Are you out there? Can you hear me? Do you even exist anymore?
Because I know when I tried to call you for my local Internet company you were nowhere to be found. In your place were some don’t-give-her-anything-we-promised and don’t-solve-her-problems monsters.
It was kind of pathetic.
I called because I received an email saying my bill was available online. However when I tried to make an online account to view said bill, I got an error message.
Apparently I didn’t have an access code. That would come when I got my paper bill. I also didn’t have an email on file with my account. So how I got sent an email saying my bill was available is beyond me.
When I chatted online with an agent she said I’d have to wait several days to get my access code, online account or anything really. That’s when I decided to take the plunge and call in.
It took a while to figure out who to talk to. Why these automated systems make you jump in an out of hoops is beyond me. How many menus and numbers do I have to think about dialing before I reach a live person?
After punching in nearly all of my sensitive ID numbers, and then half of my family members’, I was able to speak to a “customer service agent.” Who then asked me to verify all of my personal information, again.
Eventually the telephone agent got me logged in online. But that’s when I found out my bill was four times as much as I was promised. Four!
I’m not exaggerating.
But for some reason, there wasn’t anyone who could tell me why. There also weren’t any customer service agents who were willing to look up my initial sign-up phone conversation where I was promised a killer rate on high-speed Internet.
Why? Why couldn’t any of you help me?
I was transferred to the help desk where I was told that only a supervisor could check the original call and help adjust my bill. But, here’s the kicker, since I was calling on a Monday, chances were slim that I’d hear from the supervisor that day. It would probably be Tuesday. (As of Wednesday night I still hadn’t received a call back.)
That’s when I knew there were no true customer service agents at this company, only imposters. Because if one agent is willing to actually admit that their supervisor’s time is more valuable than mine and that they were too busy to take a few minutes to call me back, it’s pretty evident that there was no customer service going on. Ever.
I don’t care if Mondays are really busy at the Internet company call center. I know it might be hard to believe, but Mondays are crazy busy for this stay-at-home mom as well. And I wasted an hour of my time chatting online and calling in to several different agents who didn’t seem to think my time was valuable.
Why? Why have all the customer service agents disappeared? Why can’t you do what you promise? Why can’t you easily check my account and help me figure out what is going on?
Is it too much to ask for you to add a little customer service to your job? You are customerservice agents after all.
I’d like to see you come back! I’d like to see you have passion for your job. And I’d like to see you actually help customers like me. Do what you promise! Because I am a customer and I deserve some service.
Sincerely,
Me
The stay-at-home mom who loves to waste her time discussing outrageous overages with you. Let’s do this again real soon.
How do you celebrate an angel baby’s birthday? That’s a very good question. I’m pretty sure there isn’t a codebook on what to do. Some might not do anything. But for our family it wouldn’t feel right if we didn’t do something to remember Luca- even if it is something small.
I realized that I have never officially written about what we do to remember him on his angel day. It’s not huge. It’s not a big fan fare. But it’s a quiet day for us to talk about him and remember the day we got to see him.
It’s a day where we gather close as a family. I take the boys out of school and my husband takes the day off work. I don’t know why but it feels better going through the day together.
This year I cuddled on the couch with my two oldest boys and read them a junior novel. They kept begging me to read on so we sat there for nearly an hour enjoying the story.
We watched the DVD of songs and pictures we have of Luca and we all cried. It’s a bittersweet thing to sit back and truly remember that all of that actually happened.
After our youngest woke up from his nap we headed to the dollar store where I let each of the boys pick something out to “give” to Luca for his birthday. My 7-year-old gave him a recorder, my 5-year-old gave him a goop-filled dinosaur egg and my 21-month-old gave him a pack of miniature farm animals. I picked out a set of miniature monster trucks.
We took them to the cemetery and carefully placed them on the headstone. My thoughtful 7-year-old son also brought him a bunch of jewels and a sprig of flowers from the backyard of our new home.
My sweet 5-year-old wrote him a special note that read: “Happy birthday Luca. You’re the best. Mom is having a baby. I just bought you an egg filled with jell and a dinosaur is inside. I have one of your onesies.”
My youngest played with each farm animal before resting it near Luca’s picture on the headstone.
We sat at the cemetery for nearly an hour while the wind blew around us, spinning all the nearby pinwheels. I think I’ve written before about how pinwheels remind me of Luca. When they spin I imagine him flying near, turning the spokes.
