Life's a little happier with a sister.

I read a study recently that claimed children with sisters were slightly happier than children with no sisters.  They weren't exactly sure why, but they made some guesses.  I believe the study, but I have my own theories as to why life is happier with a sister.

1.  They prevent you from having a lacy ruffle deficiency in your family.  


2.  They like to snuggle

  3.  They teach you how to be a lady.

4.  They make sure you're spending enough time with books and babies.

5.  Sisters teach you that "My Little Pony" checkers can be worthy opponents to your LEGO checkers and respect the tutu.

6.  They teach you that Darth Vader isn't as scary as he seems.

7.  They make sure there's enough pink at the beach.

8.They're great pals at the strawberry patch.

9.  They hold onto you so you don't fall.

10.  They bring out your "soft" side.

11.  They add beauty to their surroundings.

12.  They challenge you to reach new heights and develop all your talents.

13.  And besides, what would Harry do without Hermione?

Still developing

Last week in Sunday school one of my cutest friends made a comment.  We were discussing perfection, and she shared that the scripture Matthew 5:48 "Be ye therefore perfect even as your Father which is in Heaven is perfect" has a footnote.  The Greek definition of this word "perfect" is complete, finished or fully developed. She said, "I'm kind of a perfectionist by nature so I  get stressed out by this scripture, but after reading and understanding the footnote I decided I need to just calm down!"  She made me laugh, but she also brought peace to my soul.

I remember watching a home movie of a teenage family friend.  In this movie he was 18 months old.  He was trying to put a darling yellow sweater on.  He put one arm through, finally got the other arm and discovered it was upside down.  He took it off and tried again.  He struggled and struggled and never gave up.  As I watched this movie I was dying from the cuteness and crying at the earnestness of this baby.  It occurred to me, maybe this is how God feels when he watches us struggle.  We're just babies, doing our best, making mistakes but never giving up.  He adores us and is pleased by our efforts.

I don't expect my 3 month old to know how to walk or my 3 yr. old to know how to read, or my 10 year old to be ready to drive.  When they do learn these things I know they won't be perfect at first.  That's why they have a thing called "reading level."  They're developing.

I'm developing too.   So when I turn the wrong burner on and wonder why my water won't boil, or push the button to open the trunk instead of unlock the car, or run upstairs to do something and do something else and run down only to remember and have to run upstairs again, or get the wrong time, or address, or date, no worries, I'm just developing.

Now, for the application to life.  I spend some time stressing myself and my kids out with my striving for (obsessing over) perfection.  Are we studying enough, practicing enough, working enough, serving enough, striving enough...?  Basically, I'm saying, "Fully develop faster!"  My daughter shared some wisdom with me.  She is the choir accompanist  at our church.  During choir practice a week before the performance I noticed she had made some errors.  In the days following, she diligently, but not frantically, practiced the piano.  The day of the performance I observed that we had some spare minutes. Focusing on the errors in my memory I urged, "You'd better practice a few more times."  She calmly replied, "I'll gladly practice, but I've found that if I obsess over perfection and worry about making mistakes, music loses the spirit and the joy.  Don't worry about me, Mom, it will be fine."  And it was.  This girl is definitely developing.

So, back to the original observation.  I just need to calm down!

New pencils and gleaming white socks.

My first day of kindergarten a long time ago.

Well, Monday was my, lets see..., approximately 41st first day of school.  That, of course, depends on whether we count only fall semester or winter semester also in college.  And you must know that I'm counting years as the mother of students.  And can I say that the first day of school as a mother is possibly more terrifying than it was as a student.

After realizing how experienced I am in first-day of-schoolses  I decided to make a few lists:  Things that make me smile, things that make me cry, things that make me smile again.

Things that make me smile:  New pencils, spiffy looking schools and classrooms,  children in spankin' new clothes, socks so white they're gleaming, seeing the people you haven't seen all summer that you promised you'd hang out with but didn't, having a class with someone you wanted to get to know better, plaid skirts, football season, universal confusion that makes my confusion okay and even expected.

