In high school my sister started saying 'shedule' instead of 'skedule'.  Like the British version.  It was one of many many funny sayings she had in high school.  I thought it was so great I started saying it in college.  And have continued.  Well now it's become a habit, but it still makes me smirk and laugh to myself.  The funny thing, is that my kids don't know that's the silly way to say it.

Axel:  Mom, can you shedule in going to the park today?

I tried to explain to him that he should smirk when he says shedule or people will think he's a ninny.  He didn't get it.  So I smirk for him and it's even funnier than when I say it.

My voice

If you asked me if I liked being a stay-at-home mom, I would tell you yes.  I would tell you that there's nothing else I'd rather do with my time.  There is nothing so important to me as being a consistent presence in my childrens' lives.  There is no better person to see all the good things they do, no person so quick to praise them, no person so quick to forget their faults.  My role is irreplaceable and I love it.  I am fulfilled.  And I would mean it.  And I might even cry depending on how much sleep I'd been getting.

But if you put a camera in my home, you might not be convinced.  I don't like the children pulling up my seedling by the roots while they're "helping" me transplant.  I don't like cleaning the bathroom only to find that the living room (which I left spotless 15 minutes ago) has had a tornado come through.  I don't like hearing yelling, then a loud smack, then crying in the next room.  I don't like waiting by the van door for all the kids to take their sweet time getting out of it.  I don't like someone tapping me on the shoulder and putting their face in my face and saying louder and louder if I can get them something, while I'm trying to ignore them because I'm on the phone.  I don't like finding the shampoo dumped out into the tub for a bubble bath.  I don't like hearing Guten Tag on repeat 3 hours a day. (That's not an exaggeration people.  And yes we now have a rule about songs on repeat.  I tried to just bear it cause the kids liked it so much, but I started to feel like a zombie.)  I don't like telling the children 5 times to brush their teeth every morning.  I don't like kids crowding around me when I'm writing a blog post and trying to get on my lap and turning my face to them and telling me they need a drink.  I don't like scrubbing BM out of clothes and still get so mad when I have to.  Couple those feelings with the fact that I yell and I'm ok with yelling, and you get a lot of yelling every day.

I'm actually ok with the situation, I yell, but I'm happy.  I yell, but I love my kids.  I yell, but I'm also really loving.  So I am meeting my own expectations for what a mother should be/do.

The only thing I worry about is how my children will be affected by it.  And mostly how our relationship will be affected by it.  Because I had a mother too, and she yelled and she wanted me to hurry up and I can still see her frustrated face in my mind.  And reflecting on those memories I think, "If I was such a good kid, why was she always after me?"  And now I understand how such a good kid can warrant a lot of yelling.  It's not their character at fault, at least where my children are concerned, it's their bodies.  Most things that frustrate me about my children is a product of their immature brains. They don't reason like adults, they don't behave like adults, they are not motivated like adults, they are a different kind of person.  And sometimes I am absolutely stupefied by situations I am dealing with.  One morning I came to wintery white kitchen, and whiter children than usual.  They couldn't wait to eat, (they are up EARLY, I came upon this situation when I rolled out of bed at the indulgent hour of 6:00) and so helped themselves to the powdered sugar.  Upon being told to clean up the mess, there was whining and kicking of feet.  This is the point of my stupification.  "How could you think that you could dump the powdered sugar all over the floor and there would no consequences.  You did the wrong thing, that is clear, so face your consequence like a man and don't complain.  I wasn't mad before but now I am.  Not another sound out of your mouth about it, or you will not eat all day."  And this is the point at which the camera viewer would say, "This person does not enjoy being a mother."

But I understand that the things that presently frustrate me will go away as my children's bodies age.  I'm yelling about behavior they will most likely mature out of; I'm not yelling about their personalities.  But that yelling still feels really personal when someone a lot bigger and stronger than you is yelling in your face. When they're grown, all the yelling I did will be forgotten.  At least forgotten by me.  But will my children forget?  Will that yelling affect our relationship?  Affect how they perceive my feelings for them?  Affect how much they want to open up to me?  Affect how much they trust me with their tender feelings?  Affect how much they trust my advice?  I would say yes.  Basically I don't want to damage our future relationship.  That's where the yelling becomes a problem for me.

I watched this mormonvideo, and wanted to be the kind of mother that my kids would say, "I love my mom, I want to be like her"  And if they cried while they said it, that would be really great.  A few quotes that burn in my ears, "She's one of those personalities that you like to be around." "Things I've learned about my mom, that I'd want to use when I have a family, would be to be calm and be able to bring a nice spirit into my home." "I love my mom because she's so happy all the time."  My latest favorite quote is by Joseph Smith, "It is the duty of a husband is love, cherish and nourish his wife, and cleave to her and none else.  He ought to honor her as himself, and he out to regard her feelings with tenderness, for she is his flesh, and his bone, designed to be a help unto him both in temporal and spiritual things, one into whose bosom he can pour all his complaints without reserve, who will take part of his burden, to soothe and encourage his feelings by her gentle voice."  The voice is the part I've been thinking about.  I think my voice is gentle about 20% of the time.  My children know they are loved, but do they know peace and gentleness?

