I had a doctor's appointment this morning and got some pictures of our sleeping beauty.
9 years ago
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Monday, May 11, 2009
Mother’s Day (A Day of Guilty Reflection)
This morning started as most Sunday mornings do for the Brown Family with the exception that Scott decided to skip his meetings to help get the kids ready for 8:00 church because it is, after all, Mother’s Day.
We got the table set for breakfast and after prayer, the kids started pouring their usual well- balanced and healthy breakfast of “Golden Graham, Lucky Charm, and Cinnamon Toast Crunch Blend-Special.” One of my children realized his milk was not on the table so he got up to retrieve it from the refrigerator, accompanied by my three-year-old. Promptly thereafter I hear, “Um…Mom… the yogurt accidentally spilled out of the fridge.” I got up from the table to inspect the damage. Sure enough, the brand-new 24-ounce carton of Strawberry Yogurt was spread all over the floor and slowly glopping itself under the fridge. This little guy, knowing it was Mother’s Day, said, “Don’t worry, Mom, I’ll clean it up.” I watched apprehensively for a brief second and then decided it would be better to try and ignore the situation until he determined it was “clean.” Then I would go and do the touch-up work.
This strategy worked for about 30 seconds. I began to hear sounds emitting from his mouth that sounded like bomb explosions. I returned to the scene of the crime to discover my son with a miniscule rag dropped in the center of the disaster and pounding his fists into it. The result was yogurt exploding all over the dishwasher, cabinets, and exterior of the fridge. Not to mention the glob was moving further and further under the fridge.
I thanked him for his efforts and excused him.
When I finished cleaning up the mess, the rest of the kids were nearly finished with breakfast. I noticed that said son had not sat down for his breakfast but was absent-mindedly dazing at the ceiling from his perch on the couch. “(said son), why haven’t you eaten your breakfast yet?” He snapped out of his trance and realized he wanted his morning sustenance. “Oh yeah!” He ran to his place at the table, grabbed his milk, poured some into his cereal, then, without watching, plopped the milk carton in the center of child X’s untouched cereal and milk for nuclear bomb #2 as I stood dumbfounded watching. I tried (ever so calmly) to ask Scott to handle that one and excused myself from dining with my children.
About this time, I glanced at the clock to discover we were now about 15 minutes behind schedule if we wanted a chance at a pew rather than the highly un-coveted hard chairs in the overflow. I set the timer for 10 minutes and told the kids if they were all dressed within that amount of time, they could get a “Sunday Treat.” I was hoping this strategy may help us realign our goal of getting a cushioned place to sit during sacrament.
10 Minutes Later: Timer beeping, no children in site, but their loud, shouting voices are carrying more than I would like up the stairs. “The timer just went off! No Sunday Treats!” I yell down the stairs. Dead Silence from below and then suddenly its all hands on deck. Then begins much weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth as children begin pleading their cases as to why they couldn’t make the deadline or why they should be allowed to wear gym socks to church, etc. Said child is also a part of this confusion and I notice how the blazer he has on appears to be covered in white chalk. “Said child, you cannot wear that to church today.” After 2-3 minutes of moaning and groaning, I decide I can’t take his complaints anymore and point to the washcloth behind him. I asked him to get it wet so I could try and clean the jacket. He obediently drenched the washcloth and then proceeded to watch it spill forth water over the floor. “Said child, wring it out over the sink!” I then got another blank stare from him (maybe I really am the invisible mom) followed by him taking the washcloth and whipping it over his head in circles. The water went everywhere. All over the newly washed mirrors in the bathroom, everyone’s church clothes, etc.
Needless to say, my patience was beginning to wear thin.
After straightening up mess #3, the phone rang. My sister Cheryl was looking for baskets to put chocolate candy bars in for mother’s day that would be handed out during sacrament meeting. I told her we would round some up. At this point the clock was racing madly toward 8:00 and I still had a lot of hair to do and clothes to straighten up. (My stay-at-home husband was nowhere in sight.) So, mustering up my courage, I specifically instructed said child with the same set of instruction repeated three times, “Go downstairs to the food room. Get the two baskets that have plastic knives, forks and spoons in them. Put the utensils in a grocery bag and bring me the baskets.” Again, I remind you that these instructions were carefully repeated three times to insure they could not go misunderstood.
