Children teach you so much...

There are a few things that I have learned since becoming a mother that I think will always be true no matter how old my children are. However, I became a mother upon saying "I do" so, some may of these tidbits could also have come from marriage...in my life the line is blurry.

1. No matter what you ask for, you will get the opposite. For the first 2 years that we have been in our house, I have begged for the toilet paper to be put on the roll (don't we all wish for this?). It was never, ever put on the roll...we were always chasing it around the floor, fishing it out of the sink or (heaven forbid) the toilet, and eventually I would be the one to put the nearly gone toilet paper in its place. I hoped for this task to be accomplished every day, that is until Fuss realized that pulling on the roll of toilet paper was a great way to make a mess! He is delighted by the way it flies through the air on to the ground, where he can tear it into little, tiny, annoying pieces. Now, I have asked everyone to please NOT put the toilet paper on the roll and to keep it out of Fuss' reach. So, now everytime I go into the bathroom, I have to take the toilet paper off the roll and set it on the counter...where they used to leave it.

2. Children imitate their parents...even the things you wished they didn't notice. Since trying to lose the extra weight that I so easily added, I have been weighing myself weekly. The other day while I was in the shower, Fuss came trapsing through the bathroom and straight into my closet (where he normally plays with my shoes). A few seconds later he comes waltzing back out with the scale in his hand, and continued out of the bathroom into my bedroom. I heard him place the scale on the floor, and a couple of seconds later I heard him whimper and cry a little. Then he proceeded back to the closet with scale in hand...and I totally understand, if I had nearly quadrupled my weight in 14 months I would be pretty upset too!

3. Children understand more than you think they do, but they try to get away with pretending that they don't. We have a mini-refrigerator that we purchased when we lived with D's parents (while our house was being built). It has been sitting in our basement since we moved in just over 2 years ago. Olie has begged for us to let him put it in his room, and finally I have given in. He was so excited that when Nana took them to the dollar store (their favorite place) Olie purchased a box of baking soda for the little fridge as his treat. We did, however, tell him that we were going to set some guidelines. Since he wants to be treated more like an adult, I had him write up some rules that he thought were fair for us to go over. After much deliberation, he told D and I that he had decided that it would be fair if he were to pay for all items that were in the fridge in his room. He would only purchase healthy snacks, a small amount of chocolate, and non-caffinated drinks or water. He explained that since he was paying for them, if his brothers wanted a soda out of his fridge then he would make them buy one from him (seemed fair). Then he broke it down for us...since a 12 pack of soda is around $5, and there are 3 of them, each could have 4 cans of soda from each pack that was bought. So, Olie decided that he would charge his brothers $.75 for a can of soda (from the fridge he was borrowing from us)...that would cover the cost of the soda. He told us this plan so innocently that it almost made us think that it hadn't been thought through that he would be making $6 off of his brothers so that all of his sodas were free for him, plus he earned himself a little extra. As I asked him if he had purchased a business license for his little money-making-scheme, he grinned sheepishly...he knew exactly what he was doing. So, when he asked for a glass of milk, I told him "$1 please."

Make it a good one...

I have come to believe that lying is an innate trait that all children must try out at some point or another.  Some children (scarily) are very good at it, while others...not so much.  Lying is one of the biggest things that I cannot tolerate, I rarely find there to be a good reason to lie.  However, on a recent job application I was asked the question, "Is it ever okay to lie?"  I honestly didn't know how to answer this.  If I were to say no, that would be a lie, because I do think that at times you really have no option but to tell a small lie to protect someone else.  There are also the times that you just neglect to tell the whole story, which my mom taught me is lying.  There are also the times when you just omit the entire story and pretend you have no idea what is going on, also lying according to my mom (and that is who told me what lying was).  However, if I were to answer this question with a yes, without having a spot for an explanation, well then that is just a stupid move if I expect to get a job from them... "Is it okay to lie?"  "Yes, but at least I am being honest about it"? Give me a break!   This really is beside the point though...because as a parent, I maintain that lying is never okay, but sometimes funny.

Moo is one of the very worst of liars, and as one of his parents it is very hard for me to keep a straight face when confronting him with his lies!  I am hoping this is just a phase, and that he will realize there is no point to lying and get over it, but in the meantime I am going to enjoy it (not that I am pleased that our child lies...but come on we need some entertainment).  Yesterday I had an early morning meeting which the boys accompanied me to.  Moo is much like his dad in that he hates waking up in the morning...it is a long, drawn out, and whiney time.  Since Moo refused to wake up in time to get dressed, he went to the meeting in his pajamas, which did not match.  During the entire meeting, and the 2 minute car ride home, he complained and refused to be pleasantly social with his brothers or the other kids that were forced into this torture.  So, as soon as we arrived home I told Moo that he needed to go take a nap and get over his attitude.  He acted like he was going downstairs to his room, but then ran up stairs to the family room when I turned my back (I heard him, but hoped he would just fall asleep on the couch or something so, I let him go).  About an hour later he came down to my office to ask me something.  I asked him if he had taken a nap like I had told him to.  He responded, "Yes."  Knowing that he hadn't, I asked, "How long of a nap did you take?"  He told me, "I slept until 2 o'clock." I looked at the clock on my computer...12:15.  When I pointed out to him that it wasn't even 2:00 yet, I repeated my question about whether he had taken a nap.  He lowered his head and under his breath sighed, "No."  I told him that lying wasn't acceptable, and that he wouldn't have been in trouble for not taking a nap if he was pleasant to be around, but he needed to go to time out for lying.  After 7 minutes (because he is 7 years old...I remember the rules of time out) I went to the corner that is "time out" at our house, to discuss, forgive, and try again, like a good mom would do.  Hoping to effect a change in behavior I asked Moo if he knew why he was in time out.  He got this really puzzled look on his face and replied, "Because you told me to come here."  So, I asked, "Why did I tell you to come to time out?"  He threw his hands in the air like he could not believe we were having this conversation and said, "Don't you remember when I lied to you?"  The child thinks I'm crazy...

Today, I was getting ready to leave for another errand when Skater rushed into my room to tell me that Moo was "swinging a Nintendo DS charger, and it was hitting the walls and the pantry door."  I walked out to find Moo sitting on the stairs, and I asked him if what Skater had said was true.  The reply, "Skater always lies about me...he is lying!"  Skater was not going to be the bad one, so he immediately protested, "No Moo, you were swinging a DS charger, and you hit the walls.  I saw you!"  This is the clincher that tells me Moo doesn't understand the purpose of a lie, "No, it was a game boy charger, but I didn't do it!"   Really? You didn't? Then why correct the type of charger?  I just pray that he gets over this before he gets good at it!

Did you think about that first...

