I'm writing this post in an attempt to lighten some of the heaviness I've been feeling lately--as you know, our family had graveside services for my little nephew, Alma, last week, who was stillborn. One word to describe the graveside--beautiful. It amazes me to see how thoughtful and kind people can be, and the graveside was a wonderful opportunity for these kind, thoughtful people to show their love and support to our family as we went through this.
Since Alma's services, I have heard of three more deaths in our small community--deaths of people I knew personally. Some of these were expected, some were not, but to say that there has been a heavy spirit and emotion pressing on my mind would be understating it a little bit.
This morning during my run, I began thinking of how I could possibly bring some lightness back into my own life (and hopefully the lives of those around me), and the thought came to me to strive to find joy and humor in my own life, and to share it through my blog.
I've always enjoyed blogging, and although I know that mine is not the most widely-read blog out there by any means, I love hearing people tell me that this post or that post made them laugh, cry, or think.
So, here is my attempt to share an experience we had last night during Family Home Evening that gave me (I'm being modest here) probably one of the most brilliant brainstorms known to mankind.
Like, ever.
It was 6:30, the kids were fed and cleaned up (ish), they had pajamas on, and Steve, who had to study desperately, was not due to be home for another hour at least. Now that winter is coming on, I don't feel too guilty about putting kids to bed around 7:00, because it's dark by then, and their little bodies need the rest (not to mention the fact that their mom does, too).
I decided that, with it being Monday night, we'd have a super-quick Family Home Evening before bedtime, and tried to get the kids excited about it.
"Okay, guys--if you clear the table, we can go have Family Night!!" I tried to infuse as much enthusiasm into my voice as possible.
They immediately began clamoring over who got to be in charge of the treat, but it worked--they got the table cleared in record time, and I began herding them into the front room.
"Maggie wants to walk with me!" Jack proudly exclaimed as he grabbed Maggie's little fist in a vice-like grip and began dragging her towards the front room. She's still not walking on her own yet, but does really well holding on to someone or something, so she was able to keep up, until Clark decided to join in.
"Maggie wants to walk with me, too!" Clark grabbed her other hand and pulled in the opposite direction, until Maggie was close to being drawn and quartered by her far-too-enthusiastic big brothers.
She began to cry.
"Ooooh-kay, how about I just carry Maggie?" I swoop in and pick her up, and the boys start to complain. I try to think of a distraction--"First one sitting down with their arms folded wins!"
My boys have no concept of what it means to actually win, except for the fact that it is something desirable. They immediately began sprinting to the front room, each picked a separate couch and clambered up on to it, with arms tightly folded. Jack, being at least twice as tall as Clark, of course sat down first.
"I win!" He was positively gleeful.
Clark, still squirming into position, agreed. "I win, too!"
Jack was immediately offended. "No, Clark, you don't win, I win!"
They begin to fight about it.
I intervene. "You both win! Jack, you win first, Clark, you win second. Now, let's sing a song. Clark, what song do you want to sing?"
The inevitable answer?
"Spiderman!"
I sigh. My enthusiasm is quickly waning, and we haven't even started yet.
"How about a church song?"
He looks disappointed, but concedes to choose Child of God, his other favorite song.
I start singing. No one else joins me. I stop.
"Jack, Clark, I want you to sing with me. Let's see how loud we can all sing!"
Jack gets about two words into the first verse before he becomes intensely interested in something on his big toe, and Clark makes it about half that far before he is literally running around in circles on the area rug. I decide to let it go and finish the song on my own.
"Okay, now, Jack, I want you to say the prayer."
Jack agrees, and both boys start out with arms folded and eyes shut tight, but by the time Jack gets around to blessing "the whole world to be safe, and Presaddent Monson and my stuffed bear and my arm to get better and every single member of my extended family and Joy School class by name," Clark has squirmed off the couch, once again (I made a desperate grab for him, but with Maggie on my lap and trying to keep her arms folded as well, my reflexes are inexcusably slow), and is now licking his finger and painting it onto the TV (Seriously. You think I can just make this stuff up?).
