One day more

Danielle, you know what today is. The last day of the year that we are both the same age...a whopping 25 years old. I know you love it, so live it up. I'll see you at 26 next October. Those eleven months will give me a chance to work on perfecting the flaming eyes ghost cake.

Grandparents

How do grandparents learn how to be grandparents?

I'm just wondering, because my mom and dad have got it totally figured out. They always seem to know when to step in when I am going crazy over the stubbornness of a 3-year-old, the recklessness of a 1-year-old, and the short-sightedness and tiredness of a young mother. How do they know when having to change one more poopy diaper is going to turn me into a raving lunatic? Because it's always then that they grab my diaper bag and say "I'll take care of this one."

Is there a book? Are there formulas? Are there explicit instructions that make it possible for my parents to win over the hearts of their three grandchildren, even as they discipline, tease, play with, teach, and love them?

Or maybe, could their love for their grandkids be a mere reflection of what they feel for the parents of their grandkids?

Have they read and memorized a book called "How to get your kids to never move away"? If not, my mom and dad should probably write that book, because it's working!!!

Nursery gossip

Sage thrives on the local nursery gossip. Before we arrived home after church, I had already been well informed about Sage’s classmates.

“Banner got a little boo boo.”

“Lindsey had a cold, and Sister Weeks had a cold.”

“Taylor was wearing a green sweater.”

“Izzy was gone.”

"Abigail had gum in this side of her cheek and she chewed, chewed, chewed at church. It was from her dad."

Now I don’t claim to have been any different than Sage is when I was three. [I can tell you I was at least that gossipy in my journal from 5^th grade on through all of high school]. But I hoped Sage would remember as much about the nursery lesson as she did about everyone’s ailments. So I gave her a little prompt in the spiritual direction.

“What was your lesson about, Sage?”

“I don’t know.”

“Was it about…” [as I read directly off the paper she brought home] “…things to taste or smell?”

“I don’t know.”

Interesting. It looks like someone’s got a selective memory. Then again, how could the body’s sense of smell stand a chance against juicy information about Banner’s boo boo? I’m sure Sage will keep us posted.

I'm thankful for food

I'm thankful for pie.

I'm thankful for the special times I had learning to make pie and bread with Grandma Wilson.

I'm thankful for a mom who never let it be known that she disliked cooking (Dad spilled the beans when I was in high school)--something you would never guess from the great food we always ate [crab fettucine excluded] and the very few times we ever went out to eat.

I'm thankful for a dad who forgave my disinterest in sports, and found a way to compliment me by supporting my love of cooking. I owe much adolescent self-esteem and my Bosch mixer to him. (Even if he never actually followed through with those promises to do my Saturday job if I made bread! At least I got out of doing it.)

I'm thankful for a husband who generously lets me experiment with cooking, enjoys dark chocolate as much as I do, and made me the "What's for dinner" list of 75 possible dinner entrees, 18 sides, 20 breads, and 23 fruit/veggie suggestions.

I'm thankful for neighbors (past and present) who accept our leftovers and extras, who forgive me for calling them my personal "garbage disposal," who form dinner groups with me, and who share their favorite recipes, including "The Cake Mix Doctor" cookbook, which has revolutionized our FHE treats.

I'm thankful for the cute cooking movie, Ratatouille, and other clean and uplifting films.

I'm thankful for AllRecipes.com.

I'm thankful for all our cooking-related wedding presents that seemed superfluous to a college student, and now seem indulgent to a young mother who loves to cook. [Except the turkey roasting pan, which I regifted, to Mark's displeasure.]

I'm thankful for an abundance of food, in quantity and variety. I'm grateful for the choices I have among 75+ possible dinner ideas.

I'm thankful for a refrigerator, freezer, and sanitary cooking and eating spaces.

I'm thankful for a sense of taste and smell.

I'm thankful for my body which, for all it's lumps and stretch marks, is truly a temple and a gift from God.

Thanks for toilets

Good news: Our toilet has been fixed for the fifth time this month, and things are working much better. [Bless Costco for carrying an $80 toilet set.]

Bad news: Sage was present when Grandpa came over to help take off the old toilet and install the new one. Seeing the naked hole in the bathroom floor that opened into the pipes that go into the sewer reminded Sage of her goldfish that went [and I quote] “down the drain, down into the pipes, and down into the sewer.” Difficult questions surfaced, such as “Is my orange fish down there?” and “Can we ask Heavenly Father and Jesus to get our fish back?”

Good news (sort of): Sage and Eliza were fascinated for well over an hour while they played in the new toilet (and I literally mean IN it) before it made its transition from the living room to the bathroom.

