Boogers on the Wall

From one of America’s scariest penitentiaries to the happiest place on Earth, our spring break plans took a major twist just days before we loaded into the car to head out of town.

And it all worked out for the better.

Gas was cheap, we got a nice tax return and my husband has unlimited personal time off so it was the perfect combination for a family road trip to California.

We chose to go to San Francisco and started dreaming of Alcatraz tours, sea lion watching and foggy views of the Golden Gate Bridge.

The two oldest boys were totally stoked. They started online research; looking into places we could see on our trip.

But we didn’t have all our ducks in a row. We didn’t book tickets to Alcatraz in time and all the tours and ferries to the island were sold out. We decided to change our plans less than a week before we were to leave town.

I was scared to tell the boys that the trip to San Francisco was off. We had been talking up the Bay area for weeks.

But I’ll never forget the night we announced our new destination. We told them we were going to Disneyland instead and they screamed and cheered.

Keep in mind this isn’t their first trip to the park. We have been to Disneyland six times in the past 10 years. Not as many times as a Disney fanatic, but way more times than the average Utah family.

My oldest is 8 and he’s been four times. I would have thought the magic might have worn off a little. (Which is why we were looking at going somewhere new like San Francisco.) But it hasn’t. Later that night my husband overheard him saying, “Am I dreaming? Are we really going to Disneyland?”

Jackpot. It became very evident that this should have been our destination all along. The boys were just going along with our San Francisco excitement. They couldn’t care less about seeing Chinatown or the Redlands – at least at this point in time.

Our trip was an absolute dream. We drove to visit family for a couple days, spent some time on our favorite San Clemente beach and headed to Anaheim Monday morning.

Maybe it’s because I wasn’t pregnant during this trip or maybe it’s because my boys are finally tall enough to ride on the adult rides, but I can’t remember having a better time in the park.

The boys ran first to The Pirates of the Caribbean ride and shouted, “Yo Ho,” right along with the pirates as we floated down the river. I triple dog dared them to ride the Tower of Terror with me and I have never heard them scream so loud in my life.

(My oldest now claims its his favorite ride, I don’t know how he can tell, he has never really seen he’s only experienced it while closing his eyes and nuzzling into my shoulder.)

The youngest two loved the singing puppets on the It’s a Small World ride and the bright colors on The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh. And although they both started crying when we made it to see Mickey at his house, you should have seen their eyes sparkle when it started to snow in Arendale and they gave Olaf a warm hug.

It took my 2-year-old a day to get into things and realize that the rides were exciting and fun. I’ll never forget his giggle on the teacups as we spun around and how excited he was to “fly” with Dumbo and sit on top of Mickey’s Ferris Wheel.

We killed time in line by checking the wait-times app and researching Disneyland secrets on my phone. Who knew cats take over the park at night to get rid of mice and a family once sprinkled their son’s ashes in the Haunted Mansion?

To top it all off, my husband’s favorite ride, Splash Mountain, opened back up after months of renovation on our second day in the park. Thanks to Fast Passes and the Rider Switch pass we were able to ride several times in an hour.

We walked from sun up until sun down soaking in all that we could. We ate a turkey leg and listened to the Tiki birds, we watched Disney Junior live on stage and met Ana and Elsa. We petted goats in the ranch and zoomed past the stars in Space Mountain.

We even made it to the infamous Radiator Springs Racers ride – something we haven’t wanted to wait for in the past.

All the while we kept our eyes open for Captain Hook. We didn’t see him in person this trip but an outstanding Disneyland employee took my 6-year-old’s autograph book backstage so he could get a signature from his hero.

On the last day when we were cinching our lap bars down on Big Thunder Mountain Railroad ride, my 8-year-old turned to me and said, “This was much funner. San Francisco is just historical, there’s nothing to do like this.”

He’s right there is nothing to do like that in San Francisco. Disneyland is a magical place. I should have known we would have a great time there.

Sometimes I think we need to do more. My mom guilt takes over and I think we need to learn more. We need to experience new things. We need to broaden our horizons.