I snap my fingers at Clark, who ignores me, and Jack stops, thinking it was meant for him.
"Keep going, Jack. Are you almost done?"
"No."
He continues on for roughly three or four more minutes (which in toddler time, equals five or six more hours), and then closes.
"Okay!" I once again strive for enthusiasm, although it comes across as barely-concealed hysteria. "Time for scripture study!"
Our family scripture study consists of me (or Steve, when he's home) reading aloud a verse per child, and said child repeating it. The verses vary from two short lines to a longer paragraph (the longer paragraphs we tend to break up into two parts), and usually take an average to below-average reader anywhere from 30 seconds to a minute and a half to finish.
We're lucky if we get them done within fifteen minutes.
"Clark, your verse. 'And it came to pass...'"
"An' it came to pass..." he wanders back towards the TV.
"Clark, come sit down. '...that I, Nephi,...'"
He's now sucking on his fingers and has forgotten that I even exist.
"Clark!" I snap at him, then immediately remember that we're trying to invite the Spirit. "I mean, hey, Clark!" I try a more sing-song-y version that sounds a little bit like a creepy Cruella DeVille trying to lure a puppy over so she can skin it, but it works. He looks up.
"'...that I, Nephi...'"
He repeats it, and so on through the rest of the verse.
By the time we get to Jack's verse, Jack has wandered into the kitchen.
"Jack! Come back here!" I continue the sing-song-y loud speaking that is at least not yelling, and he comes back in.
"I'm hungry, Mom!" he whines.
"Seriously, though? We literally just ate fifteen minutes ago!"
"Yeah, but I didn't like that food."
"Well, I don't care. You had a chance to eat at dinner, and we're not having any more snacks until Family Home Evening is over." He begins to whine some more, and I talk loudly over him. "Now, come sit down, fold your arms, and let's do your scripture."
By this point, Maggie has gotten bored of sitting on my lap and squirmed down. Clark sees her playing on the area rug and decides to do a belly flop directly on top of her. Naturally, she begins crying.
I set the scriptures down (Jack immediately gets up and starts wrestling with the other two), and physically separate the three of them.
"You--sit here. You, sit there. You--there. Now, don't move."
I might as well be trying to herd a flock of pigeons, but eventually get them all at least sitting (not still, by any means, but at least in the general position of sitting) at the same time.
"Okay!" The hysteria is less concealed at this point, but I'm hoping it still comes across as enthusiasm. "Time for a lesson! If you can sit still through the lesson, we'll do an activity afterwards!"
Clark is already once again sliding off of the couch, (an action which Jack loudly points out to me), and I pick him up by the scruff of his neck and set him back down as I continue.
"Our lesson today is going to be on..." I rack my brain for a good lesson topic (Me, prepare ahead of time? Who do you think I am?) "...REVERENCE!" I grunt this word a little more loudly as I plop my 40-pound son back on the couch.
"What does it mean to be reverent?" I ask.
Jack folds his arms, and Clark follows suit.
"Good! Who do we think about when we're reverent?" I ask.
"Jesus!" Jack answers.
"Jesus!" Clark echoes.
Hey, so far, so good... "Let's think of some good places to be reverent. Should we be reverent on....the trampoline?" I try shaking my head so the kids know the right answer, and Jack shouts, "No!" as Clark shouts, just as loudly, "Yes!"
"How about at Church?" I nod my head so vigorously I probably look like I'm having a seizure, and Jack picks up on the cue. "Yes!"
Clark shouts, once again, just as loudly, "No!" as he starts once again to climb off of the couch. This time, I'm pulling Maggie away from the outlet she is prying the childproof cover off of, so I don't catch him in time, and he begins once again to yell gleefully as he runs around in circles.
This is where the brilliant stroke of genius came--I am going to start marketing couches and church pews to young families that have five-point harnesses installed in them.
Brilliant, no?
Since Alma's services, I have heard of three more deaths in our small community--deaths of people I knew personally. Some of these were expected, some were not, but to say that there has been a heavy spirit and emotion pressing on my mind would be understating it a little bit.