Bad news: Today after Thanksgiving dinner, I heard Eliza’s muffled cries. I ran upstairs [not the first time that night] and found the door closed to the bathroom in the master bedroom [obviously not in my house]. Eliza and her 18-month-old cousin, Bryn, had apparently decided to stop picking on each other (which consisted of stealing each other’s rolls and toys and pushing or tackling each other all night) and join forces in making some mischief. (Either that or Eliza was trying to give Bryn a swirlie.) In addition to the toilet stirring that had taken place by both red-handed (I mean wet-handed) one-year-olds, the curtain on the vanity was ripped down, bottles were on the floor, and the light was off. I am still at a loss as to how they worked their magic in the dark, and how long they were there, and how this made them friends. But sure enough, their picking on each other was over after the toilet incident. Whatever works.

Since this entry seems to be destined to focus on toilet talk, I’ll take advantage and mention a few related quotes and thoughts from this week:

A conversation with Sage when she was trying to get out of doing something: S: "I'm the mommy." Me: "Then you have to clean the toilet." S: "You can be the mommy."

After Sage used the toilet at the doctor's office: "This toilet needs a closer so Eliza and Jacob can't get in it."

On Sunday, in Senior Primary, I let the kids make up new words to a short Thanksgiving song “For Health and Strength.” They chose three things (two one-syllables and one three-syllables) that they were grateful for and substituted them in for health, strength, and daily food in the song “For health and strength and daily food we praise thy name, O Lord.” Perhaps next time I will specify no blasphemy. Oops.

Some were fun, some were silly, and some were ridiculous.

Fun: For clothes and shoes and pumpkin pie we praise thy name, O Lord.

Silly: For love and home and toilets we praise thy name, O Lord.

Ridiculous: For sports and cheese and hamburgers we praise thy name, O Lord. [This was not the only one about cheese, believe it or not. And Danielle wasn’t even there to influence the vote.]

The kids got the biggest kick out of the toilet one (in spite of its syllabic inaccuracies). I’m sure the wise guy (girl, actually) who penned this version had no idea what she was getting herself in to. Had she any idea that her primary chorister had spent six months in a VERY rural part of Mexico without a toilet, she might have changed her tune. As it was, the damage was done. They were destined for a lecture on true appreciation for toilets, bathrooms, and running water. My Primary lecture was more condensed and less graphic than what you're about to read. But here's what's at the heart of my thoughts in Primary.

When I first arrived in Mexico (2001), I was instructed in the processes of excretion by the natives at my “home.” My instructions were to urinate in the dry riverbed, defecate in a small room with a cement floor (and walk away), and deposit used feminine hygiene products in a crack in the stone wall that surrounded the house.

I have written and rejected three drafts of this next paragraph, because it is so tempting to give detailed information about an issue that caused me much concern, planning and adaptation. However, I realize it is likely an issue that laymen will find repulsive, even though any Mexico Literacy Program participant can attest to the importance of this issue. Let me put it this way-- when you have to think so carefully and often about how to excrete waste without being seen, soiling yourself, tipping over (in the poo room, this could be considered suicide…literally), you begin to wonder if diapers or catheters might not be a good idea for adults after all, and you certainly don’t shrink to discuss the latest developments on tricks for “using the bathroom” (a term used loosely), or fecal patterns related to three straight months of bean and tortilla consumption.

I was blessed with a roofless, walled “bathroom” area during my second three months in Mexico. The urine soaked into the dirt and fecal matter was to be shoveled up and flung over the wall. I don’t know which part I liked the most about this “bathroom”--the privacy, the legitimate, acknowledged bathroom spot, or the prospect of not having to see others' business.

With this background, I feel quite qualified to say that I am extremely grateful for bathrooms and toilets. I’m grateful to not have to pay 20 cents to obtain 4 squares of coarse toilet paper and access to the only bathroom in a public place. I’m grateful that in most public bathrooms in the U.S., while I’m sitting, my knees don’t touch the door; the stall is usually much higher than my neck; and employees regularly empty trash cans, repair (or at least label) defective toilets, and clean stalls. I feel overjoyed that most bathroom doors have free toilet paper, soap, paper towels, toilet seats and lids, working locks, feminine products dispensers, air fresheners, trash cans for feminine products. Even basic bathrooms often feature hanging artwork, baby stations, music, and automatic devices for flushing and dispensing water, soap and paper towels. In my own home, cleaning the toilet once every two weeks is a small price to pay in exchange for the disappearance of our excretions one second after that little lever is pushed. I am blessed.

I hope I remember not to complain when Ronald McDonald is low on paper towels, or when the library's bathroom has some trash on the floor. Or even when I have to wait in line at the airport to drag my kids and luggage into the spacious “Family bathroom” for diaper changes and potty stops. Maybe I can just use those opportunities to compose my own thankful song for all the many luxuries that I do have. “For soap and locks and free bathrooms I praise thy name, O Lord.” And for much, much more.