But this time I was way wrong. San Francisco will still be there in a few years when my boys are old enough to appreciate its history. Who knows how long Disneyland’s magic will last for them.

It’s all right that we went there AGAIN. In fact it’s more than all right. We made some amazing memories at one of our favorite places. Who knows, maybe we’ll choose to go there again on or next big family trip.

I secretly wonder if it was all meant to be. Sometimes what you think is a good idea, morphs into an even better one.

I should have noticed the signs.

– A grinding metal shriek

– The door catching one, two, then three times when shutting

– Rattling

– Shaking

– A small, plastic roller wheel tumbling to the parking lot asphalt

But no. I was clueless. I sprayed half a can of WD-40 in the three rails and hoped for the best. I refused to pay $189 to have the dealer diagnose the problem.

That’s how I ended up at Walmart calling a tow truck when my van’s sliding door fell off.

Who knew I was strong enough to yank it right off two of its three tracks?

It was hanging by a corner metal piece when I popped it back to upright position. And I was stranded with my 2-year old and my baby, just two days before I needed the van for a 10-hour family road trip.

If only I could have traded that can of lubricant for a trip to the mechanics shop. Obviously there was more going on than a little grease could fix.

I plopped down on an extended child’s seated cart, in the spot next to my two year old, and tried to hold it together while devising a plan.

I called he dealer who put a call into a towing company. Someone could be there in 45 minutes. That gave me time to get my groceries. There was just one problem. How could I leave my van unattended with a gaping hole in its side? Surely someone would get in and take all the toys and goodies I bought moments before at the dollar store. Right?

Probably not, but if you know me you know that I’m paranoid about locking things up. I have to check our locks multiple times before leaving for anything. I’ve even been known to drive back home and check them again because I wasn’t sure.

Unfortunately my van won’t lock with the key chain unless all the doors are shut. It’s kind of hard to shut a door that’s off its track. I sat there for a good 10 minutes before realizing I could lock the doors manually.  Like I did in the good old days before we owned a vehicle with automatic locks.

I pushed the broken door closed as good as I could and crossed my fingers that no one would try to open it. It would definitely cause a stir if they did. Then I turned the key in the driver’s door and headed into the store.

After a frazzled trip into an unfamiliar Walmart, a mishap with some coupons at the check stand and a few phone calls from the tow guy, I made it to my van just it time to see it wheeled onto the truck and carried away.

I packed everything I thought I might need from the van – shopping bags, car seats, you name it – into a grocery cart and waited in the parking lot for my mom. I felt a little like one of the characters from The Road – a book my book club just finished reading. There I sat with all of the stuff I could carry in a shopping cart.

Luckily she pulled up a minute later.

She rescued me and the two younger ones and the van headed to the dealer.

Long story short, the dealer ordered a part, fixed the middle rollers on the driver’s side sliding door and $225 later our van was as good as new. It was a crazy mishap and a serious inconvenience, but we survived.

Who does this kind of stuff happen to? Me.

Not just once, but twice.

When I was growing up the sliding door fell off of our golden Astro minivan. We were eating out at the Golden Corral when it popped off the track while opening. That night we wired it shut with some string and wire we bought at a nearby store, then my grandpa held it closed as we made our way up a steep hill to visit the Bountiful Utah Temple Dedication. It was a memorable occasion.

Just like my recent Walmart trip.

Maybe my family doesn’t realize its own sliding-door shutting strength.

I’m not careful this could happen to me a third time. The dealer informed me that the rollers on the passenger side sliding door are starting to rattle.

Time to start laying off the vitamins.

I’ve done a lot of things for my boys. I’ve stayed up all night making birthday cakes. I’ve read every single children’s shark book ever written. I’ve toted Captain Hook all over the state of Utah.

I have touched a wriggling trout that was hooked in the eye. And if you ask my 6-year-old, I had a baby sister for him.

This past month they got me to do something I will never forget. My oldest two and I performed with people from our surrounding neighborhoods in an Easter production called the Lamb of God.

