Keep Your Shirt On

 It would seem that Sir Harley has a few fans that would like to know what he has been up to lately. While I am always a bit sad when my children move from one phase to the next I can say that there have been some advantages to my baby boy growing up. He has mellowed out so much this month. I haven't seen him streaking down the road for weeks now. He has become very hugs and kisses oriented and will even voluntarily get in bed for a nap now and then. (I bribe him with chocolate but that doesn't count.)

Yesterday at the craft fair, Steve and I were comparing notes with another couple that had raised a large family. Their suggestion, laughingly, was to squirt Sir Harley with water every time I discovered him minus clothing. Even though they were joking I could never have even considered it. My Harley isn't a puppy. He is a child of God.

The Daddy and I have taken a lot of parenting classes over the years. I listen to what is taught and try to discern what I believe to be truth and will work for our children and what is just nonsense. One thing that we learned just a few years ago at one of these classes has been very useful. It's the concept that children will continue to do anything they get attention for.

When we first started experimenting with this new idea I felt like I was being manipulative. I would make a concerted effort to notice and make a big deal out of anything I witnessed that was positive and did my level best to brush off, or minimize, bad behavior. What I soon realized was that I was training myself to be a parent more than I was training my children to be well behaved.

After some diligence in this parenting approach we began to see some really positive results. For instance, when everyone is loud and crazy and Daddy has already called for prayer, instead of getting all worked up he simply points out and recognizes any one thing that one of the children are doing right. ("Look at Sean! He knows how to kneel.") Instantly they drop what they are doing and join the circle reverently. They all want to be noticed, too. Never ceases to amaze me.

The same concept works for chores and bedroom clean up. I'm not saying for a second that I'm anywhere close to having it together with the housekeeping. What I am saying is that if I ask the boys to clean their room and then give some positive feedback for even the smallest effort, that effort is magnified. And if I'm having an off day and nitpick at them, their behavior gets worse.

I decided to really work with my Harley the past few weeks. I discovered that a lot of his angry tantrums were a result of not being understood. He was all caught up in the mix and just needed a sympathetic ear. I reminded myself to parent on the offense and find the good before the bad crept in. Every time I see him with a pair of pants on I make a big deal about how good he is at getting dressed. That's all it takes. He then runs to the closet and picks out a shirt and stands by me to see if I will notice.


Not all has been a success in this clothing project, however. Because Sir Harley gets attention for having clothes on, Miss Ivy wants in on it. She has a different outfit on every time I turn around. She has even taken to dressing Miss Izzie. They frequently look like two little bag ladies bracing for a storm. I came home the other day to find Miss Izzie wearing two shirts, a dress, leggings and topped off with a pair of tights on her head. She looked like a psychedelic bunny bracing for a storm. These are the moments when motherhood gets a bit confusing. Do I praise her for keeping her clothes on or ignore it and hope that someday her college roommates will help her with fashion sense.

I still can't get my little man to keep anything on his feet. I guess I'll just have to own that one. I can't say I'm really enthusiastic about shoes, either. He takes it a bit further. I had to cut the feet out of his favorite dino jammies. All the world is right when you can wiggle your piggies.

And now that Sir Harley is giving me a bit of a break, Miss Izzie has decided to seize the day. She created her own indoor sandbox. Repeat ofter me....keep it positive....keep it positive...keep it positive....

Wreaths

A few years ago a really good friend gave me a fresh green wreath for Christmas. I was hooked immediately....absolutely love at first site. The next year I found myself ruthlessly begging for another one.

Last year my teenage son needed a project for his entrepreneur class. He chose to make wreaths. (I might have prodded him a bit in my need to fill an obsession.) They turned out beautifully! (A lot of work but totally worth it!)

At any rate, a tradition has been born and this year my very generous sisters have decided to help us by sharing. THANK YOU!!! Because I am a lot behind on the technology train and have no other way of getting info out there I am sharing pertinent info here.

These wreaths are made of organic matter with the exception of the bow. They will last for several months if kept outdoors. I made the one below for a friend last year and she wanted it inside. She hung it in her kitchen window. It lasted through the holidays and then began to dry. I was in her kitchen this past June and it was still there! It had dried several shades of amazing pastel colors and definitely had some wow factor! Our neighbors left theirs on their front door and it was still green on Valentine's Day with a red bow. I'm not giving out guarantees, just some suggestions. So.......