Well, this little helper disappeared for quite awhile. Soon it was time to get into the car and I had already forgotten about the baskets. I started yelling frantically for my son to get upstairs so we could leave. I could hear him hefting himself up the stairs with what appeared to be a 300-pound bag. Triumphantly, he dropped the enormous bag at my feet and shouts, “I finally did it!!!” I looked into the bag. Rather than bringing two small baskets that held a combined total of about 50 pieces of plasticware, he had dumped 3 500-piece not-yet-opened-boxes of plasticware that I had just barely bought from Costco into one giant gift-bag.
I lost it. I covered my face with my hands and started yelling. “I told you the baskets!!! Not the Boxes!! I will never be able to sort through that mess you have just made! We have to leave and you have spent all of this time making a huge mess!!” I uncovered my face just in time to see a once-triumphant but now bitterly dejected little boy crumble. “I’m sorry, Mom! I’m sorry! I thought that’s what you wanted!”
Feeling like a horrible mother but knowing the damage was already done, I put my arm around him, told him I was sorry for yelling and asked him to get in the car through clenched teeth.
30 minutes later, as I sat on a cushioned pew during sacrament meeting, I listened to Brother Merkley talk about how we mothers should never feel guilty on Mother’s Day. I thought to myself, “How can I not? I just blew up at my sweet little boy that thought he was doing a fantastic thing for me. And that was only one child. That doesn’t even begin to mention the damage I did with all of the other kids as they stood watching in stunned silence. And what about last night? And yesterday afternoon? And yesterday morning when I was trying to get them to do their work? What about how dirty their rooms are? What about the nutrition (or lack thereof) they are getting under my care? Is that why my three-year-old already has a cavity? My children are going to be scarred for life!” It went on and on as my guilt was spiraling out of control.
And at this same time of guilty reminiscence, a note was passed to me by said child. “Dear Mom, you are the best mom. I love you. Happy Mother’s Day.” Guilt again washed over me. I looked up to this sweet little boy that I felt I had crushed a few minutes earlier. He was grinning from ear-to-ear at me. I realized that just as I love him immensely despite his imperfections, he loves me tenderly and deeply despite my imperfections. I reminded myself that it’s OK to mess up and it’s OK that I have a long way to go before I am a perfect mom– my kids will forgive me and I can take this day to enjoy and relish all of the happy memories they have created in my life.
I hope you all have a wonderful guilt-free Mother’s Day – imperfections and all – and know that I love and think of you often.
We got the table set for breakfast and after prayer, the kids started pouring their usual well- balanced and healthy breakfast of “Golden Graham, Lucky Charm, and Cinnamon Toast Crunch Blend-Special.” One of my children realized his milk was not on the table so he got up to retrieve it from the refrigerator, accompanied by my three-year-old. Promptly thereafter I hear, “Um…Mom… the yogurt accidentally spilled out of the fridge.” I got up from the table to inspect the damage. Sure enough, the brand-new 24-ounce carton of Strawberry Yogurt was spread all over the floor and slowly glopping itself under the fridge. This little guy, knowing it was Mother’s Day, said, “Don’t worry, Mom, I’ll clean it up.” I watched apprehensively for a brief second and then decided it would be better to try and ignore the situation until he determined it was “clean.” Then I would go and do the touch-up work.
This strategy worked for about 30 seconds. I began to hear sounds emitting from his mouth that sounded like bomb explosions. I returned to the scene of the crime to discover my son with a miniscule rag dropped in the center of the disaster and pounding his fists into it. The result was yogurt exploding all over the dishwasher, cabinets, and exterior of the fridge. Not to mention the glob was moving further and further under the fridge.
I thanked him for his efforts and excused him.
When I finished cleaning up the mess, the rest of the kids were nearly finished with breakfast. I noticed that said son had not sat down for his breakfast but was absent-mindedly dazing at the ceiling from his perch on the couch. “(said son), why haven’t you eaten your breakfast yet?” He snapped out of his trance and realized he wanted his morning sustenance. “Oh yeah!” He ran to his place at the table, grabbed his milk, poured some into his cereal, then, without watching, plopped the milk carton in the center of child X’s untouched cereal and milk for nuclear bomb #2 as I stood dumbfounded watching. I tried (ever so calmly) to ask Scott to handle that one and excused myself from dining with my children.
