So We Met the Boyfriend . . .

This past weekend Wes and I took a quick trip to Utah to meet "The Boyfriend". We did not go at our daughter's request, And let me clearly state (so I won't get into trouble) that we do not know at this time if this relationship will be temporary or permanent.

However, being the overly protective, highly curious mother that I am, I felt it was time to meet the man who was taking up so much of my daughter's time. And since Wes didn't want to miss out on the fun, he came with me.

I found it odd how I was filled with such conflicting emotions during our long drive there. Of course I am happy for K, as she is certainly smiling a lot these days, and I know having a daughter get married in the temple to a worthy young man is what I have been praying for since the day she was born. But I still felt sad at the thought that if not this young man, another will someday marry her and take her away. Probably far away. And oh, how I will miss her!!

Luckily by the time the meeting took place, I had worked through my emotions and was ready to be nice. Which was a good thing since he is a very nice boy.

And very diplomatic.

We met at the bowling alley as we thought that would be a safe and comfortable place for everyone to get acquainted. It ended up being rather humorous though. Wes is usually a fairly good bowler but was not having his best day. At the end of the first game he scored a 110 and The Boyfriend scored a 109. In the next game Wes was playing just about the same. The Boyfriend, however, had two consecutive strikes.

And then a funny thing happened. He decided to try and spin the ball for the next frame and guttered both times. Later he tried the spin again, and once again guttered.

The final score that time was Wes 99, The Boyfriend 95.

As we walked away Wes said to me, "Well, at least we know he is good at math."

And diplomacy.

Wes really would not have cared if he had been beaten, but we did think it was rather smart of The Boyfriend to lose. It also made me think that he must really like our daughter.

And here come the sad emotions again.

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In other news . . . being at BYU was a complete diet-buster!! Of course no trip to Provo is complete without buying at least one mint brownie!

Unfortunately Wes went on the brownie run and came back with TWELVE of them!! Of which I am pretty sure I ate four. (Over the course of three days)

And then there were the chocolate chip cookies my mother made on Saturday night.

And the chocolate fudge pudding cake that my sister made for Sunday dinner.

And the peanut M&M's we bought to help us stay awake during the drive home.

But I am back to healthy eating today. We had black bean soup, tilapia and a green salad for dinner.

I just wish I weren't also going through sugar withdrawal. I sure wouldn't mind one of those dark, chocolatey, chewy, minty brownies right now!!

But I will be good and go find an apple instead.

I'm Exhausted!

Okay, so not nearly as exhausted as last year at this time, when I was also teaching seminary, but I am tired nonetheless.

I made a personal commitment to make breakfast for Michelle every morning before seminary, which means I get up at 5:15. I love mornings, and in the past got up at 4:30, so 5:15 really wouldn’t be a problem, except that Kathryn is not in school yet and therefore still operating on a summer schedule.

Translated . . . that means she has been out until early hours of the morning with her friends. Which also means I stay awake waiting for her to come home.

Yes, I know she will be 20 in a couple weeks. And yes I know she lived away from home all last year where she was out late nearly every night. Still, when she is living at home, I wait.

It started with a promise I made to myself many years ago. I was in my early 20’s and visiting with a young man who told me he often went home at night drunk, but his parents were always asleep so they never knew.

At that moment I decided I would always wait up for my kids so they would have to look me in the eyes and tell me about their night. And now, many years later, I have lived through many sleepless nights waiting for a child to walk through the back door. There were times I was so tired I would go to bed and set an alarm for ten minutes before curfew, and there have been many times my husband and I have taken turns, but every time the kids were out, they knew they would have to face one or both of their parents upon their return.

Although the decision has been tiring at times, it has also been worth it.

One of my greatest blessings has been some of the late night/early morning talks with my children. I found they are much more willing to give details the moment they walk in the door, than they are the next morning. This was especially true for my son. Ryan has never been one to share a lot with me. However, for some reason, he would become very talkative around 1 in the morning. By 2 I would be struggling to stay awake and suggesting we continue our conversation in the morning, to which he would always reply, “What kind of a mother does not want to talk with her teenage son when he wants to talk with her?” And so, guilt applied, I would stay up.

But there are other more important reasons I am glad for the decision. There was one night when a child came home and wouldn’t look me in the eyes. And there was another when a child broke into tears as she shared with me a bad choice a friend had made.

At those moments, I was so very grateful for that day many years ago when the young man shared with me his story. At that time I could not have even begun to comprehend how his story would affect my life . . . and how it would help protect my children.