As we were preparing for a group 4-wheeler ride at our family reunion, one of D's aunts suggested that we all wear long pants and t-shirts to protect ourselves from the sun and the dust. Another of the aunts, Boo, realized that she hadn't prepared for such an adventure while packing, and had to opt to wear the shorts and tank top that she had brought. As we gathered around to pair up riders, Boo's husband appeared from the cabin with one of his short-sleeved shirts for his wife to wear. As he handed her the shirt, we all remarked how sweet it was that he made this most generous and selfless offer without even being prompted. He responded that he wanted this moment recorded (here you go!). I have heard the request for recording kind gestures from husbands (or just men) frequently. If you ask a man he would probably tell you it is because we as women never remember the selfless acts that they do. I am here to disagree. It is not because we don't remember. It is because every time they make such a prince-like gesture, it is canceled out by the thoughtless comments or things that they do...and I do mean thoughtless. I do not think, by any means, that men set out to say or do stupid (and that really is the best way to put it) things to their wives, girlfriends, or other women in general. I think that they don't think about it and that is what gets them in trouble. For example.....

#1. It has probably been 10 years, at least, since a family conversation where we were discussing "original weights." (I know what you are thinking, why didn't we just call it our birth weight, but for some reason I don't think that the original "original weight" referred to birth weight...it was more like a desired previous weight.) Anyhow, I made the comment that I would like to be about 20 times my original weight (at 6 lbs 6 oz at birth, this would put me around 130ish pounds as an adult). My dad quickly countered my idea by telling me that was impossible since I was already about "1000 times" my original weight. Appalled I declared that I was by no means over 6000 pounds! He quickly shook his head and apologized by saying, "I'm sorry! I didn't mean 1000, I meant 100 times." Really? Because telling your daughter she is heavier than 600 pounds is better than 6000 pounds? Ten times would have been just as (or more) unbelievable, but much better choice of apologetic correction...

#2. My dear, close friend, Angel, recently received a promotion at work. This promotion now allows her to work out of her home. Her physical activity at work has been greatly reduced, and she has more of a "desk job" then she previously had. Her husband (who is also a dear friend to us) unthinkingly expressed his concern by telling her that he would buy her an office chair that was perfectly fit to her derriere in it's current proportions. The purpose for this was that it would prevent her from allowing her rear end to get larger. What sane person can tell me that this comment was thought through before being spoken by a loving husband?

#3. D and I were to attend a dinner party hosted by his employer. Since I had not met most of the people that he works with, nor had I met any of their spouses, I was concerned about making a good impression. I was pregnant with Fuss at the time, and was very sensitive about how quickly I was gaining weight. As a means for reassurance, not really needing a real answer, I asked D, "Am I going to be the fattest and ugliest wife there?" Now, I know that there are a million correct answers to this question, even if they are untrue answers. Something like, "Of course not! To me you are beautiful and you always will be." Or "I don't even pay attention to other women, but I do know that you are the most beautiful to me." Something sweet and reassuring...that is all I was asking for. So, my husband's response..."I don't know. I haven't seen all the other wives." Now tell me that was thought through first...

#4. D and I were shopping at Babies 'R Us with our darling, little, binki-addicted Fuss, when D suggested that he go purchase a new binki since Fuss has a habit of throwing and losing them. Of course I agreed with this unexpected forethought from my husband, especially because Fuss likes a particular brand and style of binki, which is found at BRU. The binki Fuss likes is round and blue, and not hard to identify amidst the selection of binki options in a store. D left my side to go find and purchase the binki while I continued to shop. I, of course, assumed that D would be purchasing the brand and style that Fuss used. Upon his return to the shopping center D had Fuss still sitting in the cart with his new binki in his mouth...much to my dismay. D had gotten the brand right, but the style was nothing like the other 15 identical binkies that we had purchased over the past several months. The binki that D had purchased was green, softer, and so wide it had handle bars. Had D thought to consult me before purchasing the new gigantor binki that my son is not allowed to use in public, or even before opening it and allowing Fuss to put it in his mouth, this would have been a great achievement for the record...had he only thought about it first.

That's what friends are for...

Throughout our lives we accumulate (for lack of a better word) friends.  There are some friends that will be in our lives for only a short time, and then there are those that stick.  The ones that stick forever are usually few in number and you come to cherish those friends as a life line to your own sanity.  I have a few of these friends, the ones that I know that no matter what we will always be there for each other...and I love them like sisters.  My friend, Lois, and I have been friends for probably going on 12 years now.  We are of one mind and one soul.  I think we were twins split up in Heaven.  Sometimes it scares me how much we think alike (if you knew her thoughts, it might scare you too).  We aren't friends that talk daily or weekly (anymore), but when one of us needs the other, we know that the other will always be there.  And by "be there" I mean, if the other one needs to be laughed at, reprimanded, made fun of, cried with, or the like, we give each other a call or email, physically we haven't even seen each other in almost 3 years, but that doesn't matter.  I love Lois because I know that no matter what I have done, she will make me see the path that I should have taken...for example...upon hearing about my skirt incident at church, she sent me the following email (editing is for names and a tiny bit of clarity only...the words and the meaning have been left intact):

"You should be ashamed of yourself for trying to seduce the unsuspecting elders with your totally unprovoked striptease!  How do you think that made your child feel?  And did you even think about the way it might effect D?  Did you even ask him before you just opened up your marriage for swinging?  I mean, I know that you have a strong sexual urge, and that you always have been inappropriate and immodest, but come on...church.  Where else can people go to shelter or seclude themselves from all the worldly pressures and undue improper harassment?  And just so you know, the fact that you quickly repented (mostly because you were already in the company of a bishop and counselors), does not make it right.  You know as well as I that if something is preplanned and carried out, a simple "sorry I stripped at church, it won't happen again" just doesn't cut it.  That image will be burned into the minds of so many people, and they will fight to make it stop.  I hope your carnal desires have been satisfied for the time being.  And I will do my best not to bring it up again.  Everyone deserves a second chance."

If responses like that don't make you feel better about your mistakes, what will? Thanks to Lois, I have seen the light and my clothes will now remain on throughout every church meeting!  What would I do without her?  To me, that is the joy of my friends...life is too short to hide in embarrassment when things go wrong, so together we help each other find the laughter in all things...even the humiliating!  This is a tribute to Lois, Hero, and Angel...because they always help me to laugh in the midst of crying, and cry in the midst of laughing (mostly because I am laughing so hard), and to all my other friends, even those I don't see or talk to often, you are in my heart and you make life enjoyable!  

On an end note, I would like to share one last thought from Lois on parenting: "Can't we just freeze [our children] so that we can thaw them out when we are all rested and ready to parent?  And then, when the going gets rough, we could just stick them in again.  Oh well, they sure do make us tired, and upset, and scared, and annoyed, but aren't they the greatest things ever!"  

My thoughts exactly...

We are family...