Things that make me cry:  Going to Walmart for the 7th time because no matter how hard we try we can't get the supply list right;  First-day-of-school-eve insomnia-  I know even the teachers don't sleep well, but doesn't that make for a rather volatile situation?  Music fees, locker fees, parking fees, testing fees-  it's my responsibility to pay for these privileges, but somehow I don't anticipate the magnitude of my output in my August budget :(  Filling out the "parent homework" and signing up for the campus-infinity-charms-this will be just the ticket if you can remember your password so you can find your way back to this site because if you don't you're a bad parent and your child will fail this class-websites; The fear in my children's eyes.

Things that make me smile again:  We have had more than a few years when all my children have been in a new situation.  They have survived and been strengthened by these times, but I sure love all the people who made their path easier.  This year I have one senior who's never had it so good.  It's his third year in the same school.  He doesn't have one class where he knows no one.  He's taking guitar.  He parks in the senior parking lot.  I just hope he has teachers who make him accountable.  I wouldn't mind if his swagger looked a little more like a purposeful, arduous climb towards greater heights.

My little second-to-lasty started 9th grade.  Not only is she new in high school, but her middle school population fed into 4 different high schools.  There is lots of potential for meeting new people, but as a mother I really wanted her to have a friend here and there, you know, someone to eat lunch with.  By the way, isn't that one of a mother's greatest fears?  I probably should get over that.  There are a lot worse things than eating lunch alone, like sitting at a table with a lot of friendly drug dealers or being in the hospital and not starting school at all...perspective, people. Anyway, I'm very thankful to her big brother's friends for saying, "Hey little freshman girl, would you like to sit here?"  I'm also thankful for my daughter who told me  cheerfully without any fear or concern,  "I just looked around.  There are lots of people to sit by."  Thank you dear, for being way more grounded than I was when I was 14.

My baby started middle school.  He went to "Meet the teacher" with his siblings because his mother  (yours truly) was out of town. Honestly, they did an awesome job.  His sister introduced him around to all the important people (teachers, principal, bus driver, office lady.)  His big brother told him if any one gave him any trouble not to worry, he'd beat them up.  (Then we wouldn't have any trouble at all :)  Of course he couldn't get his locker open, but as luck would have it , it really was broken and he didn't have a locker for 3 days.  This actually worked out great.  He didn't have the stress of getting to class on time if he couldn't work the locker and he had all his stuff with him in his back pack.  Then best of all, the vice principal gave him a free ticket for "Bronco ice" for his inconvenience. That's a treat that I would not have provided, so his life rocked.  And his home room teacher smiles, a lot.  And that makes all the difference.

Brandon, Daniel, Nathan, kindergarten Aaron

Daniel's first day of kindergarten

Jacob

Andrew and his amazing pencil, Rebecca (cute kindergartener) Eliza, Jacob, pre-school Gabe

Kindergarten Gabe, Rebecca

I think we're going to make it, and by we I mean me.  There's never any question that the kids will make it.  They always do.

More Happy Birthday Dad 2012

When we were little Dad sang these songs at bedtime.  The second song sometimes made him cry and sometimes made me cry too.  "I'm Just a Country Boy" is a theme song of sorts.  Thanks for singing for us Dad.  When I hear these songs  I feel like I'm coming home to a safe place that you and Mom made just for us.

PS He actually did get the girl in the end.

Happy Birthday Dad/You get a line and I'll get a pole

So there's this story about a poor fisherman.  A man came by and said, "You're a very good fisherman.  You should sell your fish and make some money, so he did.  Then someone said, "You should hire some people to work for you and you can teach them what you know and make more money", so he did.  He expanded his business and spent more and more time managing his company and finances and making more and more money.  A man came by and said, "Wow you have a lot of money, you can travel, buy anything you want, eat exotic foods, what would you like to do?"  The man replied, "What I'd really like to do is not worry about all this wealth and just fish.