It was amazing.

The production featured a complete, live orchestra and a handful of professionally talented soloists. I performed in an adult choir and my boys sang like angels in the children’s choir.

My oldest is really into music and so when he heard that our church was doing a show he begged me to let us get involved.

It was hard, busy work. We practiced every Sunday night for months. Then practices really picked up two weeks before the show.

But it was all worth it.

I’ve forgotten how great it feels to perform – the thrill of hitting tight harmonies, the stage lights blazing above, the orchestra tuning before the curtain opens.

The music was moving – songs of our Savior. Songs of his life, his death and the hope he brings to all of us.

I was truly changed by being in this show.

We’re all still singing songs from the production around the house and along with the CD when we hop into the van.

I’m sure it will be something they will never forget either.

It was beautiful. It was inspiring. And I nearly missed out on it. Thank heavens my boys encouraged me to get involved. I can’t wait to see what they get me to do next. 

Five years ago I lost a son but gained an elephant. A big, huge elephant that sat parked smack-dab in the center of my living room when people came over to visit.

There was no seeing around it. No looking over or under it. It sat there unavoidable. We all knew it was there. Yet people chose to ignore it.

I had lost a son. My heart was broken. And people didn’t know what to say.

Who can blame them really? I wouldn’t have known what to say. I’ve buried a child and yet I still stumble over what to say to grieving family members when walking through a funeral line.

I wrote about that elephant and how it felt to have others avoid my son’s death on my blog.

A couple days later the cutest yellow plaid elephant with paisley colorful ears showed up on my doorstep.

One of my friends who truly knew how it felt to bury a baby had sewn and delivered it. It warmed my heart.

We kept it out for a long time in our living room – a symbol of my lost Luca.

I don’t remember exactly when I packed it up, but eventually I put it in one of the plastic totes I have of Luca’s belongings. There it stayed until a couple of weeks ago when I reopened the tote.

I took out the padded yellow elephant with its ivory-colored eyes and knot-ended tail and put it on the bench in our hallway.

That’s when it gained a friend.

I looked at the bench one day to find that a blue fluffy buddy was sitting next to the yellow elephant. They sat close. Later that day they had moved to the right side of the bench. Then even later to the left.

My 2-year-old had found a friend for his blue pudgy elephant.

I bought the bright blue elephant for my now 2-year-old before he was even born. I was terrified to buy anything for him, my rainbow baby, but I needed to spend a few more dollars on a toy website in order to qualify for free shipping so I clicked that little elephant into my cart. I remember wondering if he’d ever get to play with it. Would he live to see it?

Thank heavens he did. He has really taken to playing with it recently.

Like a couple of weeks ago when he packed it around with its new yellow friend.

I smiled all day long as I watched him play with the two elephants and place them in different spots around the house.

Call me crazy, but it felt like my youngest son was connecting symbolically with his older angel brother. He was playing elephants with his elephant.

My heart was full.

Who knew that a pair of stuffed pachyderms could make me so happy? One a symbol for loss, the other hope united by a sweet little boy who knew nothing of their significance.

I hope to see them moving around the house again soon.

A glimpse of the throng of people snaking through the auditorium to meet Brandon Mull and Richard Paul Evans.

I underestimated the young readers of Davis County this week and ended up in a swarm of people fighting for my kids to get to meet two of their favorite authors.

It was wild, it was crazy and it will be a night we won’t soon forget.

Tuesday night I took my two oldest boys to a free literacy night at a local high school. There hundreds of people waited for a 10-second book-signing interaction with Richard Paul Evans or Brandon Mull.

We made it to the school an hour before the book signing so we could camp out and get a good spot in line. We bought a couple of new books in the school’s commons area then searched through the heat-stricken halls and wall-to-wall crowds for the small gym where the authors were supposed to be stationed.

After fighting our way to the doors we searched inside but couldn’t find signs for Mull or Evans.

Apparently they put the big-name authors in a larger area – the auditorium.