When I was young a family reunion consisted of 1 afternoon of just a few hours in which my mom made sure that we had on matching, attractive clothing (usually new-ish), our hair was neatly combed, and we were on our best behavior for the hours that we were at the reunion.  In my dad's family a reunion consisted of a picnic at the park where each family brought their own lunch and sat at their own table, and then we went at played at the playground with our own cousins.  The only thing that made it a reunion was that my parents and grandparents spoke with the other people who were eating their own lunches at their own tables in the same pavilion we were eating in.  Their children would play at the same playground my immediate family was playing at, but we rarely spoke to them.  It was all about impression.  We went to appease my grandma, who loved a good reunion, and I am still not sure what constitutes a "good" reunion.

With my mom's family, we rarely had a true reunion (maybe we didn't like each other, I don't know).  We did have 1 annual family party that was held at my grandpa's sister's house every year on the 24th of July.  Even though it wasn't technically a "reunion," my mom held us to the same expectations as a regular reunion.  We were to talk only to our immediate cousins, just kidding.  This yearly party was a barbecue/pool party.  As children, we loved this party.  Our great aunt had a built in swimming pool in her backyard, which made her by far the coolest aunt we had (no offense to other aunts--we were kids).  Even though we were driving nearly an hour to her house in our station wagon to swim, my mom made us put on very cute clothes and would make sure that all the girls' hair was curled.  Yes, my mom curled 4 girls long hair in order to take us swimming...if that is not about making a good impression I don't really know what is.  

Today, the family reunion as I know it has changed.  It is, in my current situation,  no longer just 1 afternoon of trying to make a good impression, it is now 4 to 5 days of nonstop togetherness--and with a husband and 4 children, it is hard to keep up appearances for that long.  I am truly amazed that extended family can still love each other following events like these.  Having just returned from a wonderfully fun family reunion, I can honestly say from experience that it is impossible for me to be on my best behavior for 5 days--let alone hold my children to the same expectation.  I don't know how anyone can be expected to chase 4 children around for 5 days while her husband socializes and maintain a respectful demeanor (for the most part), and still keep up the appearance of a perfectly sane woman.  After recently reviewing some photos of this time period, I can also safely say that I did not keep up the best appearances and impressions were not all that mattered.  

Perhaps that is the purpose of the extended family reunion, to show your entire extended family the typical dysfunction that exists in your immediate one in an attempt to help the others feel better about their own family functionality.  If this is the case, we have truly been successful.  The first day of the reunion actually went pretty well...we were all still in best behavior mode.  It was the following days that I try to block out periods (hours) of time.  Whether we were breaking up fights, or fighting ourselves, D and I were going from sun-up to sun-down.  At one point I think I actually gave up for a minute...luckily Fuss needed a nap and it was best if I laid down with him.  There was chasing down the boys to make sure that they had on bike helmets or lifejackets, sunscreen and bug spray, matching clothes, hair combed, had eaten something healthy over the course of the day, that they knew where the "things" that they had brought with us were (this could include Nintendo DS, worn clothing, shoes--always looking for shoes, toothbrushes, etc).  It is hard to keep Fuss in control at our house, and I know where everything is that he can get in to here (at least I try to).  At someone else's place it is a battle to make sure that their items are not destroyed, misplaced, or somehow otherwise abused.  Needless to say this constant chasing does not constitute a good impression of myself.  And what did I learn from this experience? That it is because of extended family that we survive.  When we couldn't find Olie, Nana found him in the loft.  When I couldn't find my flip flops, D's grandpa recovered them from their hiding place under his bed.  When I allowed the wave runner to drift too close to the shore, D's uncle pushed me out.  When Skater and his cousin rowed the canoe around the bend and out of site, D's aunt flew on the wave runner to rescue (and scold) them.  Without the help of so many people, we truly may not have survived...and in the end, impressions didn't matter...at least I am pretending that they don't...for now.

Motherhood is an emotion...

Fuss was only 2 weeks old the first time I took him to my parent's house. As a first time parent of an infant, I was looking forward to the day trip simply to have someone else hold him and allow myself a break. I broke down crying the second that my sister asked if she could hold my little bundle of joy (or so I was told he would be), because my wish had come true. I was also crying because 3 of my 4 sisters (sister-in-law included) were pregnant and I realized that it would only be a very short matter of time until he was no longer the youngest, and then maybe I would have to hold him the whole time again. As I sobbed this reality to my sisters and mom, I confessed that I was the worst mom in the world. How could I want to let him go so easily so soon after his birth? My sisters readily assured me that I wasn't horrible, that I was just the first to speak out loud what they had all felt. As reassuring as this was, I was positive that things would have to get easier as he got older...oh, how I was wrong.

The emotion that a mother experiences at any given time is like ranking that emotion on a scale of 1 to 10 and then having her multiply the rank by the number of children she has plus herself, and that is what she is really feeling...still on a scale of 1 to 10. For example, I love to go 4-wheeling, but riding on the back of a 4-wheeler scares me (I like to have the control of direction, speed, and turns). So, while taking our children on a family 4-wheeling adventure, with myself on the back of D's 4-wheeler and Fuss stuffed in the middle of us, and with each of the older boys on the back of various cousins' 4-wheelers, I would normally rank my nervousness about a 9. With 4 children plus myself, I would have to give myself a total rank of 45 out of 10 in the nervous department. As a mother, I have discovered all to well that you will always feel more nervous, scared, happy, excited, joy, ecstatic, etc than you ever thought possible. Everything changes and no matter what you do it will never go back. You can't stop feeling and worrying. The difference is that instead of feeling nervous or fearful for your own safety and well-being, the heightened emotion is for your children. Activities that you once found enjoyable without a second thought will suddenly open your eyes to every danger lurking around every corner. A swim from the dock at the lake, for instance, once a fun challenge now becomes a mathematical equation based on the amount of energy of each swimmer, times their age, divided by the weight of the life jacket, added to the distance of the swim, multiplied by the speed and direction of the wind, equals that you will never be at peace when your children are doing anything that has risk!

This past week D and I took our 4 boys to a family reunion...at a lake. I love lakes. I love water activities of all sorts. I have always hoped that my children would love the water as much as I do...and they do, somewhat to my detriment. I have become acutely aware of the dangers of the water as I never have before. Fuss hates his lifejacket. Skater thinks that if he can touch the mossy rocks at the bottom then he doesn't need his lifejacket, even if the waves from the wind and boats can quickly knock him from his feet and push him to deeper waters. Moo prefers riding his bike away from all adults to swimming in a freezing cold lake where supervision is prevalent. Olie loves the water, and much to my delight is very cautious. If you ever want to know if you have truly become a parent, take your children to a place that as a single person would have been your ideal vacation. If you suddenly realize that you are no longer concerned with your own safety or your own pleasure, then you are a parent.