Well, my Dad likes to fish.  When I was a little girl we would go fishing on Saturdays.  It started Friday night when  Dad turned on the sprinklers.  After the lawn and soil were damp we went out with flashlights and caught night crawlers for bait. Then we got up early in the morning, and headed up the mountains to the rivers and "cricks"  (that's Utahn for creek) of Oregon to catch rainbow trout.  I'm pretty sure I didn't make the trip easier.  It seems like my line got caught in the trees, my hair, and the bushes a lot.  I hated it when I forgot to flip the whatever-that-thing is on the pole and instead of hearing the triumphant "whir" of a beautiful cast, I heard the "thunk".  The "thunk is similar to the sound you hear when not holding the guitar string down properly when playing a note, and the feeling is just as disappointing. I really liked throwing the rocks in the water, although sometimes my dad would comment that I was scaring the fish.  I didn't pay a lot of attention to the process, but I remember that it was bad when the fish swallowed the hook, or broke the line, or stole the bait. If we used a bobber, I was supposed to watch to see if it bobbed.  Well, it was always bobbing to me, but it was exciting to reel the fish in after Dad snagged them. The problem with that was then we had fish.  I didn't like the part where Dad "anesthetized", or cleaned or cooked the fish.  I actually only liked the eating part if there were no bones, or skin, or grey next to the skin and lots of butter and garlic salt.  The fact of the matter was, I just liked being with my Dad..

I was fishing with my Dad last weekend and commented that I hoped I didn't see a rattle snake.  He said, he hoped he did. Then he reminded me of the snake fishing day. When I was about 8 or 9 he was fishing, and I was resting on a warm rock. Oregon rivers are cold.  I perceived movement and turned my head to see a long, tan snake slithering up the rock about 6 inches from my face.  I started screaming (an appropriate reaction I thought) and trying to run to my Dad.  I attempted to cross on the rocks when another snake, this one black striped and traveling in the water, crossed my path.  I was not okay. While I was crying uncontrollably I finally found my Dad.  He looked at my panicked state and smiled a little.  Then he reminded me that the snakes were probably more afraid of me than I was of them. (Prove it.)  And what a lucky find, 2 snakes in 15 minutes.

We have another fishing trauma story that's fun to tell.  We were walking along the railroad tracks above the river.  Looking for a good way down to the water,  I thought I found a place and started down.  It was steeper than I thought so I grabbed on to a protruding root to keep from falling.  Dad saw that it wasn't very far to the bottom of the incline  and said, "Just slide down on your bottom."  He didn't see the rocks under me and my sliding started a little avalanche Okay, that's an exaggeration, but a rock did tumble onto my hand and cut my pinky finger pretty good.  I felt bad because Dad ripped his own shirt to bind up my finger and walked back along the tracks to take  me to the next town to the emergency room where they stitched me up.  We never did get to fish that day, but what a great story.

When we moved to California Dad didn't get to fish as much.  He caught crawdad's in the canal, but I don't think that was the same.  He worked hard at his Dental practice providing for his large family. Then his children grew up.  He and Mom moved  from the 10-children home in California to a small pioneer home in Manti, UT that he had bought from his father.  He retired from dentistry.  He told my daughter and son-in-law that he likes his poverty.  By poverty he means, volunteering in the temple, working in the garden, trying to grow watermelons in the greenhouse he built, raising lambs, doing home improvement projects to make his little home beautiful for Mom, painting, and fishing up the canyon almost everyday.  All the best things in life.

And by the way, when we were fishing he asked the people who were leaving if they had caught anything. (fishermen always do that)  They said, "No the lake was no good."  Then Dad explained to me, "In the summer the fish go deep where it's cool, like right there."  He cast into a dark place in the water not too far from where we had parked a car.  Three minutes later he caught a nice little rainbow trout.  "Dad, you should fish for a living and you could make lots of money, and...never mind."

