I've become my mother…..

When I was a kid, my mom would hang a fancy blue tablecloth in front of her closet doors, move the piano bench or a kitchen stool into the room, and have us kids stand there and pose for pictures. 

It worked great -- if you ignore the ugly 80s sweaters and hair, it looks pretty darn good, maybe even professional (by 1980s standards, of course) doesn't it?

It was the 80s, so of course Mom shot on film and didn't want to waste a bunch of film, so we had to be on our best behavior for the entire photo shoot. I don't remember having professional pictures (aside from our yearly school pictures) until we were seniors and got to have senior pictures done. Yet our childhoods are very well documented, thanks to my mom's bedroom-turned-photo-studio.

I realized last week as I hung a tablecloth in front of the closet doors in my craft room, I have become my mother.

I really wanted to take some pictures of my kids together and Valentine's day seemed like the perfect excuse to snap a few. I told them all I wanted for Valentine's day was a few updated pictures of them. How could they argue with that?

The little girls were happy to pose for me while I figured out if the tablecloth would even work.

Despite their help, I wasn't in love with the tablecloth (sorry Mom). I remembered seeing something on Pinterest about making a photo background out of plastic tablecloths. So that's what I did. It took me six tablecloths to fill the space, but they worked so great, because they are long enough to cover from floor to ceiling (I kept getting carpet in the shots with my cloth tablecloth). My professional photographer friends would probably cringe at my makeshift background, but it worked.. and it was cheap! I held the tablecloths up with push pins, and added the "I love you" banner I found on sale at Hobby Lobby.

Now, came the hard part: getting all four kids in the same place at the same time. I wanted to use natural light, so I was hoping to get them together before it got dark. 

Like that would ever happen.

My kids are busy! The big kids weren't home much all week, between school, basketball practice, basketball games, and church class.

So I had to come up with a compromise.

That compromise was to take their pictures individually and piece them together into one picture later. It took a couple of days, but I finally got at least one good picture of each kid (my standards for a "good" picture have been lowered immensely over the years… we're talking if their eyes are open, it's a keeper!).

I put the four pictures together into one using an app called "pic collage." It was super easy, and a creative way to get around the my-children-are-never-home problem!

I also used the Pic Collage app to make individual valentine greetings. We sent these to grandparents, godparents, cousins, aunts, and a few other special people. It was easy, cheap, and fun, and who doesn't love getting a cute picture in the mail?

I guess it's not so bad to be turning into my mother… if only I had her photography skills. At least I have technology on my side! 

Happy Birthday Mom!

Today is my mom's birthday. I won't tell you how old she is, because I'd like to remain her favorite child. (Yes, I know there are three of us, but I'm pretty sure I'm her favorite.) What I'd like to do instead, is tell you how amazing my mom is -- she's got the patience of a saint, and for some reason, it's taken me quite a few years to figure that out (I can't tell you how many years, because I also refuse to tell you how old I am!)

I’ve been writing since I was 7 years old – my first “project” was cleverly titled “Jody’s Journal.” The weekly newsletter, typed very slowly on my mom’s super-cool typewriter (hey, it was the 80s!) included all the highlights of my family’s life. I sold copies of the Journal for 25-cents a piece and while I never could talk my older sister into forking over a quarter for her very own copy, my grandmothers were faithful subscribers, and probably even bought more than one copy. More than 30 years later, I realize I never thanked them for reading my literary masterpiece and for making me believe I was a brilliant writer. I never thanked my mom either, who never once complained about all the paper I wasted or all the correction fluid I used (I think I made mistakes on purpose because correcting them on the typewriter was so much fun!)

This morning as I cleaned up scraps of paper piled on top of my computer keyboard I thought of my mom’s patience, and that kept me from freaking out on my 14-year-old daughter, who made the mess I somehow got stuck cleaning up. As I thought of my mom and of my childhood, I calmly cleaned up the papers, found the keyboard, and when the computer finally came to life, I smiled when I saw what my daughter had been printing and cutting out: she was printing inspirational quotes. Some of them were really great, and exactly what I would tell her if she asked for my advice. So how could I be mad?

