Truths From Little Children and Worn-out Mothers

I'm not sure where I got this, but I found it recently and chuckled as I read it. If you're in the mood for a laugh, read on; OR if you're searching for some comfort in knowing you're not experiencing the mayhem of motherhood alone, keep reading. I think we can all relate to a few of these "simple truths from little children."

1-No matter how hard you try, you can't baptize cats.

2-When your mom is mad at your dad, don't let her brush your hair.

3-When your sister hits you, don't hit her back. They always catch the second person.

4-Never ask your three-year-old brother to hold a tomato.

5-You can't trust dogs to watch your food.

6-Don't sneeze when someone is cutting your hair.

7-Never hold a Dust-Buster and a cat at the same time.

8-You can't hide a piece of broccoli in a glass of milk.

9-The inhabitants of Moscow are called Mosquitoes.

10-The parts of speech are lungs and air.

Now, just for fun, I'm adding my own simple truths. I think I'll call them "Truths From Worn-out Mothers." Feel free to add a few of your own.

1-Never cuss the neighbors when your children are in ear-shot.

2-Be sure to explain the difference between alligators and elevators before the need arises to take your toddler to the doctor on the fourth floor.

3-Explain that the "F" on your perfectionist child's tithing slip stand for "female," not flunking, before you attend tithing settlement.

4-If you are in desperate need of some rest and relaxation, asking your children to leave you alone for a few minutes will only ensure they will stick to you like glue.

5-If you are on an important phone call, it only makes things worse to ask your children to please be quiet.

6-No matter what they tell you, double chocolate ice cream does not come out of white sweater vests that have been left for days by your "helpful" husband, regardless of how much bleach and stain spray you use, or how many times you wash it.

7-"I made a mistake, and I'm sorry" are the seven most important words you can teach your children.

8-It is important to be sure your potty trainee's underpants are poop-free BEFORE you wash them with all of your white clothing--twice.

9-There are worse things than finding your children jumping from your couch to your coffee table to your love seat--like finding your children jumping from your couch to your coffee table to your loveseat with full cups of ruby red kool-aid in their hands.

10-When your children stand before you, holding out freshly picked flowers (the ones you splurged for because they were perfect for your flower beds), grins spread across their innocent little faces, it's best to simply swallow hard, smile, and say, "thank you for your thoughtfulness."

What Life is Truly About

I just returned from the hospital where my sister Katie gave birth to a beautiful, eight pound baby boy.

And I can't stop tearing up.

My mom and brother and six little kids and I arrived just in time to hear the nurse announce his weight and height. Standing on the other side of the curtain, I immediately felt the familiar sting of grateful tears and the throbbing of a humbled heart when I heard that sweet little newborn cry. I've often wondered how unbelievers could ever hear the first sounds of precious life and not be awed at the miracle of birth and life, realizing it's got to be of eternal consequence.

As I watched my sister and her husband and three little girls all huddle close to the hospital bed for a picture, I could see clearly in my mind four times before when I was the one lying in a hospital bed, having just given birth to one of the four greatest things that have ever happened to me, reveling in the amazement of it all, my heart offering constant prayers of gratitude to God for blessing me so much. And just like today, when I heard the first cry of each new baby of mine, my tired body became wracked with joyful, thankful, humble tears. And each time, the doctor and nurses came to my side to see if I was okay. What they didn't seem to understand is that I was more than okay; I was absolutely perfect. I was holding in my arms a miracle--a special part of both my husband and me--a little person who would unequivocally change our lives forever.

I always love the first couple of days after my babies are born--not only because I can finally bend without losing my breath, sleep on my stomach, and sleep at night--but because I get the chance to remember what life is really about, and I am reminded of how grateful I am for the opportunity of being a mother.

Then, we go home from the hospital and real life settles in, making me wonder what I've gotten myself into! About one year later, I finally wake up feeling like life is nearly normal again--and about two months after that, we start talking about having another baby! What a life!

I traveled to my home town this past week to hear my dad speak at the high school graduation there, and I was so impressed with his very last remarks to the graduates. He left them with three pieces of advice, all of which were good, but the last one struck a chord. "No matter what you aspire to in your lives, no matter what degree you choose to pursue or what job you decide to take, remember that the most important thing you will ever become is a father or a mother," he said. Then he continued with, "No words mean more to me in my life than the words 'dad' and 'grandpa.' So make sure you become the best mothers and fathers you can be, because no other title matters more."

I couldn't agree with him more. New little babies, excited older brothers and sisters, that look between a husband and wife when they've just witnessed the miracle of bringing another baby into the world--what could be better? Nothing else compares. What happens on Wall Street is not more important than what happens at home, and it never will be.

What I witnessed today, in a hospital in Layton, UT--that's what life is truly about!

I Am So Tired of This Crap!