The thing about releasing yourself from your own self-concern, is that you also have to realize that it will never come back. As a single person, or even just a couple of dinks (double-income-no-kids), you have the right to be selfish...as a parent you don't, and as a parent you don't care. The only thing that matters is that your children are protected and safe. The only thing that matters is that you are a mother. Why do we put ourselves through this? Because at the end of the day, when you are tired beyond exhaustion, and you think that you can go no further, or when you break down in tears because you just want a break, one of those little emotional tortures will stand at your side and say, in the sweetest voice, "mom," and he will hold up his arms for you to pick him up, and he will sit in your lap, and he will wrap his arms around your neck, kiss you, and say, "iluya" and the flood of emotions you feel will be joy...joy at the rank of 10, times the number of children plus yourself, times infinite...because you are his mother.

Oh, what a moment...

The most recent event of my chaotic existence has brought me to the understanding that no matter how prepared for anything you are, you are never fully prepared.  Today started with D having to leave for church a little early, which in turn left me alone to get Fuss ready and take him to church.  This normally wouldn't be a big deal except that it was also my turn to do sharing time for the primary children, so I had props and handouts and such.  Therefore my arms were very full.  One member of our ward even commented that when we come to church, we move in...that is how much "stuff" I had.  It wasn't until we were actually at church that I realized that I did not have a binky anywhere for Fuss.  I diligently searched through my purse, my primary bag, and the diaper bag, but it was nowhere to be found.  I went out to the car, looked under the seats, around the car seat, on the ground...no binky.  There was no way that Fuss was going to make it through 3 hours of church without his binky, so D went home to get one.  There I sat, all flustered thinking about how unprepared I was, how could I forget a binky?  Did I not know the 5 B's of leaving the house (Bag, Blanky, Binky, Baba, Baby)?  D was back only about 5 minutes, when I also realized that I had also forgotten to pack his scriptures (yes, I know...I forgot--because evidentially it is my responsibility to bring my husband's scriptures to church for him), and I had forgotten the information that one of the scouts requested for help in doing his Eagle Scout project.  I started to think I was losing brain cells this morning.   Since I had also forgotten to feed Fuss breakfast before we left, and he had thrown his sippy (aka Baba) on the ground in the parking lot and the lid had popped off, his milk was nearly gone before the first hour was even half over, and I had also forgotten to pack juice.   Truly this was not my best day of preparation.  I told D I would run home this time.  I would grab the papers for the scout, get D's scriptures, and refill the empty sippy.  Little did I know that refilling the sippy would lead to my most unprepared for moment of the day so far.  I say "so far", but I am hoping for the day completely!  

Shortly after I returned, Fuss was fussing, as this is what he seems to do best.  D volunteered to take him out of the chapel into the foyer.  I thought this was a great idea.  I thought wrong.  With only 5 minutes left of the first meeting, I glanced out the back doors to see D frantically scurrying about with Fuss in his arms.  We made eye contact.  He looked angry. He showed me the empty sippy in his hand that no longer had a lid on it.  I immediately noticed the milk dripping from his hand and the cup.  He pointed to Fuss and mouthed something that I didn't understand, and frankly don't think I want to.  I quickly gathered the small picnic that Fuss had previously created on the bench.  Picked up the toy car, gathered our papers and scriptures, and as discretely as possible took my luggage out to the foyer to see the damage my son had created.  

Fuss had thrown the sippy and again the lid popped off.  Since I had wisely refilled it, approximately 12 ounces of milk flooded a spot on the floor.  There were 4 people on hands and knees with paper towels mopping up what my son had done.  D handed off Fuss to me so that he could  help with the mopping process.  As D ran off for more paper towels from the bathroom, I struggled to balance the load of bags on one arm with the load of my child in the other.  I was frazzled at this point, and contemplating why I let my easily stressed out husband be the one to take our overly tired child out of the meeting.  Fuss was trying to crawl up my body by walking up my side. As his feet pushed against the fabric of my clothing, I thought to myself, "I better just sit down with him."  It was then that I made eye contact again. This time it was with a woman sitting across the foyer.  She mouthed the words "Your SKIRT!" to me.  I looked down to see my skirt, the one that had just moments ago covered my legs, lying in a pile on the floor around my ankles.  The entire skirt did not just slip from my waist a little, but fell entirely to the floor.  Luckily, I was wearing a slip for a change.  Unluckily, when your skirt is around your ankles, you can't really run away.  How do you escape that moment?  Do you pick up the skirt and run down the hall to the bathroom while half naked?  With all my items still in arms, I quickly moved Fuss to the baggage arm and crouched as low as I could and pulled up my skirt with one hand.  I just have to say that this is not the best method for correcting a moment like this.  When pulling a skirt up with one hand it can cause the slip underneath to be pulled and bunched around the waist line.  Not to mention that it wasn't even on remotely straight, but I couldn't leave my 1 year old and my bags alone, nor could I carry them all and hold my skirt up on the trek to the bathroom.  So, I did what I had previously thought was a good idea, I sat down on the couch that was near me.  The men that had been helping mop up milk were polite and tried to look away, but let's face it...inside they were laughing as hard as I was bawling (inside...outwardly I maintained as much composure as I could).  Oh, how unprepared I was for that moment.  I didn't even feel my skirt falling.  When D returned and I explained the moment I had just been through, I also included that it was entirely his fault.  Had he not been frantically trying to get my attention and been flustered in explaining the situation to me, I would not have been flustered and may have tried to get things better situated before taking Fuss from him.  Maybe not, but I still like to think that the moment could have been prevented by something that D did.  After I had suffered the complete humiliation, I opt to forgo the responsibility.

Dry Clean Only...