As a mother of four creative kids, I spend a lot of time cleaning up the messes brought on by a burst of creativity. I find myself thinking about my own childhood, and my own mother, as I clean. How did she not lose her mind cleaning up our messes? My little brother used to raid the kitchen cupboards for things to use on his farm: mini marshmallows became hay bales, cans of soup/peaches/vegetables were grain bins (once the labels were peeled off). Mom never yelled. When the marshmallow hay bales dried up, she quietly cleaned them up and threw them away. One by one, she took back the grain bins, and upon discovering what was inside the can, made us something delicious to eat.

My four-year-old is currently obsessed with taking notes – she never goes anywhere without a pen and paper and leaves papers scattered throughout the house. I get annoyed, and sometimes I yell at her. And then I realize, it is just paper. My mom never yelled at me for my paper messes. Her patience with my habit of using up all the paper and typewriter ink was nothing short of amazing. In fact, I think her patience and encouragement likely shaped my career: I’ve been able to make a living as a writer of some sort my entire adult life.

I should probably tell my mom thank you and happy birthday. I would write her a thank you letter, or a birthday card, but all the paper in my house has disappeared….

Answered Prayers

Every night, I ask God to help me be a better mom.

I ask Him to make me more patient, more forgiving, and less of a perfectionist. I ask God to help me remember my kids are KIDS, and to help me take it easy on them, even if their rooms are a mess and they forget to feed the dog.

Most days, I wonder if He is listening, because I often feel like I am the world's worst mom.

But then, there are little miracles, and little signs that God is listening and is even answering my prayers.

Today, that little miracle came from my 12-year-old son.

Jake wasn't sure what time basketball practice was, so he promised to text me after school and let me know.

True to his word, he texted me.

Here's our conversation:

A few minutes later, Morgan and I arrived at Jake's school. He was standing on the sidewalk, waiting very patiently, but looking very cold. I beeped the horn so he'd see me and he ran over and hoped in.

This was our conversation:

Jake: "Mom, I just have to say, thanks for being a great mom."
Me: "Um, you're welcome."
Jake: "No, seriously. I was just thinking about how lucky I am. While I was waiting for you, I watched some other kids getting picked up by their moms and I could tell their moms aren't nearly as great as you are."
Me: "You are such a sweet talker. Keep talking."
Jake: "I'm being serious Mom. Those moms were honking and yelling at their kids and seemed really annoyed that they had to pick up their kids, and that they even had kids. So thanks for always picking me up and taking care of me."
Me: "Sorry I honked at you."

I couldn't say anything else.

What a good reminder that God really does hear my prayers, and even answers them. Sometimes it just takes awhile to realize.

So tonight, when I talk with God, I need to thank Him for listening, for helping me be a better mom than I was yesterday, and for blessing me with really great kids.

And tomorrow, I promise not to honk the horn at any of my kids.

Hunting Season

I am not a hunter.

But after being married to a hunter for nearly 17 years, I'm a seasoned hunting widow. Usually the girls and I do fun projects while the boys are off hunting, but this year, we're missing a girl.

Lexi and Jake both took their hunter safety course this summer, and this weekend, they went on their first deer hunt. It was weird not having Lexi here, and I wondered if she'd even have fun. I knew she was nervous about shooting, and worried she wouldn't get a deer. I made Brad and Jake promise not to make her nervous or tease her. I told them they're lucky she chose to be with them. 

Sunday morning I woke to a text... and a picture....

She is absolutely glowing! There aren't many things that put that big of a smile on her face. Apparently hunting is one of them!

I'm happy for her, and I'm happy for Brad. What a great way to spend some quality time with your teenage daughter! Lexi said now that she's gone hunting, and got a deer, she "gets" why Dad likes hunting so much...it's the adrenaline rush. She is so her father's daughter.

But while I'm super happy for Lexi and Brad, I'm sad for Jake. The kid who has been patiently waiting for his turn to be the hunter for the past ten years, didn't get a deer. He had a couple of opportunities, but he's 12... and then there's the adrenaline.. it's not always our friend. There will be more hunting trips for Jake (he's already planning a pheasant hunting trip for Saturday).