About this time, I glanced at the clock to discover we were now about 15 minutes behind schedule if we wanted a chance at a pew rather than the highly un-coveted hard chairs in the overflow. I set the timer for 10 minutes and told the kids if they were all dressed within that amount of time, they could get a “Sunday Treat.” I was hoping this strategy may help us realign our goal of getting a cushioned place to sit during sacrament.
10 Minutes Later: Timer beeping, no children in site, but their loud, shouting voices are carrying more than I would like up the stairs. “The timer just went off! No Sunday Treats!” I yell down the stairs. Dead Silence from below and then suddenly its all hands on deck. Then begins much weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth as children begin pleading their cases as to why they couldn’t make the deadline or why they should be allowed to wear gym socks to church, etc. Said child is also a part of this confusion and I notice how the blazer he has on appears to be covered in white chalk. “Said child, you cannot wear that to church today.” After 2-3 minutes of moaning and groaning, I decide I can’t take his complaints anymore and point to the washcloth behind him. I asked him to get it wet so I could try and clean the jacket. He obediently drenched the washcloth and then proceeded to watch it spill forth water over the floor. “Said child, wring it out over the sink!” I then got another blank stare from him (maybe I really am the invisible mom) followed by him taking the washcloth and whipping it over his head in circles. The water went everywhere. All over the newly washed mirrors in the bathroom, everyone’s church clothes, etc.
Needless to say, my patience was beginning to wear thin.
After straightening up mess #3, the phone rang. My sister Cheryl was looking for baskets to put chocolate candy bars in for mother’s day that would be handed out during sacrament meeting. I told her we would round some up. At this point the clock was racing madly toward 8:00 and I still had a lot of hair to do and clothes to straighten up. (My stay-at-home husband was nowhere in sight.) So, mustering up my courage, I specifically instructed said child with the same set of instruction repeated three times, “Go downstairs to the food room. Get the two baskets that have plastic knives, forks and spoons in them. Put the utensils in a grocery bag and bring me the baskets.” Again, I remind you that these instructions were carefully repeated three times to insure they could not go misunderstood.
Well, this little helper disappeared for quite awhile. Soon it was time to get into the car and I had already forgotten about the baskets. I started yelling frantically for my son to get upstairs so we could leave. I could hear him hefting himself up the stairs with what appeared to be a 300-pound bag. Triumphantly, he dropped the enormous bag at my feet and shouts, “I finally did it!!!” I looked into the bag. Rather than bringing two small baskets that held a combined total of about 50 pieces of plasticware, he had dumped 3 500-piece not-yet-opened-boxes of plasticware that I had just barely bought from Costco into one giant gift-bag.
I lost it. I covered my face with my hands and started yelling. “I told you the baskets!!! Not the Boxes!! I will never be able to sort through that mess you have just made! We have to leave and you have spent all of this time making a huge mess!!” I uncovered my face just in time to see a once-triumphant but now bitterly dejected little boy crumble. “I’m sorry, Mom! I’m sorry! I thought that’s what you wanted!”
Feeling like a horrible mother but knowing the damage was already done, I put my arm around him, told him I was sorry for yelling and asked him to get in the car through clenched teeth.
30 minutes later, as I sat on a cushioned pew during sacrament meeting, I listened to Brother Merkley talk about how we mothers should never feel guilty on Mother’s Day. I thought to myself, “How can I not? I just blew up at my sweet little boy that thought he was doing a fantastic thing for me. And that was only one child. That doesn’t even begin to mention the damage I did with all of the other kids as they stood watching in stunned silence. And what about last night? And yesterday afternoon? And yesterday morning when I was trying to get them to do their work? What about how dirty their rooms are? What about the nutrition (or lack thereof) they are getting under my care? Is that why my three-year-old already has a cavity? My children are going to be scarred for life!” It went on and on as my guilt was spiraling out of control.