This wreath is approx. 30" in diameter and is the perfect fit for a regular size front door. It looks stunning with or without a bow. The price is $46 without the bow. As seen is $54.

Ever and Always 30" with burlap and red double bow

The wreath below is one of my favorites when it comes to smell. The combination of sage and pine is hypnotizing. It is approx. 36" in diameter. and would look great in a Victorian setting with a large burgundy bow or perfect for a log cabin with some burlap! This size is great for larger doors or areas. I like this size on the large staircase wall. The price is $54 as seen. Add for ribbon.

Christmas in the Rockies 36"

This wreath is the same as the top one but in the smaller size. It is approx. 26" in diameter and is $27 plain. As shown with a double bow it is $35.

Ever and Always 26" with burgundy and chevron double bow

Memo to a Mentor

Last Sunday I went about my day just like every other Sunday. We ran the Little People through the shower like some kind of high speed car wash. We pulled white shirts over the little boys' heads and rounded up a pile of dress pants. After stepping back for a final inspection, we switched some of the clothes around for a better fit. Then we found the missing shoe. There is always a missing shoe on Sunday morning.

After all these years of little boys I think we can be proud of our efficiency in getting them ready. The little girls are another story. Tights and bows and coordinating shoes put a whole new spin on getting a crowd out the door.

Last Sunday wasn't like every other Sunday, though. I have been wearing a little thin lately and quite frankly, I just wanted to send them all off and climb back in bed for a siesta.

But I didn't.

After sacrament meeting and Sunday school and then my class with the young women, I sat in the foyer of the church and visited with my friends as they walked by. Everyone was fine and I was fine and the whole world was fine and we all looked fine in our Sunday best with happy smiles.

And then Fern walked by.

Fern looked me directly in the eyes. Fern took my hand in hers. Fern didn't ask if I was fine. She didn't have to. She knows. Fern isn't the asking type, anyway. She just says it like it is.

"Life is hard, isn't it," states Fern. "You'll get through it."

 Nothing more. Nothing less.

This probably doesn't sound like anything very profound, but you have to know some details about Fern, and about me. We go back.

On the outside, Fern is a little old lady. But that's just what she looks like. (And I personally think she pulls it off with a bit of a Grace Kelley air.) But Fern is an experienced, accomplished, and very capable woman who has seen the majority of it in her lifetime. And she means the world to me.

When I was seven I used to make up songs on the piano. My mother had taught me the abc's of an octave and how they repeated through the keyboard. I had no idea how that translated into notes but I would write my own music in my own strange code. When I turned eight I was still doing this so my parents decided to make some sacrifices and get me lessons.

They sent me to Fern.

She lived on the other side of town and I had to ride my banana seat bicycle all the way there, a distance I can't even fathom sending my children alone. But times were different then and our town was more or less the Idaho version of Mayberry.

Fern's house was different than the one I came from. Her children were all raised and everything was quiet and orderly. There was never a picture frame even slightly off kilter and there were chairs upholstered in hand tufted needle point. Just like her, her home was something that radiated exactness. I was completely astounded by it, still am. I recognized at even that young of an age, someone that I wanted to learn things from. And I did.

She didn't just teach me piano, either. She taught me posture and etiquette. She helped me learn to deal with my shyness. If I ever tried to fake sick because I hadn't practiced I was forced to call and tell her myself. I absolutely couldn't stand doing that. I don't think I missed very often.

She encouraged me to participate in competitions that I thought I had no business even thinking about. And when I found success it was just a smile and a simply stated, "Of course you did."

My parents went through some tough times and had to cut back on a few things. My lessons had to go. Fern wouldn't have it. She devised some plan so I could continue until I was old enough to pay for myself. So many of my successes in life can be linked back to the confidence I gained while learning to play the piano. And of course that can be linked back to her. I owe her a lot.