I have decided that any mother who says she has a boring, uneventful life hasn't yet gotten out of bed for the day! Yes, some days are monotonous; some are lonely; some days even feel like Groundhog Day, where we deal with the same fights, spills, and chores as the day before. BUT, I am here to tell you, if you are a mother, there is plenty to record in a journal and pass on to posterity--it just may not all be uplifting and fabulous. Here's an example.

Remember my prayers on potty-training? Remember how I wrote that things were going so much better because my two-year-old was starting to poop on the potty? Well, I wasn't lying or exaggerating--things did start falling into place--until this past week, that is! Since then, I have cleaned up more poop than in the previous two months of potty training combined. And I just have to say, I am tired of crap--literally. Let me explain.

It all started a week ago when my three-year-old told me there was a horrible smell at the end of the hallway. Well, that is never good news, so I hurried (reluctantly hurried, that is) down the hallway, took a deep breath, and threw open my two-year-old's door. I thought he had been asleep for the past half hour; instead, he had pooped in his underwear, and then--here's the best part--he had tried to clean up the mess himself. Can you invision the scene I faced? A big glob of poop was in the garbage can (I couldn't help but think what a responsible mess maker he was to have at least put the poop in a reasonable waste receptacle), poop was spread all along his bed rail, and of course, poop was matted down his legs and feet, as well as all over his hands and in his fingernails. But wait--that's not all--this dear child, in an effort to do an efficient cleaning job, was rubbing poop into the carpet with a wet wipe--in three different places.

I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. I wanted to stamp my feet and throw my hands in the air (okay, so I did stamp my foot and throw my arms in the air). When was this going to end? Was it going to end? I mean, we were past this point, weren't we?

Apparently not.

The good news is, I got through it. Two days and four carpet scrubbings later, the smell was gone and the carpet was cleaner in those spots than anywhere else in the house. You'd think I would have cleaned up my last lot of poop. That's where you'd be wrong.

Less than a week later, I had a new "first" as a mother, and of course, that four letter word--poop-was involved. We had spent a few days in Cokeville with Grandma and Grandpa, and I was working to do the weekly laundry and get caught up on things. I put a load of whites in and went about my other chores. A couple of hours later (I'm not real good at keeping up with the washer), I returned to the laundry room and nearly passed out at the horrible stench. I sniffed and sniffed everywhere trying to figure out the source of the smell (brave, I know) and finally opened the washer lid, and jackpot! It smelled so bad. It didn't make sense to me, but I decided to simply put more soap in, extra fabric softener to drown out the bad smell, and rewash the load.

A few hours later, feeling a lot less courageous, I sent my nine-year-old in to check out the smell. I opened the door and pushed her inside. She came right back out, reporting the laundry room smelled both good and bad--mostly bad. "It smells like poop," she said. "That's ridiculous," I countered. But then I began to wonder. . .

I opened the washer again to find the same horrible stench, this time even worse than before, and I began taking out each article of clothing, one by one to figure out the source of the smell. About halfway through the load I noticed signs of smeared poop on a towel and some other clothes. I couldn't believe it! How could poop have possibly gotten on all of these clothes?

There are times when you simply don't want to know the answer to your own questions. This definitely qualified as one of those times! A few articles of clothing later, I found the offender. I lifted a pair of Boston's underwear and found a huge lump of poop inside. Suddenly I realized I had washed all of our white clothing with poop--not once, but twice!

How could this happen? I was mortified, frustrated, and pretty much down right mad. I had cleaned up enough poop for a lifetime, let alone one week. It was then I remembered my nine-year-old telling me Boston had gone poop all by himself the other night while in her care. It had sounded like a suspicious story to me since he has a hard time getting his pants down all by himself, but I was more than ready to hear and believe a happy story about our potty training progress. I had inspected the bathroom thoroughly when I had returned a short time later and found nothing, so I was feeling pretty thrilled that Boston was making such great headway. Standing in the laundry room, holding the offensive underwear, it all became very clear to me that I had been naieve once again. I was pretty sure Boston had pooped in his pants, then put them in the dirty clothes basket in an effort to clean up (if nothing else, I sure have taught that boy how to clean up after himself), and that's how they made their way into my washer.

I scrubbed my washer, then rewashed my whites for the THIRD time, adding even more detergent and fabric softener, threw away the underwear, washed and sanitized my poopy hands once again, and decided it's a darn good thing Boston is my last child. I'm not sure I could survive the perils of potty training again. Even my sister is exhausted from all my experiences (which is extremely unfortunate considering she has a child to potty train in the next six months).

All I can say is, if you happen to be going through this wonderful adventure, I feel your pain. And if you still have children to potty train, my advice is this: stock up on hand sanitizer, carpet cleaner, and, most importantly, treats--not for the child, but for you for every time you clean up a mess!

And be prepared to deal with all the crap that goes with this glorified job--Best of luck!!!