And so for at least this week and next, while Kat is still home, I will probably be burning the proverbial candle at both ends. But sometimes, being really tired is worth it, because sometimes what may make us tired, may also bring . . . joy to our journey.

Why I Will Never Be Mother of the Year.

I was cooking dinner one night when my daughter Kathryn complained to me about a hurt finger. Keeping my focus on the meat browning in the frying pan, I said, “Oh, that’s too bad.”
A few weeks later Kathryn came to me once again. This time she held up a very crooked finger and asked, “Should my finger look like this?”

“Kathryn!” I exclaimed, “Why didn’t you tell me you broke your finger?”

“I did tell you”, she answered. “I told you my finger hurt, and you just said, ‘That’s too bad.’”
I whisked her off to the doctor in hopes the finger could be fixed, but was told it was too late. The finger had set, but over time it could straighten a bit.

And that is just one reason why I will never be “Mother of the Year.”

I could list many others. If you were to ask my kids they would say I should never win because of the time I got them all out of bed at five in the morning to weed the garden. Or they might say I don’t qualify because I once got them all up at 3 a.m. to watch a meteor shower when all they really wanted to do was sleep. But personally, I think both of those are good things.

At the end of this life, though, I hope my kids won’t remember the times I lost my patience and yelled at them (yes, I have yelled, but not in a long time— having only one child at home certainly helps), how dinner wasn’t always perfect, or how the laundry wasn’t always (never) done, and how I forced them all to take piano lessons.

Instead I hope they remember all the nights I stayed up late waiting for them to come home and then stayed up even later listening to stories about their night. I hope they remember helping them with school projects or when I let them ditch school (on a very rare occasion) to help me make salsa. I hope they remember when Camille told me she was running away from home so I went with her and we spent the afternoon at the park, or all the times we would sing at the top of our lungs in the car to the sound track for "13 Going On 30", the foot rubs, and all the telephone calls made from college.

Those are the things I hope they remember.

Because, my dear sweet children . . . I may not be the best mother in the world, and I may not receive any public recognition for my motherhood, but . . .

Being your mother has been one of the greatest blessings of my life.

From the first moment I knew you were a microscopic possibility, to the moment I held each of you in my arms following your birth, I have loved you. And that love has continued to grow and strengthen through time.

And every day of my life I am so thankful to a wonderful Heavenly Father, who sent you all to me.

Camille, Ryan, Kristen, Kathryn and Michelle . . . I love you!! And am so glad you are mine!
You all have truly brought . . . joy to my journey!

Another child flies the coop!

I haven’t felt much like blogging lately. Life has been a bit crazy now that school has started, and I am finding myself in the middle of a few challenges that are making being cheerful a little more difficult. One of which is my fourth child is packing up her room today and leaving for BYU in the morning. I am taking her, (driving) with a little detour through Las Vegas for our nephew’s wedding. We will get to Utah on Saturday afternoon and I will stay until late Wednesday night so I can get her settled, visit with my parents, have some fun with my sister for her birthday and see Kristen (child #3 who left to go back to BYU a few weeks ago).

And then I will fly home (leaving the car there for Kristen) probably crying all the way. But I am not the only one crying. Poor Michelle. She will be the only child left at home and isn’t all that excited about having her parent’s undivided attention for three years.

Wes is having a very hard time as well. He keeps telling me how much he is going to miss her.

Yes, we know this is a good thing. A whole world of possibilities and wonderful life experiences are in front of her. But we sure are going to miss this sweet face.

And this one. . .

And this one . . .

And even this one . . .

But maybe not this one. . . :-)

But worst of all, with Kathryn gone . . . from 6:00 a.m. until 3:00 p.m. I will be the sole care giver for the dog. Ugh!

Good Luck Kat!! We love you!!

You want to talk about . . . puppy poop????

My son recently married, and with the marriage came a little toy poodle named Daisy. Daisy is NOT a manly name and a toy poodle is definitely NOT a manly dog. So Ryan, who was deprived of a dog in his youth, decided he needed a dog of his own, a boxer named Diesel. Now Diesel is a name a man can use in public without being embarrassed.

Only now Ryan calls me on the phone to talk about, of all things, puppy poop--how often, where it is found and the texture. Seriously. If I tire of this conversation I can always call Camille, and talk about her daughter Carly. At three weeks of age the topic invariably seems to come around to poop as well. “All she does is eat, sleep and . . .” You get the picture.

I remember as a young mother I felt overwhelmed with diapers and baby babble. I looked forward to the days when my children would grow up and be able to carry on intelligent conversations. And they did. But then they got married . . .

The cycles of life, I suppose. :-)