not done with it because because I haven't yet learned the lessons well enough to not need its constant reminder. And for six years it has been helping me and irritating me (because it refuses to let me feel sorry for myself).

I'm Thankful For...

The mess to clean up after a party
because it means I've been surrounded by friends.

The taxes I pay
because it means that I'm employed.

The clothes that fit a little too snug
because it means I have enough to eat....

A lawn that needs mowing, windows that need cleaning and gutters that need fixing
because it means I have a home.

All the complaining I hear about our government
because it means we have freedom of speech.

The space I find at the far end of the parking lot
because it means I am capable of walking.

My huge heating bill
because it means I am warm.

The lady behind me in church who sings off key
because it means I can hear.

The piles of laundry and ironing
because it means I have clothes to wear.

Weariness and aching muscles at the end of the day
because it means I have been productive.

The alarm that goes off in the early morning hours
because it means that I'm alive.

Author Unkown (Printed in Ann Landers 11/22/01)


As for me, I'm thankful for this bunch of ragamuffins.

They may not be very photogenic, but they are the silver lining that makes all the clouds of motherhood worthwhile (even when they sometimes cause the clouds).

There is no ill that won't be lessened when Eliza's tiny arms wrap around my neck for a hug. Or when Lily totters out of my room into the hallway, just to circle around via the bathroom, and peeks her head in with a victorious smile. Or when Sage draws me a picture and crosses out my real name so she can write "M[heart] M."

I am thankful for the father of my three little silver clouds. (Even though he does love cats and playing "Santa Baby.") I am thankful for his love of dark chocolate, his sense of humor, his commitment to do what's right, and his own perseverance through trials (some of which are me).

I am thankful for the scriptures and what they teach about silver linings on clouds (otherwise known as tender mercies) .

Please enjoy this little video when you have a minute.

Doors and windows

I don’t have any clever introduction for this post. And beware, there’s no clever ending either. There’s just a tired, grumpy mommy who’s looking for a tiny bit of sympathy or empathy or chocolate.

I am exhausted from keeping an eye (or two) out for Daughter Number Two this past week. I’m giving her name the silent treatment because I’m so aggravated with her “free spirit.” (“Free spirit” being a euphemism.)

When I was the mother of one sweet little two year old (whose middle name could have been Obedience), I decided I would reserve my sharpest angry voice (and hopefully all other variations of the angry voice) for those scary moments when my child is about to step into the street in front of an ongoing bus. Unfortunately the same technique will not work with Daughter Number Two, since she seems to get (and DESERVE) this voice several times a day. [I can’t tell you how many times I’ve said “We don’t step on Lily’s hands!” And I was a math major, so that’s saying something.]

Here’s Daughter Number Two’s week in review.

7 days ago: Hid in the master bathroom for thirty minutes while we were visiting my parents. [This was the third of such occurrences in the last two months.]

6 days ago: Split open several unfrozen otter pops over the carpet. Covered her foot in several tablespoons of toothpaste. Rubbed excess toothpaste on towels and in corner of carpet in her bedroom for me to find later.

5 days ago: Used her pasty white skin as a canvas.

4 days ago: Accessorized the white molding in her room with yellow highlighter.

3 days ago: Got caught with pen poised above some checks I needed to deposit.

2 days ago: Decorated our front porch with marker. Added finishing touches to her nose and papers from my desk.

Today: Painted a monkey with green paint, using my bedroom carpet as a dripcloth.

Other “projects” include painting faces on pumpkins and bath toys with makeup, decorating Lily with marker, and slathering Vaseline, lotion and chapstick on herself.

What’s a mom to do? Invest in stock for Magic Erasers? Eat chocolate? Blog for sympathy and eat more chocolate? [Done.]

My sister, Danielle, reminds me of a time when Sage was going through a trying phase. I quoted Maria (from The Sound of Music) saying "'When the Lord closes a door, somewhere he opens a window.' Eliza's my window." I feel blessed that right now I have two other open windows.

And moments when the door opens. (I just haven't caught any of them on camera yet.)

(Thanks to Julianna for taking Sage and Lily's pictures!)