Technology has brought us so far in creating quality fabrics of all kinds and simplifying the means to clean them.  We now have stain resistant everything in our homes, carpets, furniture...well, that's about it, but it is more than we used to have.  I can even wash my husband's nicest dress slacks in the washing machine without ruining them now!  It amazes and thrills me.  So, with all of this nice technology you can only imagine my surprise when I decided that after several months of use it was time to renew the look of the seat cover to Fuss' highchair, and found that the care instructions were "Dry Clean Only."  Seriously, when making this adorably cute highchair that matches the colors of my kitchen, did the manufactures forget the age of the children that would be using it?  Have they never seen a child eat?  Were they more worried about the rounded fit of the seat that would hold the cute little bottom in place, and the convenient lift-off-the-tray-to-wash top, that they forgot about the arms that would throw Spaghetti-O's and juice from above the tray?  Did they not even take the time to consider that it was even a possibility that any of these items might actually land or splash onto the seat cover itself?  Who are these people that while bringing joy to the decorative accessory of the kitchen, also cause greater anxiety by these care for instructions?  I can see why they may not think this is such a big deal, I mean as a mother I have plenty of available time to load my children into the car, drive to the dry cleaners, pay for same day service, drive home, sit around doing absolutely nothing but waiting for the chance to leave my house again, reload the kids in the car, drive back to the dry cleaners, drive back home, and replace the adorable seat cover that I will stand to admire for hours on end...seriously, no inconvenience whatsoever??    And since my child rarely spills on his highchair, if I were to actually do this activity as needed, it should only cost me about $100 a month for the gas and the cleaning.  Now, I know I do have the option of not paying for the same day service, but in the time that the highchair seat is not in position, where do they expect me feed my child?  Should I feed him in the $600 stain-resistant recliner, or do I opt for the couch, since the slip covers can easily be removed and thrown in the washing machine (What a novel idea--a seat cover that can be washed in a washing machine, in my home...).  Or perhaps I can set him on the bar stools that are too high for him to sit on safely, but at least he would still be over the tile floor where spills are most easily wiped up.  I could let him sit on the floor, we have stain-resistant carpet (or so that manufacturer tells us, but that is another whole story).  There is always the option of holding him on my lap at the dinner table, since that is a very enjoyable way for me to have my dinner.   I have no solution for this, but let's just say that I do know through my own sources, that if you were to protest these "care for" instructions, and forego any warranty that the highchair may or may not have, and actually just wash the seat cover in the washing machine, any damage that is done to it is internal and will never be noticed by the diaper clad butt of a 1 year old.  You might also be rewarded by the curiosity of your 1 year old realizing for the first time that there are cute animals on the back fabric of his chair--they just needed a bath.

Mail Call...

I remember when I was kid, we used to get so excited to get the mail for our mom.  It seems ridiculous, but that is what childhood is, finding pleasure in the simplest of tasks.  My brothers and sisters and I would run up the stairs (yes, up...we lived on the downhill slope of a mountain) to the mailbox.  The first one to reach the mailbox would use his or her body to block the others from being able to open it.  With his chest pressed against the box, he would slide one hand up and open the box just enough to allow his other hand to enter from the small gap.  The hand grabbing the mail would be tightly pressed between the mailbox and his body.  He would have to grab the mail quickly, before anyone else the chance to reach a hand in and take it out from under him (which did happen since the metal door on the mailbox opens symmetrically).  The excitement of this task was always heightened if we were able to have the mail handed directly to us from the mailman himself.  We had a good mailman and he would split the mail between the children that were waiting as much as possible so that we could all participate.  

I have to admit, I don't love getting the mail anymore.  In fact, when D asks me to go get the mail I kind of roll my eyes and sulk away to the place where the bills are delivered.  Every time I get mail it is from people who either want money from me, or people who want me to apply to get money from them so that they can get even more money from me in the end.  I don't even like getting mail on my birthday, who wants to get a bill on their birthday?  However, the tradition and excitement continues.  Our boys find great pleasure in getting the mail.  Olie actually called me on the 4th of July to make sure that I didn't get the mail without him.  As soon as we had arrived home from a days activities (the parade was only the start) he and D trekked about collecting the flags that the Boy Scouts had placed in yards that morning.  Olie asked me not to send someone else to get the mail, he wanted to be able to do it when he got home...now that is dedication.  When I reminded him that we didn't get mail on holidays, he was slightly disappointed.  It got me thinking though, getting the mail is a completely different experience these days.  There is no meeting the mailman at the curb and having the mail hand-delivered to you.  There isn't even a mailbox at our curb.  Our mailbox is a "community box" halfway down the street.  Even if we were to meet the mailman there, he doesn't know us, so he wouldn't just hand over our mail.  We would have to stand there and watch him put the mail in our "box" and then lock the "box" back up so that we can unlock the box that he just locked and remove the mail that we just watched him put in there. It is similar to hiding a toy from a toddler in your hand, but the toy is slightly too big to be completely hidden so when you ask them what hand it is in, if they guess wrong you start to worry about their intelligence level.  That is what the joy of getting the mail has come to.  Although, I am no longer excited about getting the mail, our children still are.   For the last 2 weeks that the boys have been with us, Olie asked me everyday if he could go get the mail.  He was thrilled when our next door neighbors went on vacation and he was able to get the mail for both us and them.  Double the fun!  One day he returned with only 1 pile of mail and announced that since ours was just "junk mail" he didn't worry about keeping it separated.  I was very tempted to just throw the double stack of coupons in the neighbors pile, but I like them, so I separated them and threw my own away.  During this 2 weeks, it was also brought to my attention that the boys realize the thrill of mail leaves as you get older.  What a sad reality for a child...  Olie came back from retrieving the mail one day and announced that "there were no bills!"  He quickly grinned and followed up with, "Do I get a treat for that, for not bringing back any bills?"  What a kid won't do for some candy...truth is, if he could repeat the task daily (without disposing of anything along the way) I would buy him a freaking candy store!  I do have to admit though, that I feel kind of sorry for the boys.  They will never get to experience the race to the mailbox with the anticipation of being first and receiving the award of retrieving the mail that their parents don't want.  They know who will get to open the mailbox...the one who has the key.

As I was pondering what getting the mail has become, I also started to question what else this new system of mail security was affecting...so, as we were standing in our driveway one afternoon I asked.  "Do you know what our address is?  If you were lost, where would you tell someone you lived?"  Moo just said that he didn't know.  Skater shrugged his shoulders and told me that they were only there sometimes, so he didn't know either.  Olie looked at the address block attached to the front of our house and read it aloud to me.  At least he knew where to find it.  I honestly started to feel guilt about being such a horrible parent that I hadn't taught our boys their address, even if it was just their every other weekend home.  So, I asked them, "Do you know your address at your mom's home?"  Skater proudly rolled his eyes as if questioning why I would even ask such a ridiculous question...of course he did, "P.O. Box..."  I pray that they never get lost!

Oh say, who can't see...