The boys each took turns racing to the life-size Jesus statue that sits a few hundred yards south of Luca’s grave. My oldest did it in 43 seconds. The second oldest took 53.
I don’t like going to the cemetery. But on Luca’s birthday it feels different. I like to sit there and soak it all in. I like when by boys play around there. It’s like they are playing with him.
In the evening we went out to dinner. Because who wants to cook on a day like that?
This year I was kind of nervous because my 5-year-old watched in wonder as the team of waiters sang to someone nearby who was having a birthday. Then he asked me what I thought the waitress would do if we told her it was Luca’s birthday. He had already mentioned to the dollar store checkout lady that we were buying things for, “our dead brother.”
I didn’t know how it would all play out. So I took the safe way out and told him it might make the waitress sad so we better not mention it. Maybe I should have let him tell her it was his birthday but sometimes it’s just too hard to see people’s reaction.
We planned on meeting friends and family at a park in our new town after dinner to have cupcakes and work on a service project. But the weather was crazy.
We haven’t moved into our new house yet so we didn’t know what we were going to do. Luckily my sister volunteered to let us all come to her house to celebrate.
We flipped through photo albums of Luca’s birthday while we ate cupcakes and drank strawberry lemonade.
Some of us worked on making new-sew hats to donate to Utah Share in Luca’s memory. We were able to
make 87. It was so easy and I love that my boys were able to help make them. My oldest keeps talking about wanting to make more.
Several people brought items to donate to Utah Share in Luca’s memory. I figure that since Luca doesn’t need birthday presents it’s a good time to give to others instead. We got some stamps, thank you cards, hand-sewn outfits, thinking-of-you cards, plastic bags, press n seal, stickers and more.
I made some tiny gowns and wraps before we started packing up our house so I could donate them in Luca’s memory. Several people gave me cute fabric to use for the gowns. Now I can pair them with some of the cute hats we made.
Normally we end Luca’s day by sending lanterns to him in heaven. This year was different. The wind and rain kept us from keeping with that tradition. I told the boys we would try one and we definitely tried. It nearly lit my husband’s shirt on fire as it drifted back and forth while he held it. We decided it was too wild and unsafe so we threw it on the wet sidewalk and let the rain (and my two oldest sons) douse it out.
Like I said, we don’t do much for Luca’s birthday. It’s a quiet day for all of us to reflect on our guardian angel. It’s a sad day. But it’s a good day. People may think I’m crazy and wonder why I hold on to my little baby. I can’t explain why I do, but I know I’ll hold on to him forever.
Dozens of friends and family members joined in and gave service in Luca’s memory this past week. I love that each of them took the time to do something to honor him. It’s a small way to help keep him alive.
Here’s what a few of them did:
– One of my friends made cards that said “Random Act of Kindness in Memory of Luca Clemens” and tied them to pens and dragonfly bookmarks. Then she handed them out to random people at the store. One lady was in tears when she told her who Luca was.
– My sister-in-law and her family (who live out of state) took flowers to a lady who was recently widowed. Then they sent lanterns to Luca in heaven. I was happy to find out someone was able to get lanterns up in the sky.
– I had a friend who worked on sewing 23 aprons for teacher appreciation week at her local elementary school. Then she drove carpool when it wasn’t her turn even though it was an inconvenience.
– Another friend brought up her neighbor’s garbage cans and babysat her sister’s babies.
– My sister took her two kids to my mom’s house and weeded her flowerbeds.
– One of my friends made salsa, guacamole and homemade cookies to take to her work – the NICU, labor and delivery and postpartum unit at a local hospital.
– Another friend bought a coworker breakfast Tuesday morning.
– I had one friend who spent the week focusing on complimenting others. “I think a lot of nice things but I never say them out loud,” she wrote. “Sometimes all it takes is a simple and pure compliment to uplift someone’s life. Even if it comes from a stranger.”
Author’s note: Four years have passed by. FOUR YEARS!!! Part of me wants to run outside and scream, “NO!” The other part has quietly come to grips with the fact that four years ago my beautiful, beautiful baby boy died.
I hate that he died.
I hate that I can’t get over it. No matter how many months, days or years pass I will still miss him. I will still wish I could have brought him home from the hospital. I will still close my eyes and picture his still body, feel the brush of his soft chubby cheeks against mine and stroke his sweet tiny hands and fingers.