And at this same time of guilty reminiscence, a note was passed to me by said child. “Dear Mom, you are the best mom. I love you. Happy Mother’s Day.” Guilt again washed over me. I looked up to this sweet little boy that I felt I had crushed a few minutes earlier. He was grinning from ear-to-ear at me. I realized that just as I love him immensely despite his imperfections, he loves me tenderly and deeply despite my imperfections. I reminded myself that it’s OK to mess up and it’s OK that I have a long way to go before I am a perfect mom– my kids will forgive me and I can take this day to enjoy and relish all of the happy memories they have created in my life.
I hope you all have a wonderful guilt-free Mother’s Day – imperfections and all – and know that I love and think of you often.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Happy Mother's Day, Gayle
I asked my mother-in-law what she would like for Mother's Day. Right now she and my father-in-law, Kent, are participating in a service mission at the BYU Jerusalem Center. She and my Grandma are the main reasons I have started this blog - so they can keep tabs on their grandkids. We all know how great I am about keeping this updated but I promised myself I would update it for her Mother's Day present.
Gayle, Happy Mother's Day! We have a little message for you:
Happy Birthday, Hero!
This has really been a difficult pregnancy for me... we must be getting someone really special for all of this effort (actually I know that all of our kids are worth it). Anyway, about three weeks ago I started having some really intense pain in my back that wrapped around to my stomach. I've had it before with my pregnancies, but this time it would not go away. It had started at 8:00 in the morning and by 1:00 the next morning, I couldn't take it anymore. Scott had left work early the day before to come and help me and so I knew if I asked Scott to take me down to the hospital he would miss another day of work where he was really busy and already feeling behind. I decided I really couldn't tolderate the pain anymore and asked him to take me down to the hospital anyway. At about 2:30 I was finally given some pain medication. The medication made me really dizzy and nauseated and I couldn't really move or talk without throwing up. I was lying there thinking about Scott who was sitting in the chair next to me (tired but just trying to make sure I was comfortable) who would also need to "get up" for work in a few hours and would not get to rest the way I would be. In addition to working, he was going to need to get the kids up and dressed, fed and sent to school. He would be needing to try to get the house cleaned up and Sam taken care of before he could think about work. He would also need to make sure I was doing OK. Through the fog of heavy sedation, I really wanted to tell Scott how much I appreciated all he was doing for me. I thought long and hard to form my words and finally heard myself saying, "you are my hero, Scott." That was all I could really get out.
The next day I asked Scott how I was acting with all of those drugs. He started laughing and said, "you told me I was your hero." Dang! That was no joke. I explained to him how hard it was to get those words out and that I really meant what I said. Scott has been so great to try and help me get through this pregnancy so far and I love him so much.
He is now 35 and a great husband and father. I love you, Scott! Happy Birthday!
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Washington DC
In April Scott had a Bankruptcy Conference in Washington D.C. Scott and I decided to take advantage of the opportunity and take Josh to see the sites. We had a great time! Here are some pictures:
The White House
Lincoln Memorial
Arlington National Cemetary
Riding the Metro
The Library of Congress
Smithsonian's Air and Space Museum
Inside Union Station
The Capitol Building
Dear Family and Friends:
It’s been a busy few months since I last wrote. I know these letters are better when I focus on me, but I’ll step aside and let some other members of my family take center stage. Here are a few episodes:
Church:
Scottie turned 12 on March 8 and, that same day, was ordained a deacon in our church. It was really cool to be a part of that process. He’s our oldest and everything he does is usually a “first” in our family. (I say that with some reservation because Zach regularly comes up with “firsts” that usually end with spanks.) We (his parents) are very proud of him. He has been thrown into the thick of Church service without complaining. In fact, he seems to enjoy his extra time away from his family a little too much.
Braces:
Josh is getting his braces off soon. He’s only had them since last summer – not nearly enough time to be sufficient teased or embarrassed, in my opinion.
Football:
Spring football has been taking a lot of time, too. I still coach Scottie’s team. Josh is on another team for his age group and Zach is on another team for his age group. So between the three teams we go to practice 4 days a week and then have games on a fifth day for most of the morning. As a father, I have to say I’m in heaving. Really – there’s no such thing as too much football and I only wish Sam were old enough to play, too.