I love parades! I love being a part of a crowd, cheering on the beauty queens (since I never was and never will be one...I choose to live vicariously through those on the float), city floats, large balloons, and high school bands. I love watching the horses of all sizes pulling various wagons for various people of various causes. It seems that no matter what your purpose, cause, or company your message can be delivered effectively by horse and buggy. It was my love of parades that prompted my family's 4th of July activities. I had this great idea that we would wake up early and drive the hour, fight the traffic, and enjoy the festivities of the "American Freedom Festival." The day would start with the launching of the hot air balloons. I warned D and the boys for several days that the balloon launch started at 6:30 a.m. This meant that we would have to leave our house by 5:30 at the very latest, earlier if we wanted to park beforehand. I prefaced this with, "I want to have an enjoyable day. I do not want fighting or complaining about how early it is. If you do not want to go, let me know now and I will make other arrangements for you." Every single guy in my family agreed to accompany me. The boys showered early the night before and were in bed by 9:00 p.m., voluntarily! Fuss refused to go to sleep early, but with a little coaxing he seemed to realize he didn't have much choice. Sleep finally came for me, until the alarm rang at 4:00 the next morning. I hit the snooze...repeatedly. By 4:45 a.m. I decided that I could no longer prolong what I had started. I showered and started to get ready. At 5:15 I went downstairs and woke up the boys. I came back up to wake up my husband, who is not a morning person at 7:00, let alone at 5:15, which started the day off just as I had imagined but tried to avoid. Through the morning chaos of 6 exhausted people getting ready, we managed to get loaded in the car...camera, stroller, chairs, blanket, diaper bag, snacks, and yes, the kitchen sink. By 5:45 we were on the road. Normally our 15 minute delay would be no challenge for D, but as soon as we hit the freeway a Highway patrolman pulled in front of us and helped us to maintain the speed limit perfectly...all the way there. We arrived late and missed the launch of the balloons, but I was glad to see that the boys were fascinated by the large hot air balloons above us as we drove, and drove, and drove to find parking. Olie told us he had never seen a hot air balloon in real life before. Their excitement started to make me feel confident that the early morning adventure (and the earlier morning fight between unhappy D and I) was worth the effort of getting there. By the time we parked we had missed the launch of every balloon, but we still walked toward the field they were launching from. I was hoping that we would be able to see at least 1 land and that the boys would be able to see a balloon up close. We had to walk about 6 blocks through crowded streets to make it to the launching field. By the time we got there, D was worn out, Moo was still tired and not the most chipper child you have ever seen. He practically had to be dragged by D to keep up with the rest of us. Skater had stepped in front of a car pulling out of a parking lot and almost been hit, and Fuss was humming from his stroller. D was not in the mood to sit amongst the crowd waiting for balloons to land and suggested that we just move on to the parade. I was not about to tell my crowd-hating husband that we would have to back track, so I took him on a longer journey to get to the parade route. As we were walking we discovered that there was parking available for $5 right in between the balloons and the parade route, within 3 blocks of both. Needless to say, this discovery was not responded to well. By the time we reached the parade route we had walked nearly 1 1/2 miles. D had not worn very good walking shoes, which just added to his frustration. I have to admit that although I did anticipate some resistance to the activities, I took some great joy in the fact that the one who was complaining was the one who should have known to be better prepared--therefore I released myself from feeling any responsibility.

When we finally hit the parade route, the area was packed with people whom had spent the night to "save their places", or by those whom I can only assume live closer than we do. We ended up sitting on the road in the middle of a crosswalk--the only place we could find that was large enough to fit us all. We had a blanket for the boys to sit on, but the only place to lay it was behind another family's chairs. D and I had brought chairs for ourselves, but not the boys. We settled in as best we could and tried to save places for other members of my family (who do live closer, but were not yet there). Then the adventures began. Fuss had a dirty diaper, which had to be changed while he laid in the stroller, and there was no place to throw it away. Skater and Moo were lying on the blanket in the middle of the road fighting about who was closer to the edge. Olie sat in my chair while I followed Fuss as he wandered the streets fighting the crowd for entertainment. By this point we still had 2 hours before the parade even started! My sister brought relief when she showed up with breakfast, until Moo realized he would have rather gotten what Olie did. By the beginning of the parade we had filled in our small section of road with KM's family of 4, Gillette's family of 5, our family of 6, and my parents. We consisted of a wheelchair (my mom), 7 chairs, 2 blankets, and 2 strollers. The entire crosswalk (which was just a 2 lane road with a left hand turn lane) had well over 100 people in it, squishing us like little sardines who need to make new friends. The kids hadn't been able to see, so the family in front of us kindly offered to let them sit on their blanket in front of the crowd. Although this seemed like a great resolution, I soon came to realize that it is much harder to yell at your children to sit down so they don't get run over, to stop fighting, and to be nice with strangers lined up in between you and them. It was within the first 10 minutes of the parade that the sun came to it's peak and Olie complained that he was hot and asked if we could go home. Two hours of waiting had worn him out, but there was no way I was leaving at that point--I came to see a parade, and by golly that is what we were going to do! By mid-parade Skater was getting frustrated that he wasn't able to catch the many pieces of candy and random other items that were being thrown from the floats. Moo was crying because Skater was sitting too close to him. Olie elbowed Moo in the stomach for reasons that I am still unsure of. Fuss was exhausted and refused to go to sleep. Although, he was absolutely fascinated by the bands, horses, and motorcycles, the floats really did nothing for him and caused his attention to fluctuate, which in turn caused his fussiness to increase. My nephew was crying because his little brother had his hat. My niece was upset because she didn't have a chair beside her mom. All the while my dad was taking pictures of the reality that is a family outing. By the last 10 minutes of the parade we had spent ridiculous amounts of money purchasing 4 bottles of water and 8 Otterpops. We had stopped 1 bloody nose, broken up 3 fights, been poked with the mini flags Fuss was holding at least 6 times, changed seats 4 times, repacked the diaper bag in an attempt to find something at least twice, spilled 1 Diet Coke that ran towards the lady in front of us, changed 1 diaper, served 3 bottles to the babies, and moved to let people through more times than D would like to remember. D asked if we could start walking back to the car early--of course I refused, we came to see the parade and we were going to do it clear to the end! And through of all this adventure, I was brought to the realization that I loved parades...when I was single.

Defining Moments...

My older brother was not very old, I want to say early elementary school age, when he told my mom he "felt like a word without a definition."  Honestly, at that point in life I can totally understand.  It is through life's experiences that our self purpose is defined, and in most lives I would say by age 7 we haven't really had many of those defining moments. Today is the anniversary of an event in my life that I wouldn't necessarily say completely "defined" my life, but it definitely added a line to the alternate definitions. 