This morning during my run, I began thinking of how I could possibly bring some lightness back into my own life (and hopefully the lives of those around me), and the thought came to me to strive to find joy and humor in my own life, and to share it through my blog.
I've always enjoyed blogging, and although I know that mine is not the most widely-read blog out there by any means, I love hearing people tell me that this post or that post made them laugh, cry, or think.
So, here is my attempt to share an experience we had last night during Family Home Evening that gave me (I'm being modest here) probably one of the most brilliant brainstorms known to mankind.
Like, ever.
It was 6:30, the kids were fed and cleaned up (ish), they had pajamas on, and Steve, who had to study desperately, was not due to be home for another hour at least. Now that winter is coming on, I don't feel too guilty about putting kids to bed around 7:00, because it's dark by then, and their little bodies need the rest (not to mention the fact that their mom does, too).
I decided that, with it being Monday night, we'd have a super-quick Family Home Evening before bedtime, and tried to get the kids excited about it.
"Okay, guys--if you clear the table, we can go have Family Night!!" I tried to infuse as much enthusiasm into my voice as possible.
They immediately began clamoring over who got to be in charge of the treat, but it worked--they got the table cleared in record time, and I began herding them into the front room.
"Maggie wants to walk with me!" Jack proudly exclaimed as he grabbed Maggie's little fist in a vice-like grip and began dragging her towards the front room. She's still not walking on her own yet, but does really well holding on to someone or something, so she was able to keep up, until Clark decided to join in.
"Maggie wants to walk with me, too!" Clark grabbed her other hand and pulled in the opposite direction, until Maggie was close to being drawn and quartered by her far-too-enthusiastic big brothers.
She began to cry.
"Ooooh-kay, how about I just carry Maggie?" I swoop in and pick her up, and the boys start to complain. I try to think of a distraction--"First one sitting down with their arms folded wins!"
My boys have no concept of what it means to actually win, except for the fact that it is something desirable. They immediately began sprinting to the front room, each picked a separate couch and clambered up on to it, with arms tightly folded. Jack, being at least twice as tall as Clark, of course sat down first.
"I win!" He was positively gleeful.
Clark, still squirming into position, agreed. "I win, too!"
Jack was immediately offended. "No, Clark, you don't win, I win!"
They begin to fight about it.
I intervene. "You both win! Jack, you win first, Clark, you win second. Now, let's sing a song. Clark, what song do you want to sing?"
The inevitable answer?
"Spiderman!"
I sigh. My enthusiasm is quickly waning, and we haven't even started yet.
"How about a church song?"
He looks disappointed, but concedes to choose Child of God, his other favorite song.
I start singing. No one else joins me. I stop.
"Jack, Clark, I want you to sing with me. Let's see how loud we can all sing!"
Jack gets about two words into the first verse before he becomes intensely interested in something on his big toe, and Clark makes it about half that far before he is literally running around in circles on the area rug. I decide to let it go and finish the song on my own.
"Okay, now, Jack, I want you to say the prayer."
Jack agrees, and both boys start out with arms folded and eyes shut tight, but by the time Jack gets around to blessing "the whole world to be safe, and Presaddent Monson and my stuffed bear and my arm to get better and every single member of my extended family and Joy School class by name," Clark has squirmed off the couch, once again (I made a desperate grab for him, but with Maggie on my lap and trying to keep her arms folded as well, my reflexes are inexcusably slow), and is now licking his finger and painting it onto the TV (Seriously. You think I can just make this stuff up?).
I snap my fingers at Clark, who ignores me, and Jack stops, thinking it was meant for him.
"Keep going, Jack. Are you almost done?"
"No."
He continues on for roughly three or four more minutes (which in toddler time, equals five or six more hours), and then closes.
"Okay!" I once again strive for enthusiasm, although it comes across as barely-concealed hysteria. "Time for scripture study!"