I hope that I am still learning from her, maybe in my own way, to say it like it is. I hope that I can learn to gaze more upon others' hearts and less upon appearances. I want to be the kind of person that can sit next to a sweaty little tomboy and look past the unkempt hair and down turned face and recognize eternal potential.

And I hope that when the rest of the world sees me as a little old lady, I will remember how much color I still have to offer.

Dear Me

I get calls now and then from other mothers that need to pick my brain. Sometimes they call because they or one of their loved ones has been diagnosed with celiac disease and they don't know where to start. I also get a lot of requests from women who decide to bring their children home to educate them and want my advice on schedules and textbooks and social skills. I really like these conversations and generally find myself learning from them as well.

One of Miss Nichole's childhood friends has started her family. She recently asked for some talk time. I sure love this Little Woman. I forget when we are speaking that she was just a child a few years ago. She's a grown up now and doing a wonderful job tackling marriage and motherhood. She asked for my ideas on some simple things like clothing organization and cloth diapers. I say simple, but it's little things like these that populate the city of Mommydom.

As I began contemplating what to say to her that would be the most useful I couldn't help but visualize myself in her position. (I really have been there, done that... and I have the worn out T-shirt to prove it.) I remember how difficult learning the ropes can be, probably because I'm still learning them. If I could go back and talk to the young mommy me, knowing what I know now, what would I say?

Dear Julie,
     
 I know you are tired and sore and never bargained on throwing up everyday for eight months straight, but don't wish it away. That Little Person wiggling around in you is so safe and warm and easy to take care of. Let her stay there for as long as possible and enjoy it. If the heartburn gets too bad let it remind you of the miracle you are lucky enough to be a part of. 
   
  When your sweet babies are born, please let someone take care of you. Those first few days are so magical and will be gone in a moment. Don't waste a single minute doing dishes or laundry or entertaining guests. You keep those first moments all to yourself. Your body needs to heal and you need to have all that energy saved for the next few months of sleepless nights.
   
 Speaking of sleepless nights, those will begin to gang up on you. Remember that everything of worth will require sacrifice. If you have to give something up, let it be the housekeeping. I promise that what others think of your vacuumed carpets will never compare to taking care of your health. Your children need you...and some reasonably nutritious food. Matching socks and coordinated outfits will mean nothing five years from now. A grouchy mother will be remembered for decades.(I know your teenagers, so I can assure you of this.)

   I know you are worried about what brands to buy and how much of this and when to do that. What you really need to do is trust yourself. You know what to do. You know when things ring true and when things just aren't right. Stand up for yourself. Stop trying to please everyone else. Just be you. You are the one that was blessed with this child. You are the one entitled to inspiration specific to her needs. Be strong!

    Take some time while your Little Person is still itty bitty and contemplate what you want your home to be like fifteen years from now. The habits you start now will be the mold that shapes tomorrow. You want your teenager to say his prayers, eat dinner at the table, tell you all about his day and then hug you goodnight, so start doing those things right now.

    I know you will spend most of your life struggling with organization. It just isn't a strength yet. But don't give up. The adversary will whisper in your ear that you are not good enough, that you don't measure up. He'll tell you that other women do everything you do and they do it better. Well just you send that evil whisper right back where it came from. You are the only you. God wouldn't have sent these particular children to your home if they required a pack-rat free environment. Just keep focusing on the things you do right and magnify the gifts you have been given. I'll write you again when I'm sixty and let you know all that is possible without eighteen diapers to change every day and toddlers that undo more than you can ever do.

   Pay close attention to everything your children say between the ages of 9 and 13. It will be a lot. They will talk until your ears will swell up. But listen to them, because if you do they will still be talking to you when they turn 14 and 15 and 16. And you want that.
  
  There is opposition to all things. There will be ups and there will be downs. Just ride them and learn from them and be gracious enough to help others that have been bucked off their horses. The really rough spots will not last forever and they will help you to recognize and appreciate the good times.

  One more thing before I go. That good man that is sitting next to you....tell him thank you..... a lot. He is sleepless and worried and tired, too. You mean everything to him. Hug him a little tighter and make sure he knows that he means everything to you! 

Love,

Yourself

 P.S. You won't always feel like dancing in the rain. That's okay. Just learn from your babies. Storms leave behind beautiful puddles!