Rocking

Not like rocking a-bye baby or rocking out.  This is the other kind of rocking.  The kind you do. (well, you probably do those other kinds, too, but whatever).

I already know you guys rock, but when I write a post I have this thing called "I never think about what you might think about what I've written or about what kind of comments you might leave."  I think it's a rare illness, but I have it.  One great thing about it, though is that it means I am often pleasantly surprised by how much you guys rock.

Also, it sometimes means that I'm a little embarrassed about what I've written.  On my last post I was just going to write the first part, but the second part came to me while I wrote and I didn't think about it at all, except that the second proposition was as silly as the first.  But is that what you guys got out of it?  No!  At least some of you (a lot of you) thought either, "That Lisa sounds pretty desperate.  I'd better offer to send her a package." or "Oh!  Hey!  I could totally send her some of that candy!" 

So I wanted to say "thank you and you rock".  And I really didn't mean to ask for packages.  

And speaking of rocking, Heather (who rocks extraordinarily)  made a button which is meant to be given to moms.  I'd like to take this opportunity to give it to a mom I know, Charrette.  She is very wise and extremely warm and generous.  She is also a very talented writer and artist.  You can tell that she is very genuine and I know that she is influential to everyone who reads her blog.  

You can tell she loves her kids as most every time she mentions them she is talking about something fun or crazy.  

I think moms really do rock.  I also think it's sometimes hard to remember that.  Motherhood is just hard.  From the sleep deprivation that sucks nearly every last bit of patience from you (me), to managing tantrums, to dealing with the incessant bickering of middle aged children (well, not middle aged, I mean like 6- 12 year-olds) , being a mom is just HARD.  

Right now Charrette is on the next level:  dealing with a teenager.  From what I understand it's not easy being the parent of a teenager, and some cases are harder than others.  I think because the child really isn't a child anymore, and you love them so much, the choices they make can have a huge affect on us.  At this stage the tables are turned.  We don't have such a huge affect on the choices they make, but their choices can affect us greatly.  We watch the decisions they make, knowing that these very choices are the ones that make them who they are, and contribute to who they will become.  Watching this process must be very difficult and I'm sure it can bring with it some of the most heart-rending times of a person's life.

So I just want to give this: 

to Charrette and remind her that she will be blessed for her love, patience and endurance.   And that I really think she rocks.

And if you don't already read her, you should go over there and read her recent post "A Mother's Reach".  And everything else she's ever written.

A Rule

I think that anyone who mentions Cadbury Mini Eggs in a post (I've read 4 such posts to date) should be required by law to add a personal apology to me, Lisa; aka LisAway (you can choose which name you'd like to use in your apology).

This should also go for people mentioning other tasty, American Easter candies (as in candies that can only be bought in America).  

If you don't feel inclined to write out the apology, you can, alternately, send me a bag of whatever type of candy it is that you mention in your post.  I will be especially forgiving of anyone mentioning Reeses' Peanut Butter Eggs or malted milk eggs of any brand who choose to go with this option.  

Actually, you know what?  Never mind.  I think I'll go bake a pan of brownies and I'll probably be fine after that.  Maybe. 

My Life In 25 Things

Yes, I'm doing this one.  You're totally allowed to skip it, too.

1.  I lived in a trailer park until I was 11. 

2.  I had nightmares of dogs running into our backyard while I was playing there.  They never caught me or anything, but I just remember the terror of them running at me.

3.  I used to love mayonnaise sandwiches (bread, mayonnaise)

4.  I was surprised and thought my mom was so generous the day she told us to please stop asking every time we wanted a piece of bread and to just go ahead and get one whenever we wanted.

5  I had my first "boyfriend" when I was in 5th grade.  He was my paperboy and he brought me candybars when he delivered our paper.  We passed notes during recess and then one day I called him "Natey-poo" and after that we weren't an item anymore.  Oops.

6.  We moved to California when I was 11.

7.  I'd been feeling like an outsider in Utah before we moved, but I felt even more out of place in California.

8.  The one thing that helped me transition, besides my good friend and next door neighbor Sarah, was my jumproping.  I didn't exactly need to be with anyone if I was jumping during recess.  Also,  it sort of made people respect me.  (I'd been on a team in Utah)

9.  My last two years of high school were the best ever as I found a great crowd to be with.  We had a blast.

10.  I left home at 17 to start school (Ricks College) and only ever lived at home again for one summer (I think).

11.  I loved my years at Ricks like crazy and learned tons about early childhood education, but even more about life, the gospel and myself.

12.  Besides my first real boyfriend at Ricks (lasted 3 months and ended with the school year, and much like in number 5 I said something totally completely and unintentionally dumb in response to his confession of love and it marked the downfall of our relationship--and in case you're wondering, it wasn't anything sarcastic) I didn't really do much dating until I moved to BYU to live and work there after graduating from Ricks.

13.  I didn't really do all that much dating at BYU either, but I did TONS of hanging out (which I prefer anyway).

14.  I left Provo to escape the rollercoaster of my relationship with Greg (and to live near my sister, and because I really wanted to be a nanny).

