Story Time

Never Give Up

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       In my continuing efforts to raise contributing members of society, I have been adding age appropriate chores to my children’s lives.

  

They are less than pleased.  

 

        One thing I have asked of them is to make their beds every morning. I like to think there is research to prove that people who make their beds every day do better in life, but maybe I’m just making that up. Several of my kids who prefer to burrow under their blankets at night, much like a chipmunk, making their sheets and blankets straight, flat and tucked in just seems counter productive to them.   I have one who never seems to have his blanket, pillow, or even sheet on his bed ever. So he too, feels the bed making chore to be a step backwards in his comfort.   To say it has been a struggle would be an understatement.   

         This last week I was encouraged, I felt as though we had turned a corner, I had hope once again. Every morning when I asked if The Duchess had made her bed or not, she smiled and said that she had. Her brothers all groaned and whined as they reluctantly went to make their beds,  while she sat there eating her breakfast with a smile.   

      I was encouraged, until Thursday, when I caught My Man giggling after I praised her for once again having her bed made without a fuss.      When I asked what was so funny he replied with, “You know our daughter has been sleeping on top of her blankets all week so she doesn’t have to make her bed in the morning, right?”     

 

No, I did not know that.   

 

        I have decided that I am just going to be impressed with her ability to “think outside the box” when it comes to her chores and keep pressing on.   

 

Story Time

Pictures are deceiving

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     I have a love/hate relationship with social media. I enjoy keeping up with my friends on the other side of the world. I like seeing pictures of my cousin and her kids who are too far to visit more than once a year. My heart is warmed every time I see a need shared and a community overwhelmingly respond.

         See, those are all great things, and I try to remember those when I’m so mad I could spit.   Do you remember in “Meet the Mitchell’s” where I said I have a low tolerance for insincerity and dishonesty? Well, I don’t know if you’ve noticed or not, but a lot of the content people post or share can easily fall into one of those two categories.   

         For example, the mom who posts a picture looking into the back yard as she watches her kids play, while casually displaying both her lemonade and her perfectly pedicured toes. Whereas, I am sure the picture is accurate from one perspective, but what is not seen are last night’s dinner dishes on the table behind her, or the t-shirt she has on is covered in spit up, crackers, and someone else’s snot, or her unwashed hair, in a messy bun, and dark circles under her eyes. But, if you were just innocently flipping through pictures on your news feed, you would assume that her life is so much more put together than your own.

 

Continue reading “Pictures are deceiving” →

Story Time

Another conversation from within the Yukon

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“Ok, who put the lizard in my truck?!?”  

 

                   …Not a sentence I ever wanted to say as I drove down the road. Or ever, for that matter.

 

       It was Duchess who, in her sweet 5-year-old voice, had called to me from the third row, “Mom, there is a dead lizard over here.” The next few minutes were a chaotic bundle of boys trying to strain their necks to see, and those who were too far away begging their sister to describe, in detail, what she saw (based on her descriptions, I determined that whatever it was that she saw was indeed dead).

       I interrupted the excitement with a repeat of my question,  “WHO PUT A LIZARD IN THE TRUCK???” Silence fell over the voices,  and it was unclear if it was because of innocence or a fear of self-incrimination.  

       Thankfully, we were close to our destination where I was able to investigate for myself.   The “dead lizard” was, in fact, two very dead, dried up salamanders in a cup holder next to the third row.  

How does that even happen?  

As of yet, no one has taken responsibility for the demise of said “lizards.”

The good news is I believe I have found the source of the smell in my truck.

 

Story Time

Gray Hair

notdomesticmagic@gmail.com

 

     It is ironic to me that after years of having a highly stressful, fast paced job, that it would be now, while I’m “living a life of luxury” as a Stay At Home Mom, that I start to get gray hair.

Figures.

     It’s funny, I thought I would be more upset to find gray hair in the sea of my dishwater blond head, but I wasn’t.   

     I have been told by friends, who know my family well, that the reason I don’t really dread going gray is because the women in my family do it so beautifully. As my mother and aunts’ have aged, their hair has turned a beautiful shade of white. There is no other way to describe it, there is no gray that’s noticeable, but still hints of the red or blond that it was originally. It is, physically, a very beautiful look.

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making a plan

Mornings are hard.

notdomesticmagic@gmail.com

Mornings are hard.

 

     It doesn’t matter what your family looks like or what the responsibilities of your mornings are, mornings are hard. My normal morning includes getting seven people, including myself, up, dressed, fed, in the truck, and headed down the driveway by 7:30. Then, I drive to town where I drop off four children at three different schools by 8:05.

 

It is an adventure. Every morning.