Our family scripture study consists of me (or Steve, when he's home) reading aloud a verse per child, and said child repeating it. The verses vary from two short lines to a longer paragraph (the longer paragraphs we tend to break up into two parts), and usually take an average to below-average reader anywhere from 30 seconds to a minute and a half to finish.
We're lucky if we get them done within fifteen minutes.
"Clark, your verse. 'And it came to pass...'"
"An' it came to pass..." he wanders back towards the TV.
"Clark, come sit down. '...that I, Nephi,...'"
He's now sucking on his fingers and has forgotten that I even exist.
"Clark!" I snap at him, then immediately remember that we're trying to invite the Spirit. "I mean, hey, Clark!" I try a more sing-song-y version that sounds a little bit like a creepy Cruella DeVille trying to lure a puppy over so she can skin it, but it works. He looks up.
"'...that I, Nephi...'"
He repeats it, and so on through the rest of the verse.
By the time we get to Jack's verse, Jack has wandered into the kitchen.
"Jack! Come back here!" I continue the sing-song-y loud speaking that is at least not yelling, and he comes back in.
"I'm hungry, Mom!" he whines.
"Seriously, though? We literally just ate fifteen minutes ago!"
"Yeah, but I didn't like that food."
"Well, I don't care. You had a chance to eat at dinner, and we're not having any more snacks until Family Home Evening is over." He begins to whine some more, and I talk loudly over him. "Now, come sit down, fold your arms, and let's do your scripture."
By this point, Maggie has gotten bored of sitting on my lap and squirmed down. Clark sees her playing on the area rug and decides to do a belly flop directly on top of her. Naturally, she begins crying.
I set the scriptures down (Jack immediately gets up and starts wrestling with the other two), and physically separate the three of them.
"You--sit here. You, sit there. You--there. Now, don't move."
I might as well be trying to herd a flock of pigeons, but eventually get them all at least sitting (not still, by any means, but at least in the general position of sitting) at the same time.
"Okay!" The hysteria is less concealed at this point, but I'm hoping it still comes across as enthusiasm. "Time for a lesson! If you can sit still through the lesson, we'll do an activity afterwards!"
Clark is already once again sliding off of the couch, (an action which Jack loudly points out to me), and I pick him up by the scruff of his neck and set him back down as I continue.
"Our lesson today is going to be on..." I rack my brain for a good lesson topic (Me, prepare ahead of time? Who do you think I am?) "...REVERENCE!" I grunt this word a little more loudly as I plop my 40-pound son back on the couch.
"What does it mean to be reverent?" I ask.
Jack folds his arms, and Clark follows suit.
"Good! Who do we think about when we're reverent?" I ask.
"Jesus!" Jack answers.
"Jesus!" Clark echoes.
Hey, so far, so good... "Let's think of some good places to be reverent. Should we be reverent on....the trampoline?" I try shaking my head so the kids know the right answer, and Jack shouts, "No!" as Clark shouts, just as loudly, "Yes!"
"How about at Church?" I nod my head so vigorously I probably look like I'm having a seizure, and Jack picks up on the cue. "Yes!"
Clark shouts, once again, just as loudly, "No!" as he starts once again to climb off of the couch. This time, I'm pulling Maggie away from the outlet she is prying the childproof cover off of, so I don't catch him in time, and he begins once again to yell gleefully as he runs around in circles.
This is where the brilliant stroke of genius came--I am going to start marketing couches and church pews to young families that have five-point harnesses installed in them.
Brilliant, no?
Comments
Love this post! Your kids are hilarious. I want to meet them.
I bet you could get a couch and three car seats for under $50 at Sheppards Kitchen. You could make a prototype! You could call it "The Reverance Maker" or something real catchy like that. I can just imagine opening the Deseret Books catalog and seeing it advertised! All you need is a good slogan!....hmmm....OR...you could get an old seat from a caravan and just bring it inside for "special occasions"...like FHE, or when someone is getting a blessing. You could totally take it to church...kind of like when we take our babies in their car seats. You'd just have to attach some wheels to the seat and maybe a rope for pulling it in and out of the chapel. :)