Oh, and I’m sure you are too embarrassed to ask, but the team I coach is actually winning a few games. Kind of hard to believe since my three prior seasons my teams combined record during the regular season is something like 2-20. My parents are especially proud of my achievement as a coach. For the last year and a half they have called me on Sunday to talk about the week and invariable they ask me about the latest football game. What usually follows is an embarrassing conversation about the latest blowout. But no more!! Ironically, my parents are on a mission right now and don’t call me Sunday evenings anymore. I’m sure that’s part of the whole “your family will be blessed when you go on mission” promise I’ve heard so much. There will be mixed emotions when they come home.
Spring Break:
We recently enjoyed spring break. Scottie has been saving his money to travel to Seattle to visit a friend who moved there 6 months ago. He’s an expert on the state of Washington because of a report he did on that state in second grade, so he didn’t much care for people telling him what to see or what to do while he was up there.
As soon as he got back to Arizona, we packed up the kids and went to San Diego for a few days – of course, not so long as to miss any football games that Saturday. We spent a day at the beach in 55 degree weather, playing in the freezing cold waves; protecting our food against the seagulls (we only lost one bag of chips); and collecting seashells that can now be found in every corner of our house and yard.
We spent another day in CA at Legoland. It was a fun day – especially seeing Scottie ride the tiny bumper cars with kids in the general age range of 6-8 years of age[1]. Next year I've decided that he and I will go to Six Flags or something akin while Jill takes everyone else back to Legoland or Sea World.
Work:
As a bankruptcy lawyer, you can probably imagine that I’m a little busy right now. (Actually, most of you are probably saying right now: “Scott’s a bankruptcy lawyer?” Yes, I hid my secret identity for years because of the shame of it all, but now bankruptcy lawyers are quite popular.) Anyway, the other day I had an important bankruptcy partner at my firm trying to track me down on a Sunday and so she called me at my house. Usually no one calls me at my house, let alone important people. What’s even rarer is that Zach answered the phone. Here’s how the conversation went from what I could hear:
Zach: “Hello?”
There was a pause and Zach looked confused and hesitated for a moment.
Zach: “What does available mean?”
A moment later he says “oh” and hands the phone to me. You have to admire the little guy for asking the question. He wasn’t about to give me the phone if “available” meant I was dead or something.
Washington D.C.:
I have a bankruptcy conference in Washington D.C. every spring. When Scottie turned 9, Jill and Scottie came with me to the conference and they toured while I sat in hotel conference rooms. Well, Josh is 9 now and this time Jill and Josh came with me. I wasn’t with them for most of the time, but apparently Josh tours a lot like his father (and Grandma Brown) – it’s enough to “see it” and move on quickly than to “examine and learn about it.” Jill is on the opposite side of the spectrum and she apparently had a difficult time keeping up with him as he raced walked through the various museums.
Besides, he was in love with the hotel’s swimming pool (much cooler than the Smithsonian) and the cable TV (Lincoln Memorial takes a backseat to Sponge Bob and the Final Four).
Science Camp:
It seems like Scottie is getting the most press in this letter, but there’s one more thing I have to tell you about – Sixth Grade Science Camp. Because I am a boy and Scottie is a boy and Jill is pregnant, I was selected to go. I’ve never been really good with that age group, nearly sending myself to jail several times when I have lost my temper teaching kids that age at church. So I promised myself I would be good and just let the kids do whatever they wanted in order to gain their favor and keep myself sane. That worked for the most part, although I still had to make sure they didn’t tell dirty stories or jokes and didn’t sneak out of the cabin at night in search of the girls’ cabins.
It was freezing cold up there (Prescott) – I ignored the teacher warning to bring warm clothing – so that actually kept the boys in check. The good news is that kept the boys in our cabin – and, hence, more supervisable – than they otherwise would have been. The bad news is that the cabin stunk like a pile of old gym shorts. The kids didn’t seem to mind the smell at all, flatulating every 3 minutes or so.
Just think, only five more Science Camps to go!
We love you all!
The Browns
[1]
Spring Break
We decided to go have a fun Spring Break as soon as Scottie got home from his to to Seattle in March. He had saved his money so he could go and visit his good friend, Chase Hawkins, who moved up to Seattle in August. Scottie had a great time.
So for our Spring Break we went to California to visit the Beach and Lego Land. Here are some pictures of our trip:
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