I remember wishing more than anything that his chest would start to rise and fall. And whispering softly to him that I was so sorry he didn’t make it. So sorry that somehow I couldn’t help get him here safely.
Losing a child has changed me forever. And so once again I dedicate this week’s blog post to my angel baby Luca. Because having him has made me who I am today.
He would have been four on Tuesday. Maybe he’d be learning his ABCs and coloring with crayons. I bet he’d love chasing bubbles and digging in the dirt. He’d probably run when I tried to give him kisses and giggle when I tickled his tummy.
I love him. I miss him. And I can’t wait to hold him again.
My Angel’s Story
I was tired, I was huge and I was ready to have my baby boy. But not ready for the way it would all turn out. I would have happily carried him weeks beyond my due date if it meant he had a chance of being born alive.
Honestly? I wasn’t quite ready for a third child. I always wanted my kids close in age, but my two boys, ages 3 and 1, were a lot to handle. I was okay with waiting a while. But both my husband and I had strong impressions that we needed to try for another baby.
Despite those impressions, I was still extremely nervous about how I could be a good mom to three boys under the age of 3. Each day I grew, not only in circumference, but also in my confidence in being able to raise three tiny spirits.
On April 21, 2010 I had my 37-week check-up. Luca’s movement had been slowing down significantly for a while now and I was worried. I discussed my concerns with my doctor and we listened to his heartbeat, which appeared to be strong. So, my doctor and I decided that maybe little Luca was running out of room in my overcrowded womb.
The beginning of my pregnancy was a piece of cake. I felt better than I had with my other pregnancies and had virtually no morning sickness. But the end was pretty bad. I kept having sharp pains in my side and my muscles were aching.
Fearing the worst
My mother-in-law kept my other two boys while I went to my appointment so I decided to lie down and take a nap until she brought them home. That’s when I started panicking because I couldn’t remember the last time I felt Luca move.
I know what some of you are thinking? Why didn’t you rush to the hospital??? Knowing what I know now, my advice to any pregnant woman who is the least bit concerned about her baby, would be, GET TO THE HOSPITAL, NOW. Speed if you have to. What are they going to do? Tell you your baby’s fine and send you home? Hopefully. Laugh in your face about your unnecessary worries? Never. In all reality, even if I had been in labor and delivery when Luca’s heart stopped beating, they still wouldn’t have been able to save him. There wasn’t anything I could have done. I realize that now. But there are other reasons why babies stop moving. In my opinion it’s just better to get it checked out as soon as possible.
I literally worried all night about my Luca’s movement. I think the strong feelings and confirmations I had received that I was supposed to have another baby kept me waiting for his little legs to kick or his fists to punch. Luca’s pregnancy was my only pregnancy I haven’t run into problems conceiving. I thought that was a sure sign that this truly was meant to be. It was meant to be, just not in the way I hoped or expected.
I waited, and waited for him to move. Finally at about 2:30 a.m. I couldn’t take it any longer. I got up and sat in the bathtub for a long time. Travis came in and convinced me to go to the hospital. My mom came over to sit with my boys so we could run up to the hospital. When I got there, they hooked me up to a monitor and we found the baby’s heartbeat. Well, at least we thought we did — turns out the sound of my own heartbeat was reverberating back. We didn’t know that for sure until they hooked me up to a basic ultra sound machine and zoomed in on the heart. I knew immediately that my son had died. I looked at my husband and he knew it too. We had seen a number of live, beating hearts in ultrasounds. This one was still.
But the nurses said nothing. They tried to remain calm as they called my doctor and asked him to come in. He arrived at about 4 a.m. to confirm my baby’s death. We all cried — nurses included. He told me I could go home and come back later to deliver my baby or he could induce me right away.
The thought of leaving the hospital knowing that I was carrying my dead child made me cringe. I knew that having a stillborn was going to be the worst thing I had ever experienced. Delaying it wouldn’t change anything. They wheeled me into a corner room and posted a grieving sign on the door.
Shortly thereafter we started calling family members to let them know they were going to have to come in sometime that day to simultaneously tell Luca “hello” and “goodbye.”
Sharing the Heart-Breaking News
My poor mother. She was the first to hear of his death. And she had to take the news while watching over my other two little ones in my quiet, lonely home. I can’t imagine how alone she must have felt. She texted me awhile after I called to tell her he had died, asking what she should tell my other boys when they woke up. That literally broke my heart. What did I want her to tell them?