So we trekked back through the sauna like halls and pushed our way to the other side of the school.

We rushed into the auditorium and stood in an impromptu line in the side aisle. We had outsmarted everyone and were close to the front.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

That’s when they announced that the line was actually going to be made of people sitting in the auditorium seats. It would snake back and forth.

What? We needed seats?

“That way people could sit while waiting,” the volunteer in charge announced.

With that proclamation I should have realized we were in for the long haul. I was completely naïve.

I started panicking. Were there even any seats open?

We found a couple on the right side. Then they announced that half of the auditorium seats were for people waiting to meet Richard Paul Evans, the other half for those waiting to see Brandon Mull.

My boys wanted to meet both. Great. We were going to have to split up.

Despite all of my helicopter mom instincts, I gave my two oldest boys specific instructions on how to stay in line, where I was going to go and how to meet up with me after they had met Richard Paul Evans. I pointed out a couple of the event volunteers as people they could trust then I crossed to the other side of the room to find a seat in the Brandon Mull line.

I watched them like a hawk from across the auditorium. Occasionally they’d wave to me and I’d give them a thumbs-up sign.

They made it to their author in less than an hour. He signed their books and they came running to me smiling.

Unfortunately, the Brandon Mull fan section was much less organized.

People were butting in line left and right. I found myself simultaneously hating and envying them. I thought, How are they getting ahead of me? and Why didn’t I think of that? as they slid their way into the handfuls of empty seats left scattered sparsely throughout the room.

The line that was supposed to remain seated so we could rest while waiting began moving. People stood and shifted back and forth through the auditorium seating, anxious to get to the stage sooner.

It was a stand, move a little, then sit back down and wait kind of evening. We played games on my phone, tried to watch a movie on Netflix and even started reading one of the books we bought in the commons area earlier that night.

We waited in that line longer than I have waited in any other line in my life. Longer than when I waited in the standby line in Las Vegas to see Garth Brooks live. Longer than when we went to Disneyland’s California Adventure and wanted to ride the racers at Radiator Springs. Longer than when I waited to buy a new vacuum at Wal-Mart on Black Friday.

As we turned the last snake bend my oldest shouted, “This is the best night ever!”

It was 10:50 p.m. on a school night when we crossed onto the stage but we didn’t care. We were less than 10 people away from Brandon Mull.

At the signing table his assistant took the book jacket out of the book we started reading that night. “Will you remember what page you were on without this?” she asked. Yes. We were on page 16. Exactly the same number of hours it felt like we had waited in that humid auditorium.

Brandon Mull was so nice. We joked with him that his hand must be killing him and he stood up and stretched. He smiled and posed in a picture with my boys.

As fate would have it I looked over when we were done and Richard Paul Evans’s line had just ended. We rushed over to him as he packed up his belongings and I snapped a picture of him with the boys. We complimented him on his electric shock Michael Vey necklace and told him how much we liked donating to the Christmas Box House he created. That’s when he gave me a hug.

We walked out of the place a few minutes shy of 11 p.m.

Three and a half hours, four books, three posters and one hug from Richard Paul Evans later.

It was awesome.

My boys are constantly at one another’s throats. They punch, kick, wrestle, poke and flick each other nonstop. Especially the oldest two.

Sometimes I wonder if they are bloodthirsty maniacs.

Then I get a glimpse of their kind-loving hearts and I know that they are going to be just fine.

Like when they confessed to me that sometimes they hug each another on the playground when recess is over and they have to split up again to go back to their classes.

Or when I stand back and watch as one of them helps a classmate up after they take a tumble.

I caught another glimpse into their kind hearts last night as I was cleaning out our bookshelf.

I came across the “Bully Free Book;” a bright green notebook with one handwritten entry.

It reads:

“Please don’t Bully others. Our class and scool try to have it be bully free. If you do all tell mr. Huges and Mrs. Burns.