15.  The father in the family that I nannied for called me Cinderella because I slept in the dungeon (basement) and did all the work and was still always happy (or so he said). 

16.  The girl I nannied was a perfect angel.  She was barely two and any time she started in on a tantrum out of frustration I taught her to say, "Help me, please!" instead, and she always did.  I often heard her dad talking about the amazing things she would say or how mature she was.  His wife would tell him, "I think Lisa taught her that."  My vanity made me a little glad of that.  (heaven forbid her dad just think that she was naturally so bright!)

17.  I was only back in Provo for a week before the wedding.  We had a rule that we could not be alone in an apartment (room yes, apartment, no) until we were married.  Fortunately we were both staying in apartments full of roommates, but it meant that often one of us would be standing out in a blizzard while the other ran into our apartment (that we started renting before we moved into it) to grab something.  I still think it was a smart idea.

18.  Shortly after we were married I took Accutane.  It broke my back and I couldn't keep up with dishwashing and other home and work (mother's helper) responsibilities.  My back problems are recurring, since then, and the medication only cleared up my skin for a year or two.

19.  I don't like meat very much and sort of want to be a vegetarian.  But I'm too lazy.  And I do like some meat.  And I'm not as good with vegetables as I'd probably need to be.

20.  I sort of fear being judgemental or self-righteous, but I think I'm a little of each, or at least come off that way.

21.  I've liked my hands for a while (since my best friend in high school used to say how nice they were, which is maybe weird, but whatever) and I think that's why my fingers are not straight anymore and I might be getting arthritis.  Same goes for my legs which I've always been happy with from the side view (not from the front or back) but now I can never wear shorts- or skirts without tights- ever again because of vericose veins.   I think this might be to check my vanity.  And I think this (number 21) might be a little too weird, but I'm not taking it off my list. 

22.  I really love my life.

23.  I think I could be a much better mother if I tried. Which is why I'm slowly cutting down on blog reading. 

24.  I really love the church leadership in Poland.

25.  I'm hoping I can respond to Erin's post sooooooon.

I realize this isn't the most upbeat of posts, but I think it's just kind of how I'm feeling right now. . .

I'm Old and I Have No Partner in Crime

I am planning sometime next week to respond to Erin's post about our twinnishness (which was a response to Melanie's post about our twinnishness) but for today there are just a few more overheards.

Over breakfast I said something and David stopped me and said, "MOM!  That is just what I was thinking!  Woah!"  I paused and then did the Twilight Zone theme (probably from having read Melanie's title so recently).  Both of the kids stopped chewing, looked at each other and burst out laughing.  Like almost blowing milk and peanut butter cookie crisps all over.  This continued for quite a while and then, through his laughs, David said, "Oh my gosh mom.  You are so weird!"  So I explained about The Twilight Zone.

Later in the day I went to pick up Evie and David and Evie's friend from school.  From the front door, as I was getting in the car, Greg told me that I'd have to have one of them sit in the very back and I said that I'd just have one of the girls sit in the front.  He asked, "Is that okay?  Are they old enough?" I told him I thought it was okay just for a short drive.  

He replied, "Well, I'm not going to bring you any food in jail."  I didn't hear him the first time (or didn't get what the heck he was talking about) so I asked him to repeat it. He said it again and then closed the door.  

You know how people say, "What if anything happened to you?"  And worry about your last words and how you should always say "I love you." when you are going somewhere?  I must say, I think I'd treasure Greg's kind of last words more than the hearty-heart love one's.

It's In My Make-up

I have always loved make up.  I was obsessed with it as a girl and received some for presents on every present receiving occasion.  I remember I was in HEAVEN when I got sets like these with the pull out drawers (only I remember mine was like three times as big as this; I mean had three times as much make up.  Of course it was much bigger than this.  I am NO GOOD at finding pictures on the Internet so you get this tiny little picture only).

I wore make up ALL THE TIME, from the time I was maybe three (okay, probably 5).  I caked it on and I looooooved it.  I knew I was gorgeous.  I think I wore make up for most of our family birthday parties (although I couldn't find the photographic evidence I was looking for).  

One day when I was maybe 7 or 8 years old, I went to the park down the street in all my painted glory.  I was swinging there alone when Julie Stephens came along to play.  Julie was older than me by a few years and she was the most beeeeeeeeeautiful girl ever.  All the girls admired her.  All the boys were in love with her, or at least we assumed they must be.  And here she was.  And she was seeing me at my very best.

She came over to where I was swinging and I said hello.  The first thing she said was, "Oh my gosh, you're wearing WAY too much make up."  

I left as soon as I could after that, and that's all I remember.  And I'm pretty sure I cried.  I was crushed.  But I think I finally stopped caking it on so thickly from then on. 

But I still love me some make up.  I don't care a hoot about brands, but I don't leave the house without foundation, mascara and lip gloss on.  That's almost all I ever wear, though. 

I wish, I mean I really WISH I could get away with the super dramatic dark eye make up some people wear.  Not like this, really: 

More like this:

But I can only wear really light colors or my eyes disappear.  And not because they're small, because they're not.  It might have to do with my "natural make up" I'll have to blog about some day.  Right now there's a boy with a very saggy, soggy diaper waiting to have a shower and a haircut, in the opposite order.  BYE!

