Confession

I came to a shocking realization today and was horrified.

I am a bum-looker! I don't look at other peoples backsides, just my own- no offense. When I am around shiny reflective objects; ... mall windows, well polished cars, the toaster....I can't seem to control myself and quickly flick a glance down to my posterior. Vanity? I desperately hope not. I have a rather substantial spread back there.

I haven't always had this compulsion. It seems to have shown up about the same time my jean size went down. -I am still no dainty violet.- The last few years (10 or so) my girth steadily increased with the number of children in our home. There has to be some sort of math equation in that sentence, but I don't have that kind of brain. Anyway, the point is, due to the fact I have lost a bit of tonage it's possible I have become slightly obsessed with admiring the reduction thereof. Embarrassing. So, now I have purged my soul I will reveal the truth:

I still look like this, only a lot taller, and I haven't worn this hair style in years. Also, I am not responsible for the corner blurb.

Monkey Mania

It seems that I collect monkeys. I refer to my delightful offspring as my little monkeys...not always turkeys, on occasion. ...case and point, all around best example.

A few years ago, I began a sentimental quest for these little wooden monkeys:

Two of these little guys hung on the dining room curtain rod in my grandparents home. As a child, there was nothing I loved more than playing with those monkeys. I dangled them all over the place. When my grandpa passed away my dad brought the monkeys to live at our house. We loved those monkeys...so did my sister's dog. We came home one afternoon to discover he had been conducting a monkey autopsy. There were little gnawed animal parts all over the dining room. It was deeply disturbing. My creative and mechanically talented sister managed to recreate one of the monkeys, but I could not bring myself to look at it's newly canine texturized body. The day I found monkeys on Ebay, I about giggled myself silly with delight. I now have them dangling in my scrapbook room. I just burst with joy at the sight of them.

This whole explanation leads up to this:

My latest primate acquisition.

I have a dear aunt who spoils me. She was traveling about the country and found this sock monkey backpack in a funny little shop in Northern Idaho... and thought of me. I am not sure if it is desirable to have someone see a monkey and immediately think of me, but... as it is, I am really glad she did. Isn't it a kick? I love it.

I am considering wearing it to church with treats in it.

Adventures in....just about everything.

For weeks my dear friend/neighbor and I have been plotting an excursion to the big city. Well, this past weekend our dream came true and it was more than we imagined or bargained. Rather than have duplicate accounts- here is a link to her blog detailing the experience:http://bandofearlbrothers.blogspot.com/

....plus, it is easier to mooch her creativity than burn calories on my own.

Dream Come True

I will be the first to admit I am a little slow on the uptake. The obvious is not always apparent to my brain. Case in point- I have finally grasped and figured out how to apply a very important principle in parenting:

Make work look like fun and kids will be begging to help.

(or as I like to call it- The Tom Sawyer Approach.)

My mother-in-law has tried to explain this to me for years. She is an amazing woman (not Tom Sawyer-ish in the least) who successfully raised nine children. Her basic premise is- if you teach children to work when they are young they will grow up loving it.

I always thought it was a great concept. I have never particularly loved housework. Some women do, but alas, not I. I do love, however, a clean house. My method has been to get things clean as quickly as possible and then get on with the better things of life. I wasn't sure how to accomplish anything with a two year old "helping" me. This attitude did not work well with my older kids. I didn't teach them a thing.

.....and then. Ah-ha! On #4 I clued in- by accident, of course. He was (is) a very busy fellow and I had to keep a close eye on him. It was easier to keep track of him when I gave him little jobs that occupied his mind as I worked. Leaving him to his own entertainment was(is) a dangerous prospect!

i.e Jar of dirt stored in my fridge to maintain freshness.

Do to an offensive strategy # 4 has become my laundry dynamo. He loves to sort, load, unload, clean the lint trap, and deliver folded apparel to waiting dressers. The best part is his sister, #5, thinks she is missing out on something big if she is not allowed to help. I am now on the spot removal and folding committees. Which is fine by me....of all the chores to be done I like laundry the least.

It's a beautiful thing!

Girls Night

One of the greatest joys in life is being a mother. With references to Mothers Day everywhere my mind has been contemplating motherhood- or more precisely my calling as a mother. Sometimes, regularly, I wonder what Heavenly Father was thinking when he entrusted five spirits to my care.... strong evidence that he has a healthy sense of humor.

When I was younger I had visions of what motherhood would be. I saw myself apron-clad, makeup-ed, patient- happily picking up shoes, reading stories, and shopping for groceries with my adorable well behaved children. At this point in my idyllic fantasy the other store patrons raved about the charms of my offspring while I glowed with pride. After all, my children could recite Shakespeare, were fluent in three languages, and loved nothing more than discussing deep gospel doctrine over dinner. Apparently, I was seriously uninformed or maybe unobservant. I lived in a home with a wonderful mom. People rarely flung compliments at her feet about us, and outside of a large vocabulary in English, none of us learned foreign languages until high school or on missions. I will admit I don't enjoy MacBeth. Being a mother might not be as romantic as I pictured, but I am happy in my role. I have amazing kids who don't care if I wear make-up.

I have been reading Jane Clayson Johnson's I am a Mother . She references women who describe themselves as "just a mother". That description has irritated me for a long time. A few years ago I began changing my answer in those entertaining questionnaires at the doctors office, etc., in regard to my occupation. I now write, "Domestic Goddess". Try it next time you fill out a form at your child's school. I have had loads of comments. Calling myself a domestic goddess in no way describes my abilities or accomplishments. It is more of a goal. Besides, anyone who chooses to live a life devoid of sleep, strung out on Ramen Noodles, and filled with the wiping of little bums needs an impressive title....a crown wouldn't be too shabby, either.

I had an epiphany a few days ago on this subject. I want my daughters to grow up with a healthy attitude about motherhood. Therefore, I need to start celebrating and enthusiastically proclaiming the divine honor of being a mother. So, this past Saturday we had our first annual Mothers Day-Girls Night Out. It was only for the mom(me) and those who may someday be mothers themselves.(#1 & #5).
It was brilliant! We had the best gooey chocolate desert- a must have for any serious female bonding ritual. It's was a good beginning. If I teach them well, down the road my girls will not say, "I am just a mother". They will state, "I am a Domestic Goddess sent to this place in time to raise the next generation in righteousness".

Doggie Diva

Penny (a.k.a.-the new princess of the house)

is everything a puppy should be- if they possibly can.(name that pilfered line) She even chases her tail when mood or an overdosing of sugar hits.

Penny is slightly spoiled. Truly believing she is abused if she is left outside with Henry and the chickens, she will sit at the door and mope. It's very sad- not really, but I fain sympathy so she feels her efforts are being rewarded.

I don't know who let her sleep on my bed, but now she thinks that is where she belongs.

Does this dog look right to you?

No, she is not dead.