It was 9 years ago, July 6 at 11:00 a.m.  I was driving north on the freeway with KM, Agee, and our cousin Belle.  It only took a few seconds for all 4 of our lives to change forever.  A day that was meant to be spent in fun and laughter was altered to a day of grief and fear, but it also became a day of hope and faith.  Although this is a more solemn subject than I usually share, I want to share some of the things that I came to know as complete truth that day.  I was driving Agee's car to take my 2 youngest sisters and my cousin swimming at the lake up the canyon. This was an activity that I frequented with my friends.  Belle was a lifeguard and the rest of us had been to the lake so water safety was not something that we felt would be an issue, but for some reason I had this nagging feeling that we shouldn't go.  We hadn't been on the road for very long when I needed to move over to allow another car to merge.  There was a car in the lane to the right of us, which I believe sped up, but whether I misjudged his distance I will never know in this life.  Either way, I started to move and the other car was there.  I swerved back to our original lane, but that was now occupied by the merging driver.  I was stuck in a car that I was unfamiliar with and didn't know how to handle.  It took just one split second, just one wrong move and we were rolling on the freeway.  As our car flipped forward and to the right, Belle was catapulted out of the back that didn't have a top on it.  The rest of us remained in the car as Belle was using the freeway as a trampoline, bouncing around as if she were a rag doll.  Our car finally settled (somewhat) by balancing on the edge of the top of a hill on the wrong side of the concrete barriers.   We were just south of the overpass facing south.  How we landed further south than we had begun, since we were driving north, is still a mystery that no one has been able to answer. However, our landing spot is highly significant to the survival of my 2 younger sisters.  I don't know how long I was unconscious, but I know I was because I remember waking up.  The roof of the car was caved in and holding Agee's head in an unnatural position.  KM was unconscious in the back of the car, sprawled across the seat.  I was still buckled in my seatbelt, but somehow my legs were hanging out of the side window, and the steering wheel was pushed in over my stomach. My seat was broken in 2 piece by a lengthwise split.  My position was also significant, not only because had I not been twisted sideways the steering wheel would have crushed my chest, but also because it kept Agee behind me keeping me from the gruesome reality of her extensive injuries.  I did notice that there was a lack of traffic passing our accident scene, but did not find out until later that it was due to a semi-truck driver who had pulled his rig across all lanes in a means of protecting Belle from traffic during her acrobatic moments.  There were 5 cars that made it past before the truck blocked all traffic.  Two of the cars were driven by nurses, friends who had attended nursing school together.  One car was driven by an off duty firefighter.  A fourth car was driven by an off duty EMT, ironically the firefighter's brother.  The fifth car was a forest service rescue truck, and a friend of the 2 brothers.  His truck contained a wench, which was used to stabilize our car and allow emergency personnel to remove us from it.  An officer, who was not on duty, but had his radio on, was driving directly below the overpass that we nearly rolled off of when the call came through and was on the scene within seconds.    The miraculous placing of each of these individuals is a blessing that saved lives that day, and for that I will be eternally grateful.  

At the hospital we were told of the extensiveness of Agee's injuries.  She had been scalped to the bone, every layer severed completely.  In wasn't until she was in surgery that it was discovered that each and every piece was still there and able to be reattached.  She had a skull fracture from ear to ear.  She had a compound fracture in her arm, just to name a few of her injuries.  The surgeons told my parents that if she were to live that she would never make it past a vegetative state, there was no way with the extent of her injuries.  Belle, who had been thrown, walked away without a broken bone.  She had severe road rash on her arms and legs, but her life was intact.  KM suffered a severe concussion and a fractured wrist.  My only injury was an unattached shoulder that the extent of the injury would not even be discovered until I had surgery 5 years later.  Agee spent approximately 5 weeks in the ICU, 2 1/2 weeks in inpatient rehab, and several weeks in outpatient rehab.  She took the experience in stride.  When she was relearning to speak the speech therapist would have her come up with as many words that started with whatever letter they were working on as she could, and then to create sentences with those words.  Her favorite was "R" because she was able to come up with things like, "ridiculous, retarded, this is retarded, I am not retarded, but this is retarded."  We knew she would be okay.  

The girl that wasn't supposed to survive graduated with her high school class 10 months after the accident.  She is now the slightly insane mother of 4 young children.  The best part of her injury is that she lost a portion of her memory and forgot that she had broken up with her boyfriend, who is now her husband of nearly 8 years.  (We liked him, so we didn't remind her, and neither did he). 

Why am I telling you this, because each year on this date I reflect.  I reflect at how my personal knowledge of a loving Heavenly Father came to be so strong that I knew that He knew of me and watched out for me.  I am telling you this because this helped to define who I am.  It made me realize that I will never doubt my faith or the principles that I was taught as a child by my parents and my church.  I am telling you to build my own strength and to remind myself that no matter where I am or what I am doing, I know I am being watched over and taken care of.  I also know that you, whoever you are, are being loved and watched over also.  

I know that this entry isn't as lighthearted as most of the entries in my blog are, but thank you for allowing me the opportunity to share a defining moment in my life.  Sometimes it takes the roll of a car for us to realize how entertaining the rest of life really is.  

Perfect understanding...

It has recently come to my perfect understanding, that to perfectly understand is completely relative to the situation, especially for children. Fuss thinks that he is older than he is. His perfect understanding is to do whatever it is everyone else is doing in the same manner that they are doing it. For a child of 13 months, as you know, this is not capable of being done. For months now he has refused to eat unless he has a spoon (or preferably a fork) in his hand, even if he doesn't use it. He prefers to drink his drinks straight from the bottle or the can that they are purchased in, but doesn't want to drink them in his highchair--he wants to drink them on the couch in front of the TV like daddy. I recently poured a soda into a sippy cup for him and he threw a fit! He threw the cup on the floor and cried while reaching for the can, back arched, arms eventually thrown to his sides, head drooping, eyes squinted, crying, the whole of what a "fit" is. Knowing my child like I do, I picked up the sippy and started drinking. It's true, I drank from a sippy...and it is harder than you might think. It is actually like trying to drink out of the tiniest little straw you could find with the expectation of getting the liquid consumption of a large fast food straw. No wonder the kid doesn't like it. Anyway, as I started to walk away with the sippy in my hands, Fuss came to the realization that it was okay to have a cup instead of the can. This was also in conjunction with me throwing the can away. Due to my child's perfect understanding of independence, I have also allowed him to feed himself completely. I no longer participate in feeding even the messiest of foods. Fuss has also shown me that to fully appreciate food you must wear at least part of it. The more food that you have on your face, the bigger the smile you give to those that gave you the food. My perfect understanding is that children should eat naked.

By the time a child reaches another age (and I am not really sure which age it is) their perfect understanding is that if you do not explain every possible scenario in stated expectations or requirements, then the unstated scenarios are null and void. To explain: Last week I took the boys to the zoo with a play group from our church. When the older boys arrived from their mom's on Sunday night, I told them about the zoo trip that would take place on Thursday. I also told them that I would give each of them $10 to spend at the zoo. However, the $10 was a starting amount. I gave them an outline of ways in which this money could be revoked in $.50 increments. If they were to fight with each other, including yelling, kicking, hitting (with hands or other objects) they would lose money. If they were to back talk, roll their eyes, ignore, or sigh in annoyance to either me or their dad, they would lose $.50. If they did not pick up their toys after use, put their dirty clothes in the hamper, brush their teeth daily, or go to bed when told they would lose $.50. The list also included complaining about what was made for meals (I thought we would deduct large amounts for this since someone is always unhappy about what my cafe's daily specials are...but I was pleasantly surprised). Anyhow, by Wednesday night we were doing better than expected; Olie had $6.50, Skater had $6.50, and Moo had $6.00--for 3 boys in 3 days, not too bad.