Doctrines of a three-year-old

Today Sage got out the microphone and narrated about ten of her favorite scripture stories for me---all spoken directly and importantly into her mircrophone (the same one I used to get her attention in a past FHE lesson).

I had to jot down some of the doctrine she preached:

NOAH: "It rained for forty days and forty nights and forty mornings."

JESUS: "Jesus had a problem. He was dead. And he was hanging on a cross."

CREATION: "God made the earth, and he made light and dark, water, animals, plants, trees, flowers, leaves, bushes,..." [A little botanist in the making?]

NEPHI TO LAMAN & LEMUEL: "Don't touch me, or you'll have to get a shot." [shocked]

MOSES: "Moses had a lamb. Because lambs are for eating. [breaking into song:] 'The lambs give us clothes, the lambs give us clothes. Hi-ho the dairy-o, the lambs give us clothes.' And Moses had one because there were so many yummy lambs to eat. And he eat and eat and eat...."
[Sage was obsessed with her stuffed lamb for at least 2 years. Naturally, she was traumatized to learn of the importance of the lamb in Old Testament sacrifices, and especially at the first Passover. (Thanks, Becca.) Becca and Mark did some quick talking to convince her that lambs were good for food and sacrifices and wool for clothes...and we decided not to revisit the Passover events until she's older, or less attached. I think some of the Moses story got lost in the whole lamb fiasco, as demonstrated by her narrative about Moses tonight.]

CLOSING SONG: [This one's for Danielle, who loves all of Mark's songs:] After Sage went to bed, Mark and I were laughing about her understanding of the scripture stories. Mark sang to the tune of "Follow the Prophet": "Now we're in a world where Sagers is confused..."

Follow in faith

It is inevitable that the daughter of the ward primary chorister (me) and ward primary pianist (Mark) and older sister of the ward primary mascot/cheerleader (Eliza) will pick up the year's 8 primary songs whether she's trying to or not. This year's theme is "I'll Follow Him in Faith," and one of the year's songs was titled just that. I was flattered on Sunday when Sage's nursery music leader told Mark that she can tell which children are exposed to music in the home--and it was clear to her that Sage was. But, as they say, pride goeth before a fall. Today came the fall.

I was washing dishes in the kitchen when I heard Eliza begin screeching in the living room. I rushed to the scene of the crime, having recognized Eliza's "I've been wronged" cry, where I naturally found Sage. I confronted Sage, who is amazingly truthful, even when it comes to incriminating herself.

"What happened, Sage? Why is Eliza sad?"

" Eliza was trying to get the Desitin, so I told her to 'follow me in faith'."

I think I know what next week's family home evening lesson will be about.

Repetition is the mother of learning...or insanity

Some things about motherhood are very repetitive. Do kids get sick of hearing many of the same things over and over, because I sure get sick of saying the same things over and over. Kelly M. wrote about this inevitable symptom of motherhood, and said she felt like a doll with a string in her back. When someone pulls the string, out comes what may as well be a pre-recorded response. Here’s a sampling of my most common ones:

1. Just a minute
2. Just one more minute
3. I’m almost done
4. Please put on your shoes, Sage.
5. We don’t throw food, Eliza.
6. Where’s Liza Lu?
7. Have you wiped yet, Sage?
8. Then go back to the bathroom, please.
9. Have you washed your hands, Sage?
10. Then go back to the bathroom, please.
11. [Aunt] Krista’s just teasing you, Sage.
12. I love it how you share with Eliza, Sage. [Actually, I just practice saying this one a lot, so I'll be ready when the time actually comes for me to say it.]
    
13. We don’t pull Sage’s hair.
14. We don't pick Eliza up.
15. Jacob, we don't put remotes/pencils/flashlights/cell phones in the VCR.
16. Let's go get in the stroller/car.
17. We're almost there.
    
18. I love my cute girls.
19. I...love...YOU!

Obviously kids can keep up their fair share of repetition. I just downloaded some of Danielle’s pictures from our trip to Southern Utah, and one of the most often-repeated daily cycle of events was captured clearly on film.

1. Sage and Jacob [or Eliza] play happily together.


2. Jacob pulls Sage's hair. Sometimes he does this out of boredom, sometimes out of curiosity, sometimes because her hair got in his face and bothered him.


3. Jacob gets a time out. [Sometimes Sage, too, depending on whether or not the moms were able to break the kids up before Sage initiates vigilante justice.]



4. The sweet taste of justice for Sage is lessened by the rapid arrival of boredom. Sage takes the side of mercy, and pleads for Jacob's release.



5. The friends are reunited with joy--as if they had been apart a long time--and play together happily. (Until the next round starts.) And for a few minutes, life is very, very sweet.


So, repetition is the mother of learning...or, as wise Kelly M. says, "Motherhood is the learning of repetition."