Never

Optical

Bullying

Unearable

lying

like

you

Bully Free Pledg

I will not bully others

I will rigt wrongs

I will help people that are bulleys

I will repent of herts I have caused

I will tell an adult at home or at school

No bullys!

tell an adult”

They might fight like crazy against each other, and they might try to be macho men, they love each other completely and they are anxious to help others in need. And they hate to see other people in pain.

I am learning a lot from these boys of mine. They teach me how to be a better person each and every day.

Yesterday’s lesson – how to stop being a bully. I’m going to work on “rigting” some wrongs.

My kids have started doing something that I have affectionately named the “Daily Dump.”

No matter what I say to them when I pick them up from school, no matter how much I think I am prepared for them to come home, we all walk into our house and they dump everything all over the family room floor. Then all heck breaks loose.

Coats, backpacks, library books, classmate birthday party treats, homework papers, lunch pails, you name it.

Don’t believe me? Stop by my house between 3:40 and 5 on any given school day. You will witness the mess. I bet I could offer them $100 if they would gently put things away when they get home and they wouldn’t take it. They’d rather dump it. All. Over.

So I’m trying to brainstorm ways to tackle the after-school chaos. I’ve started preparing a lot of our dinners at lunchtime (you can read about that here.) And I’ve tried picking up and getting everything nice and settled before they arrive. (However that has proven to make things worse for me. I seem to get more frustrated when they mess up a clean house than when they mess up a dirty one.)

I’m wondering if I should stand blocking the living room entry wearing football pads and a hockey mask. Maybe that would stop them.

I always daydream about them coming in quietly, hanging their backpacks on their assigned hooks, opening them gently and getting out their schoolwork, notes and homework.

In my dreams they leave their shoes in the basket by the door and place their coats on their bedposts. Then we sit down together and I help them finish their homework quickly without argument before I whip up a delicious after-school snack for all of us to share.

If only.

Realistically it’s more of a cry fest circus around here. My two-year-old needs me to hold him, the baby’s hungry and the oldest two toss all of their crap onto the floor before searching the house for our iPad or Kindle (which they aren’t supposed to play until their homework and reading is done.)

I end up parked on the couch surrounded by mess while I nurse the baby, cuddle to the toddler and shout at the older two to put down the electronics and get busy on their homework. As for a snack? On a good day I offer them a cheese stick or yogurt. But many times I forget it all together.

What can I do to make this all go more smoothly? How can I teach them to come home and put stuff away instead of dumping it in the living room?

I know a clean house isn’t the most important thing in the world, but I feel like at 6 and 8 years old, they are old enough to help keep up after themselves. They have gotten into a habit of tossing everything down when they step inside – a habit that I am anxious to break.

But, how? I am open to suggestions. What do you do when your kids get home from school? Do you have a routine? Is it crazy at your place too? How can I fix this?

The daily dump has got to end.

I was never going to let my kids draw on our walls. Opps!

Last fall I was at a play date at the park with my friends just weeks before my fifth baby was due. I was shocked to find out that most of the other women didn’t bath their kids every night.

Say what?!? They skipped some nights? They let them go to bed dirty?

I was never going to do that.

Then our baby was born. Suddenly our family was transformed into an every-other-night-bath household – and that’s being optimistic. I just can’t get it all done every… single… night. Between breastfeeding, potty training, homework, reading time, cooking dinner, basketball practice, scouts, ninjastics, family parties and church meetings, we have NO time sometimes.

And that’s OK.

The older I get, the more “I’m never going to do that” promises I’ve broken.

When my oldest was about 6 months old we took a mommy and me sign language class together. One day a little girl in the class had a horrible runny nose. I’ll never forget when her mom used the hem of her dress as a Kleenex. I was horrified! She wiped her nose with her dress?

I was never going to do that.

Now when I need a burp cloth or tissue I often use the nearest baby blanket or sleeve for a catch-all cloth.

And that’s OK.

There are so many nevers that I’ve turned into sometimeses and even some into alwayses.

I was never going to have food crumbs on my mini van floor.

I was never going to carpool to school in my pajamas.