Next time, skip the tantrum.

A few years ago I was in charge of the decorations for a seminary graduation dinner/dance for the youth at church.  I felt that it was serendipity when  I found yards and yards of cream colored fabric at a factory for practically nothing.   I embarked on a huge sewing project, tablecloths, swags, you know, the usual insanity that women have a way of getting themselves into.  I prayed that I would be able to do the sewing with acceptable results and that my sewing machine would function properly.  Well, a couple of tablecloths into the project something happened with my sewing machine. It was jamming and sticking and not cooperating at all..  I felt a similar tantrum welling up in my own brain.  At that moment the phone rang. I didn't really have time to answer it but found myself ranting to my friend about how my machine wasn't working and I was doing this big project for church and how was I supposed to finish.? blah and blah.  I don't remember why she thought she called, but I know why she called.  She calmly explained how to fix my machine.  Of course it worked and I was on my way.  To me this was nothing short of a miracle, but I remember thinking, "Next time I'm going to skip the tantrum."

A few (probably many, but everything seems like a few these days) years ago I heard this quote and really wanted it to be true.

After my 52 years  I can honestly say it is true.  There are the dumb things that I knew were dumb that I chose to do.  They didn't work out as well, unless you count learning that they were as dumb or dumber than I thought.  But everything else, including being dumb because I'm human, has worked out.  And that's why I really can skip the tantrum and the freaking out and the fear and stress.

Like that time I wanted to buy a used baby crib for my second child who would be born before my first child was out of his crib.  I was at a yard sale and saw just what I wanted .  I was waiting to talk to the owner while he was having a conversation with someone else.  Then this other person just went right in front of me and yelled, "I want that crib!"  I was overcome with indignation over the unfairness of  it all. I mean, I was so deserving, being a poor college student just trying to give my baby a place to sleep.  The nerve of some people!  But guess what, the next week I found an even newer crib for less money.  So the aggressive lady got what she wanted and the poor student's wife got what she wanted and it all worked out.  It would have been just so much more attractive if the poor student's wife would have not pouted and stomped her feet when things didn't go exactly the way she wanted.

Even schedules have a way of working out.  I really can stop making everyone around me miserable when I think they're making me late even though they're trying.  How many times have I not made it to a planned destination only to find out the other person had to cancel?  More than once I have yelled at the kids, sped in the car to an appointment to be greeted with a polite explanation that the other party was running a tad late and they were sorry.

  Just this summer we had a complex and synchronized schedule that enabled Paul to go scout camp with Gabe, and Rebecca and I to pack and prepare for a trip to a family reunion in Houston.  I felt that it was critical that we arrive on Friday morning because everyone else was arriving Thurs. night and I couldn't miss a bit of the official fun with family .  Paul and Gabe had to leave scout camp early to make this goal of a Thurs. morning departure.  Initially Paul was enthusiastic about leaving scout camp early, but on Thurs. morning he texted me, "Won't be home till afternoon. Gabe needs to finish his rifle merit badge."  Okay, I could see that he was making an unselfish decision and trying to help Gabe and scouting is important, but AN AFTERNOON DEPARTURE IS UNACCEPTABLE!  ANSWER YOUR PHONE!  Of course he didn't answer his phone, he was in class in the wilderness.  I kept my tantrum a secret in my mind and as promised, he and Gabe returned home after lunch and we headed off.  Gabe had a great experience and gained a lot of confidence by passing off the challenging requirements.  I was resolved that the delay was worth my sacrifice, but guess what?  I didn't even have to sacrifice.  When we arrived at the beach house at 1:00 everyone was outside because they couldn't even get in until 1:30. They had just barely arrived and set out lunch.

See?  Everything will work out so really, next time I'm going to skip the tantrum.