On Wednesday the boys had their cousins over to play. D would be watching our 4 and his sister's 3 while we went to get mani-pedi's for his brother's upcoming wedding (great tradition by the way). To ease D's stress, I made dinner before I left (mostly due to the movie incidence, I wanted to make sure that real food was served). As I was calling the boys to dinner, Olie, Skater, and cousin Sporty (it is getting hard to make up fake names) came immediately. Fuss was in the highchair, so I was missing only 2 (the youngest cousin hadn't arrived yet). I yelled and yelled, but they didn't come. I opened the front door and yelled again...nothing. I went out to the garage...no one. I went up to the family room...empty. I hustled to the backdoor...just the dog out there. I ran to the basement stairs, yelling the whole time for the 2 that were missing. My heart was pounding, harder with every empty response. I was in true panic mode when I saw something move under Moo's bed. It was Charmer's (the 5 year old cousin) foot. In my most stern voice I told them to get out from under there and get up to dinner immediately. I told them that they were never to do that again. I expressed to them that they had given me "a heart attack!" Upon arrival to the kitchen, I told Moo that he had just lost $.50 for his little stunt. He protested with, "But you never said anything about heart attacks." Perfect understanding...

I have also come to understand that to get the results that you want you can't describe what you may think are very clear instructions, a child will never have a perfect understanding of that. "Put the clothes on your floor away" can mean to throw everything in the hamper, even if the pile was recently washed. The clothes are away. Instructions followed...NOT! That 1 sentence must be dragged out to: "Pick up each individual item of clothing on the floor of your bedroom and on your bed. As you pick each item up, you must determine whether that item has been worn since it was last washed. If it has been worn, then place that item in the hamper (that is the basket looking thing in the corner of your room that you see me occasionally pick up when it is full, and return to your room empty). If it has not, in fact, been worn then you must neatly fold or hang the item and place in it's appropriate, pre-assigned place. Those places include drawers, hangers in the closet and on the rod, or the bag from your mom's house. If it is an item that you brought from your mom's house, place it in that bag. If it is an item that you received from our house, either for your birthday, Christmas, Easter, or just because I love you, place it in the closet or your drawers--neatly folded or hung. The area underneath the bed is considered part of your bedroom floor and the same expectations apply to clothes that are there. The floor of your closet is also considered the floor of your room and no clothes belong there." Perfect Understanding! One can only hope...

Oh, the pressures...

In life there are enough pressures to keep up with and cause anxiety without the undue additions that society brings.  As a wife and mother there is constant pressure to keep the house clean, the children fed (healthily even), make sure the kids get enough sleep, play nice, share, take baths, that I get a bath, church responsibilities, that my husband is happy, etc, etc, etc...you get the point and if you are a wife, mother, and/or human being, you understand what I am saying.  

What really got me thinking about all this pressure was that I was given a starter for Amish Friendship Bread by my sister-in-law.  There is a lot of pressure in accepting a starter for AFB.  It is not just a one time event, this is a commitment, a repeated 10-day commitment...it is almost a part time job!  You must squeeze the bag daily.  I can't tell you how many times I have woken up from a near sound sleep with the realization that I did not, in fact, squeeze the bag that day.  Of course I can't sleep knowing there is an unsqueezed bag in my kitchen.  You also have to keep track of how many days that start has been sitting in it's beloved ziplock bag, because on day 6 you have to add ingredients.  That leads to the pressure of knowing when day 6 is.  Do you count day 1 as the day the start was placed in the bag, like you would do with your menstrual cycle, or do you count day 1 as the next day, as in 24 hours or 1 day?  Personally, I fluctuate it between baking days and I have found that either seems to work fine--in case you need relief from the pressure of making that decision.  After the milk, flour, and sugar are added you have more days of squeezing and letting out the fermented air (which I have to tell you, learn from my mistake, point the bag away from your face when releasing the air).  Finally day 10 comes!  The great day of reward when you get to make this delicious loaf of bread, but it doesn't end with the reward.  Every 10 days that you make the bread, you have also created 4 starts and a whole new list of pressures.  Do you keep a start for yourself with the commitment to make bread again in 10 days, or do you give them all away to your friends, since it is "friendship bread?"  Not to mention that you do have to keep in mind that if you do keep a start, at some point you will run out of friends to give the bread to.  The length of time you can continue to give away starts of friendship bread is based on the size of your circle of friends.  If you give a start to a friend with whom you share a mutual friend then you take the risk of the second friend receiving a start before you have the chance to rid yourself of a future start.  Not to mention that you may have to buy stock in milk, flour, and sugar if you continue to keep starts for yourself.  To add to the pressure of your decision is a warning at the bottom of the recipe "only the Amish know how to make a start, if you give all the starts away you will have to wait until you receive a start from another friend before you will be able to make the bread again."  Why can't my next door neighbor be Amish?  That way I could have the bread for holidays and special occasions without the risk of having so many loafs of bread I could build a house out them.  Upon my last batch (of 4 so far), I called my sisters to see if any of them wanted a start.  My youngest sister, KM, wisely asked me to bring her a mini-loaf of just the bread without having to accept the start (why didn't I think of that?).  Ten days later at Didda's bridal shower, my sister, Gillette, who had accepted the start, announced to everyone that she had AFB starts available if anyone would like one.  KM immediately said that she would take one.  Of course I protested and told her she would have to take one of my starts since I had made her a loaf of bread previously.  Our third sister, Agee, said, "you can do that? You can just get the loaf without the start?  I want that deal!"  No go, KM ruined it for future freeloaders.  So, here I sit, staring at 3 ziplock bags (I didn't even have time to offer starts this round) with starts for AFB in them...do I make them? Do I throw them away?  Oh, the pressure of this decision....

Another pressure that I do not like having to deal with is driving in the fast lane.  Sure, you typically get to your destination slightly faster...typically.  But in doing so you also have the pressure of having to go fast, and sometimes it is just too much.  If I am in the middle of a line of cars in the fast lane I can deal with this pressure.  It is when I am the first or second car in the line of fast lane dwellers that I get a little anxiety.  If you are the first car then you have to be moving at a speed that is consistently faster than the lane to your right.  You also have to be constantly aware of available "move over" spaces that arise.  Upon upcoming arrival of these spaces, you must be able to judge your speed verses the length of the line behind you to quickly calculate whether you will be significantly slowed by letting the line pass you before you have the opportunity to move back to the fast lane, or if you will be fast enough to pass the closest car in front of you in the right lane before those behind you get annoyed.  And no matter how fast you are going you know that there is someone in the lane behind you cursing that if you would just move over the entire lane would be able to move faster.  Who needs that kind of pressure?  Being second is no better, because you know that as soon as the first car finally does move over you will become the first car and feel all the pressures that come with that responsibility.  Honestly, I would prefer to be near the middle complaining about the first car.

There are other pressures that I recognized throughout this week, but with all the pressure of everyday life, I have inadvertently chosen to forget them...who needs the pressure of trying to remember?  And on an end note, if you would like a start for the most delicious Amish Friendship Bread, please feel free to email me your address, I would be happy to provide as long as supplies are available.