My kids were never going to fight or pester one another.

I was never going to take my kids to the store in a costume or let them run around naked.

And you better believe that I was never going to yell at them.

HAHAHAHA!

I have been highly unrealistic and naively judgmental.

I’ve read some really great blog posts lately about ending the mother wars and I’ve decided to join in. I’m going to end my “I’m never going to do that” mentality.

From now on when I find myself thinking, “I’m never going to ___________,” I’m going to STOP.

Because honestly how can I know that it will NEVER happen? How can I be sure I won’t WANT it to happen someday? And is there something WRONG if it does happen?

People deal with some aspects of parenting differently than I do, that doesn’t mean they do it wrong. That doesn’t mean I do it right. And it doesn’t mean I won’t change and do it like they did someday.

Who knows, maybe they never wanted it to happen to them too. And maybe their way is better! (Driving to school to pick up my boys in my pajamas is actually pretty liberating.)

Every one of us has strengths and weaknesses. We all have different hobbies and interests. We have different kids with different personalities. We have different homes and different decorating styles. We have different political opinions and heaven knows we all shop at different clothing stores.

But when it all comes down to it we are all just doing the best that we can.

Parenting is hard work. I feel like we all could use a little more love, support and understanding instead of I’m-better-than-you judgments and comparisons.

If you find yourself looking at others and thinking, “I’m never going to do that,” or if you are feeling inadequate and stuck in a “my kids WERE never going to do that” funk, just remember, I said my kids would never wipe boogers on the walls. And that’s what started this whole blog.

Never say never.

They say the third time’s the charm, for me it must be four. That’s how many times it took me to make this it’s-so-easy-anyone-can-do-it Pinterest bread recipe right.

It looked too good to be true – Simple One Hour Homemade Bread. But I just had to pin it.

It was simple, just six ingredients. I put them all in the Kitchenaid, mixed them for five minutes, let the two loafs rise 25 minutes, sliced the top with a knife and tossed them in the oven. Twenty-five minutes later my house smelled wonderful!

But I cracked the oven door only to find two giant bread-like pancakes.

Dang.

Somehow they didn’t look like the plump, round picture online. So I tried again.

Right away. I whipped up the dough, let it rise even longer this time and this time … I had two more bread pancakes.

I took a loaf to my brother and he affectionately named it the cow-pie loaf. It tasted great, but he’s right, it looked like a giant pile of cow dung.

Lame.

I waited a couple of weeks before trying again. Then last Friday I was brave enough, or bored enough, to give it another go. But as you could have guessed, it was another failure.

What was wrong with me?

I had to try again. I wasn’t going to let this pin get the best of me. I was determined to get it right.

I had flashbacks to last summer when I made my 6-year-old son a volcano cake for his birthday and it ended up melting right before my eyes. Literally.

Luckily that night I had some more marshmallows and google. I found a recipe online and sealed the crumbling volcano inside a thick layer of marshmallow fondant. It was a midnight miracle the night before his big birthday bash.

But what was I going to do about the bread? Inspiration struck and I pulled out two bread pans from my bottom cupboard. The bread tasted great, but it just wasn’t rising right. It was shapeless and flat.

I mixed up all the ingredients for a fourth time and put them into pans. It was like magic. The loaves rose beautifully.

Why didn’t I think of this earlier?

The bread tasted AND looked great! We’ve been enjoying it all week.

Some of you may be thinking: big deal, she made bread. But seriously, this is a big deal. I’ve never been able to successfully make rolls, bread, or anything else with yeast.

I was so happy I had to share. It’s all about the little victories around here.

Here’s a link to the recipe I made. But be warned, I don’t know how she does it without bread pans. Maybe I’m using the wrong type of yeast. Maybe I’m not forming my dough balls into the right shape. Maybe my kitchen is too cold.

Who know and who cares. From this time forward I’m sticking to my pans.

Because I did it and I couldn’t be happier.

Here’s to sticking with it and testing out more pins. Even if it takes me four times to get them right!