Overheard

I realized recently that I haven't been talking to the kids about U.S. Presidents like I should be this time of year, so last night over dinner I told them a little about Abraham Lincoln.  I gave them each a penny so they would know what he looked like and told them what I remember about him (far too little).  Then I told them about Melanie's post about the contents of his pockets on the day he died and how the box they were in was opened in the 1970's.

I told them what I remembered of it and then Greg piped in with, "And I heard -- this is really weird, but -- I heard that they also found an ipod in there."  Followed by a  l e n g t h y explanation of how the ipod (nano) was used and what materials it was made of etc.  I rolled my eyes and waited for him to finish.  But then someone else chimed in with, "And there was a cell phone in there!"  "No, it was an mp3 player!"  

I was blocking this all out as I dished out seconds until there was a break and Evie said, "Actually, they found out that it was an mp1 player."   And I burst out laughing.  Because that was funny.  

********

The hallway on our main floor is very long and fairly wide (it's very Polish so it's not an open plan and there are doorways off the hall to the playroom, living room, kitchen, bathroom and down stairs.  You can sort of see part of it in one picture on this post) and it's David and Aaron's domain.  They race their cars there, play their wrestling games there and, most recently, play soccer there.  That hallway is always full of loud, usually happy, noises.

Last night before bed David followed me up the stairs saying, "Mom, you wanna know what a cute sport Aaron is?  And what a nice sport?"  (can you tell he doesn't live in a country where he ever really hears the term "good sport" ?)  After I caught my breath again after the darlingness of the question, he told me that they had been playing soccer and every time David had scored a goal Aaron had raised his hands high above him and shouted, "GOOOOOOAL!"  ("DOOOOOOH!") and then clapped and said, "Bravo!"  ("Dah-doh!").  I don't know for sure which I loved more, David's question or Aaron's cheerleading.

********

Then, while I was changing his sheets and he was putting on his pajamas, David got all confidential and started telling me lots of interesting stuff, not the least of which was the fact that his teacher had told him that he should have Evie teach him how to read.  

Evie is a very good reader.   Her speed, comprehension and elocution* is really a pleasure to listen to.  In second (or first?) grade her teacher referred us to a something or other where Evie could develop or display or something her talent for reading.  We didn't do anything about it, though, because we're lame (and didn't really know what it was about, as you may have gathered).

I thought that was a pretty good idea for Evie to help him with his reading (she's helped him some in the past).  All last year and all summer long I read with him almost every day for practice, but his progress has been kind of slow.  With Evie, I taught her what sound every letter makes and she pretty much started reading the next day.  

I asked him, "Does your teacher know that I read with you every day?"  And he told me that his teacher just suggested that he read with Ev because she reads "reeeeeeeeeally well" (David's teacher used to be Evie's) and that he shouldn't read with me or dad.  

Of course I was a little curious about that.  "Really!?!  She told you NOT to read with us?"  Finally he sighed and said, "Okay, fine.  You're asking me so I'll tell you the truth.  She said that I shouldn't practice reading with you."  I found this to be very humorous.  

This makes perfect sense, of course.  I mean, she knows that every single time I talk to her I am not confident in my Polish.  It seems obvious that I might not read well in Polish.  But I think I can confidently say that I am not a bad reader in Polish.  It's very easy, actually, because each letter or set of letters only makes one sound.  You just memorize them and you can read.  But his teacher has no way of knowing how I read.  

But of course I had to say, "Tell your teacher that I'm the one who taught Evie to read."  Because I did.  And also because Come On.

*Thanks for the word, Heidi!

Something Romantic and Something I love

Before I was married I bought a framed poster of a painting on a white background with the artist's name under it in capital letters.  When I bought it I don't think I was aware of who the painter was, or had ever seen the painting before.  I blame this entirely on the American school system.  Later I found out that I had heard of the painting  from the Don McLean song which is playing (or might not be).  The picture looked like this:

And I really loved it.  I took it with me when I went back east as a Nanny and hung it on the wall in my living room.  Or actually I think I meant to hang it on the wall but never got around to it.  Which is why it dwelt against the wall behind the couch while I lived there.  

Unfortunately, it continued to dwell against the wall behind the couch after I lived there, too.  Meaning that I left it there when I moved back west.  I was sad.  I mourned the loss of that poster for years.

Then one year for my birthday Greg presented me with a hand painted copy of that same scene. He had his sister's friend, who is a painter and often paints copies for people, paint it for me.  He hadn't told me anything about it and it was a huge surprise.  I love it.  And I love him.

And I also love that my sister gave me a magnet of that painting to go on my fridge because she knows how I feel about it.

And I also love that yesterday Aaron brought the magnet off the fridge and into the living room and kept pointing up at the painting and then at the magnet, over and over.  Then he got me to lift him up to the painting and he tried to stick the magnet to it repeatedly, with a little grunt at the effort.  They just seemed to belong together somehow to him.

(I wish I had a photo of my painting for you to see.  Really, it looks so much like the original that most people would not know the difference.)