 

     In the last year, I have come up with a pretty good system to keep the family as a whole on time. But before I tell you about that, I want you to tell you something else first. There has been more than one morning that I got into the truck with wet hair, no makeup on, my shoes untied, and a loaf of raisin bread in my hand. As we are driving down the dirt road, the kids are putting on socks and shoes, hopefully they grabbed two of each that match, looking for backpacks, and yelling about missing sweatshirts and coats. I would open the bag of raisin bread, pulling out one slice at a time, and toss it behind me into the back seat, hoping it would make contact with the child who was strapped into a car seat in the third row. This happened more than I would like to admit.  

 

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making a plan

The Problem with Laundry

notdomesticmagic@gmail.com

I want to talk to you about your laundry situation. I have heard wives and mothers in all different walks of life vocalize how overwhelming laundry is to them. Most of us have whole rooms in our homes dedicated to laundry, along with two moderately expensive appliances whose only job in life is to wash and dry laundry.  So with all that, why are we all so overwhelmed with this? I believe laundry is hard for a few different reasons. Let’s only go over the most practical one right now.

 

How we all physically do laundry.

 

From what I can tell, this is how most of us do laundry. First, you go all over the house collecting all the dirty laundry, bringing it to one central location, and then wash and dry it. Most people then take it to another location; to the living room, bedroom, or wherever to fold it. Then, once it is folded into neat little piles, we have to go the distance of the whole house to deliver it back to it originating locations.  

Ok, just for a second, pretend you are running a business, and your chosen “product” is making clean laundry. Now, picture yourself sitting in a conference room trying to explaining to investors your system for getting your product made. If you told them the above system, they may call your job into question.The system is inefficient at best and the CEO, you,  are doing all of the product movement.

 

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Story Time

Things I get to say as a parent

notdomesticmagic@gmail.com

As a parent, you have the unique opportunity to guide a young person through life into adulthood.  Teaching them along the way the things they should or should not do. We get to say things like, “don’t eat off the floor”  and “ go brush your teeth.” These are of the norm.  

But, sometimes you get to form and speak sentences that you just have to stop and giggle over.  

 Like, here are some of the things I have said in the last week:

 

“ Please, do not lick the baby.”

 

“Good job putting on your shoes, but you need two of the same shoe.”

 

“Yes, you have to wear pants to school.”  

 

“You have to take off the dirty underwear before you put on the clean ones.”

 

But, so far this week my favorite happen tonight.  

 

“Hey. HEY! Yes you! Turn that off.  No leaf blowers in the house.”

 

I wish I was making some of this up.

Story Time

Conversations from within the Yukon

notdomesticmagic@gmail.com

You may be wondering why I chose the name Batman for my third son.  Well, he does love Batman, and he does likes to pretend to be Batman.  But, what really did it for me was when he was about two years old.

One day, I was driving the kids to school, and from the back of the truck I hear Edison call to me:

“Hey Mom, I have decided that when I grow up I want to be an artist, because I love art class.”

I responded with something affirming and encouraging to his dream of being an artist (Now, two years later, he is wavering between an artist and a plumber… can’t make this stuff up, people).

My first born, The General, then announced that he is going to build furniture for a living and started to describe his building procedures and the tools required.

Again, I added something encouraging and affirming about his vocational goals.

Duchess then told us all about how she is going to be a princess when she grows up. Her brothers were not impressed with her choice and proceeded to point out the error of her decision. However, she was not deterred and continued to describe, in detail, the different dresses she will wear.

After five minutes or so of highly animated conversation, the truck fell quiet.  

I smiled to myself about how fun it was to hear their dreams, when from behind me, in a slow, deep, husky voice, I heard my two year old say:

“I be Batman.”

 

Seriously, you can’t make this kind of thing up.

 

Story Time

Questions not worth asking.

notdomesticmagic@gmail.com

So, the other day my 3 year old came to me and started begging for a snack.  Well, I was in the middle of making dinner so I didn’t  want him to have a “real” snack at that moment, but he wouldn’t leave me alone and there was at least one other child  screaming, so I gave in and cut him off a chunk of the cheese I was using for dinner and told him to go play.

Two more rounds of Cheerios for the baby later, my hungry little boy comes back to me, and this time with the long hard plastic tube from my vacuum cleaner.

 

As he hands it to me, he said, “Mama, my cheese stuck in the wacuum, you get it out?”

 

Now, did I scold the boy for losing his snack?

No.

Did I ask why in the world he was playing with my vacuum?

No.

Did I even pretend this was out of the ordinary?

No.

 

I just took the tube, and told him to go wash up for dinner.

 

Some questions just aren’t worth asking.