So I asked Axel about it.


Alisha: Axel, do I like being a mom?
Axel: Yes.
Alisha: How do you know?
Axel: Because you like us.
Alisha:  How do you know I like you?
Axel:  Because you don't only yell at us every day.  Sometimes you say nice things to us.
Alisha:  What nice things do I say?
Axel:  You say, 'Water all the plants and you can have 50 cents.'  And really you should probably only give us 30 cents.
Alisha:  Thanks, Axel.

Two things I'm glad about, it seems Axel thinks I am generous, and it also seems that Axel is thankful.  Good job Mamma.  Sometimes at night I get in bed with Axel and we talk and snuggle.  And I give him a hug, and tell him, "I love you.  I love you.  Can you feel it?"  "Yes, I feel it."  "How does it feel?"  It feels like my heart is bigger than my body, like out here."  And he draws in the air how big out he feels the love.  And that's how love feels to me too.  I hope he remembers that, more than yelling in his ears.

Lou's twinner

Did no one catch the resemblance?

Or is no one reading this blog?  Am I the only one home during the summer?

Dresser, finally

It's a little yellower than I imagined, but I still really like it.  

The reason it's taken me so long to post (I finished painting forever ago)  Is I had a knob problem.  I first bought some from World Market that were very cute, and a salmon color, but they didn't have 8, so I bought what they had and intended to order more.  Well, they aren't making those knobs anymore, so I couldn't get more.  I browsed Anthropologie without any hope they'd have anything I could afford.  But then, on supersale...

But even on supersale, I couldn't justify more than 8 knobs.  So I painted the old knobs, with nail polish actually.  It looks pretty good, but the bluey pinky pearl, really just looks pink.  I think I'll paint them the same color blue as the other knobs.  With conventional paint.  But it'll wait until I paint something else I have in mind in that same color.

And, Lou tried on Paul's glasses this morning.  Look like anyone?

Time for a haircut.  Hopefully I can make those bangs look like we meant to do it.  Suggestions?, peeps who know about hair.

It's never too late to ruin your life.

That seems to be the theme of this year.  I keep hearing about people I know, or people I love, who I considered to be in a safe-zone, who have ruined their lives.  Old people, who are in the coasting time of their lives, mess it all up right before the end.  Young people who stayed chaste and made great sacrifice to serve missions, and were sealed in the temple, have wasted it all.  I don't know what it is about this year, but I'm hearing about it a lot, and at least twice a month, I say to myself, "It's never too late to ruin your life."  So hopefully I'll remember, and not ruin mine.

No more veggies!

Aliens have not taken over my body, and I wouldn't have believed it if you told me two weeks ago, but I've eaten enough veggies for a while.  In our farm share we've gotten A LOT of greens.  When we'd decided we had enough was when we got turnip greens.  They were awful.  The first bite wasn't good, but it got worse and worse the more we ate it.  Paul and I are not picky eaters, but we really really hated those turnip greens.  It was like the bad taste wouldn't go to the stomach with the greens, it just stayed in your mouth building, bite after bite.  I couldn't finish mine.  Paul's face was turning red.  It broke us. 

When it gets hot outside all I want to eat is fruit and salad, and fruit salad.  But really all I wanted that whole week when we had a fridge full of greens (not lettuce people, greens for cooking) was fresh peaches.  Peaches that juice down your chin.  Peaches that fill your house with sweet goodness.  Peach pie, peach tart, peaches and cream.  That's all I wanted.  For a whole week when I thought of food, I only wanted peaches.

I called the orchard every day, and every day I heard the message that they were closed to let the red haven peach ripen, but to call back tomorrow and maybe they'd be ready.  I had a bajillion things to do, but I was ready to drop all of it the second those peaches were ready.  Finally on Friday, I heard in a beautiful country southern drawl, the message, "Wur open fir peaches.  U-pick is niney cents a pound."  And I got the kids in the car and we were there by 8:30.  We got 1 1/2 bushels.  I was in peach heaven for two days.  We ate so many peaches, including cookie crusted peach cheesecake tart.  I made 17 jars of jam, 10 jars of syrup, and new this year....  12 jars of peaches.  

It is so delicious.  I didn't intend to take a bite out of the bread, but while I was getting new batteries for the camera, I couldn't help myself.  It is like heaven.  I think if my husband ever stopped loving me I could keep him here with the bread and jam.  It's very satisfying.  He's thanked me 4 times already today.

If I can scrounge up enough money, I'll get another bushel this month for more canned peaches, and for two new recipes I'm dying to try: tomato peach salad

and peaches with balsamic cherries

and for more peachy goodness before they're gone.

And last week the farm redeemed themselves with a big huge bunch of basil, with which we made margarita pizza.  And this week, everything we got was excellent, except for the wild blackberries, which are so deceitful.  For dinner we devoured a golden crown watermelon, corn on the cob, basil tomato mozarella salad.  And for tomorrow's breakfast, whole wheat zucchini bread with double zucchini.  It's delicious.  I snitched some.

After the peach extravaganza, I might even be able to eat the collard greens in the fridge.