And, it seems there will also be more hunting trips for Lexi.

Brad is over the moon.

RIP Bob

They say dogs become a part of our families.

"They" are right.

Tonight, we are trying to figure out what to do now that our dog Bob is gone.

The truth is, Bob has been such a fixture in our family, we kind of took him for granted. We always assumed he'd be there. 

Bob was born December 14, 2000 and came to live with us on February 4, 2001.

Things were different in February of 2001.

There was no Jake.

There was no Lizzy, and no Morgan.

We lived in a different house.

Lexi was just a toddler.

Bob came into our family, and he just "fit."

He was the "big guy" of the litter.. full grown, he was still the "big guy", weighing more than 30 pounds more than his brothers and sisters. Maybe that's why he fit in so well - we are a family full of "big" guys and gals. There was just something about him that Brad thought was cool, so he picked him.

He made a good choice.

Bob was a great dog. He was a natural hunter, gentle with the kids, never chewed or dug holes.

If there's a perfect dog, then Bob was it.

Oh the memories......

He's named Bob because when we got him, Lexi was obsessed with Veggie Tales and it was either name the dog Bob, or the baby (who turned out to be Jake). We laughed, but the name was perfect for him. Jake called him Boob, which made us laugh too.

There was the time Lizzy buttered Bob.

And the times when Lexi and Jake were little they'd put a leash on him, throw a ball into the lake, and then hold on for the ride of their lives.

And then there are the hunting stories. Brad has millions of them - I just wish he would have taken pictures of Bob with all his pheasants. That dog was a natural. Bob used to get excited when Brad would clean his shotgun. He just knew something fun was about to happen.

He loved beer, steak, half-eaten hot dogs, and scotcharoos. He'd even been known to eat a loaf of bread (including the bag) if given the opportunity. 

We loved him so much and I'm not really sure what we'll do without Bob. Our Christmas pictures will never be the same -- one family member will always be missing. But I'm happy to have the pictures, and the memories. I put some of the best ones together for the kids to watch. We watched it, and cried, and then cried some more. 

Today, I was with Bob when he left this world. We made the decision to put him down. It was time. He lived a good life, and his body was worn out. We were being selfish keeping him around. We knew that, but it was still the hardest decision we've ever made, and today's trip to the vet was the hardest thing I've ever done. We drove around for awhile because I just wasn't ready to say goodbye. It's silly... Bob was Brad's dog, but he weaseled his way into my heart the first month he lived with us. I'm so glad I was with him as he took his last breath today. He looked at me, put his head down, and took a big breath. And that was it. Just like that. It was the most peaceful thing ever. Still, my heart is broken, and I am a blubbering mess, but I know that old man Bob had a good life, and I like to think we are better people because we had Bob. And something tells me, Bob is in a better place now - licking up spilled beer, chasing pheasants, and swimming in heaven's lakes. 

Someone sent me this poem about a man and his dog... it's worth reading and sharing. Just click here. And after you read it, go give your dog a big hug!

Choose Your Battles

Stuff like this used to totally stress me out:

These are the actual shoes Morgan wore to church this morning.
This was our conversation when I questioned her choice in footwear:

Me: "Morgan, your shoes don't match."
Morgan: "Well, my other flip flop is broken, so I thought I'd just wear a boot on that foot."

I couldn't argue with her logic, so I let it go. I snapped a quick picture and thanked my lucky stars we were actually leaving the house fully-clothed and on time.

She attracted a lot of attention at church, and everywhere else we went.  If anyone dared question her footwear, Miss Confident matter-of-factly explained why she was wearing one rain boot and one flip flop.

I figure someday she will look back on her ridiculous outfits and be really mad at me for letting her leave the house looking so silly.

Or maybe she won't.

Something tells me Morgan will always be confident and strong-willed in all aspects of life, including fashion.

Meantime, today's fashion statement was a perfect reminder of my motto: choose your battles.

This was definitely not worth fighting over, but definitely worth snapping a picture of!

Another Day in the Life

For a few minutes this afternoon, I thought I was starring in a sitcom. It was one of those times that Murphy warned us about - you know, the times when everything that could go wrong, did go wrong. And what happened was so ridiculous it couldn't have actually been for real. It would have been a really funny tv show. Turns out, it was actually just another day in my life.

The three youngest kids and I were gone for the weekend. We got back mid-afternoon. I planned to be back early so we'd have a nice relaxing afternoon before heading to a Boy Scout event this evening. 

I should know better than to plan.

Upon carrying my first load of stuff from the van to the house I realized the kitchen smelled terrible. I figured there must be something rotting in the fridge. I'd been meaning to scrub the fridge anyway, so that's what I did. It wasn't until I was done sanitizing the fridge that I realized the stench was coming from a bowl of tomatoes on the kitchen counter. I'd picked them from the garden last week but never had time to freeze them. Apparently someone realized they smelled bad, and instead of throwing them out, just covered them with a dishtowel. 

So, I then proceeded to toss the rotten tomatoes (and resisted the urge to throw them at anyone, mostly because I knew I'd be the one that would end up cleaning up that mess). The next logical step in my very illogical thought process was to empty the dishwasher. That led to the realization that the dirty dishes from Friday hadn't been washed. 

I kind of freaked out then.

About the time I was freaking out, I remembered that Friday was milk day. I didn't remember bringing the milk in so I had the little girls check the milk box. They found the five half-gallons of milk we'd forgotten to bring in on Friday morning.

I told them to dump it outside and throw the empty cartons away. 

I have no idea why I said that, or what possessed them to actually listen to me (they're not the best listeners or direction-followers).

They dumped four of them out before I realized how dumb my instructions were. Now my rock garden was filled with two gallons of milk-turned-stinky-cottage-cheese-like-substance. It looked like someone had gotten sick outside our house, and I almost got sick when I saw it.

Of course I yelled at them, and they replied "you told us to do it."

I hate when my kids point out  my mistakes.

So, my next great idea was to have them clean it up. We don't have a faucet in the front of the house, so I had them carry buckets of water out to clean it up. That didn't work so well, so I decided to just do it myself (I have control issues). I hooked the hose up (we have to put the hose away after every use or the dog chews holes in it) to the faucet on the side of the house, pulled it through the garage, and turned the water on. That's when I realized the hose had been left out last week, and the dog found it. 

Water sprayed everywhere. 

In my face. 

Across the garage. 

Everywhere but where I wanted it to go, which was on the vomit-looking pile. 

I should apologize to any neighbors who may have been outside at this time. They may have heard some ugly words - I may have even made up some new naughty words. Oops. My bad. I'm truly sorry. I hate swear words, but I was so *#?&%*#@ mad!

At this point I figured what the hell (sorry, naughty word again... I get *#$&%? just thinking about it!).. I've already made a mess in the garage, I might as well keep going. So I duct taped the holes the best I could and started spraying the milk-turned-stinky-cottage-cheese-pukey-looking-pile from the rocks. 

And then I realized that with the hose pulled through the garage door, the door wouldn't close all the way, and the same dog I was so mad at for chewing holes in the hose, saw a glimpse of freedom and zoomed past me and down the street.

Thank goodness for teenage girls who can run fast (they run even faster when they're scared of their crazy moms, by the way). Lexi chased him down. I put the little girls in charge of the other dog and hopped in the van to go help Lexi with the dog.  She offered to just walk him home, because I think she was still scared of me.

Of course all of this happened while Brad and Jake were at the mall buying a few football essentials (last minute, because that's how we roll). I made an angry phone call to Brad and they were home in a matter of minutes.

I must have scared him too.

But there's a lesson here. A lesson that came to me after all those other disastrous realizations and after I had chocolate in hand. My realization: I need to relax. I forget that my kids are kids (and the dog is just a puppy) and I expect them to behave like adults, when they're not even close to being adults. My unrealistic need for perfection turns me into a crazy person. I know this, and trust me, so do my kids. I need to remember that it's probably not the end of the world if the dishes don't get done every single day, or that we have a pile of cottage cheese in the front yard.