We didn’t want to tell him that their brother was “sleeping” or that he was “gone.” We decided to tell them the truth. That he had died. They were sad, but their grief was expressed differently than an adult. They didn’t cry much but they did throw more tantrums and asked to be held a lot more.
Telling people and hearing their reactions was one of the hardest things for me. I could handle the pain that I was going to have to bear, but having to inflict some of that pain on others made me so sad. It still makes me sad.
Our family members started gathering at the hospital and at our home waiting for the time when they would meet Luca. I knew we would only ever have a few short hours with him and so I prepared to face my nightmare with a smile on my face. This was the only time I was going to hold my baby. The only time I could take pictures of his beautiful face. I wasn’t going to let my grief overcome my ability to make the moments meaningful.
I don’t know if it’s all in my head, but I don’t think I had the full power of my epidural during his delivery. It was by far my most painful delivery. Not only emotionally, but physically. Maybe that’s because I didn’t have the anticipation of meeting my healthy baby to pull me through. With each painful push, I knew I was a step closer to meeting a baby I wouldn’t take home. I’ll never forget the shock in my doctor and nurses voices and faces as Luca was born. They all gasped in unison. He had suffered a cord accident that was visible the moment he was delivered. The cord was wrapped around his neck several times and it contained a true knot. Umbilical cord knots are extremely rare and knots resulting in a baby’s death are even more rare. Although I will never be grateful for what happened to my son, there is something I am extremely grateful for: The fact that we found out why he died.
He was born at 5:13 p.m. and weighed 5 pounds 13 ounces. He was beautiful with curly reddish brown hair and rosy red cheeks. We each took turns holding him and taking pictures. Utah Share came and casted molds of his hands and feet. Pat Wimpee came and took dozens of priceless photos of him and our family. I don’t know what I’d do without those photos. I think I would forget the details of his face. The wrinkles of his toes. The size of his tiny fingers. At times I stared at his little body, waiting for his chest to rise or his eyes to open. He literally was perfect.
We had Luca in our hospital room for five short hours. My legs were still numb from my epidural, so I was forced to watch everyone’s encounters with him from the comfort of my hospital bed. That was really hard for me. I wanted to hug and comfort everyone and yet I was stuck on the sidelines. I am sure that those who came to the hospital to meet him will forever be changed. There was such a special spirit in the room. It was a terribly sad, yet wonderfully peaceful experience.
The next several days were a blur. I left the hospital on a Friday morning. That afternoon I sat in the mortuary office preparing a funeral. We had a very small service on Monday, just four days after I delivered. Thank heavens for pain medications. Without those my traditional delivery pains coupled with the pain of my milk coming in, would have been unbearable. I buried my baby and part of my heart on April 26, 2010.
How am I dealing with his death?
I believe, as my religion teaches, that I will raise little Luca someday. Sometimes that thought brings great comfort, other times it is little solace for a grieving mother who longs to hold her angel infant now. Although he is in a better place, free from sorrow and sin, I wanted the challenge of raising him in this crazy world. Wanted to see him wrestle with his older brothers or hear him giggle as the four of them cooked up mischief. I hate that we don’t get to have him now.
I have experienced all of the traditional grief stages at least once. I have felt depressed, angry, honored, jealous, comforted, tired, rude, bitter, overwhelmed, out of control, anxious, stressed and unmotivated. There have been times I have sat on my couch, not wanting to do anything. Then other times that I feel an urgency to give back to others in honor of my son’s memory.
What do I do when the grief is too much to bear?
I take long soaks in the bathtub where I blast Pandora and cry until my eyes are strawberry red.
I watch movies like Tangled and sob when I see Rapunzel reunited with her parents. I wish I only had to wait 18 years to meet my “lost” baby.
I take my boys fishing. Fresh air and the beauty of nature clear my head and remind me of my place in the world.
I lay by my other boys while they are sleeping. I put my hand on their chest to feel their heart beating and their lungs filling with air. That reminds me of the beautiful boys I do get to raise on Earth. I can’t let myself take them for granted.
I start finding something I can do for others. I know it sounds cheesy, but sometimes serving others has been my saving grace. I understand the need to be still and internalize my grief and emotions, but sometimes it’s overwhelming. I have to find a productive way to patch over my grief until my emotions settle and I’m able to digest them.
Finally, I write through my heartache. Writing has always been a way for me to work through life’s problems. I imagine I’ll write through this problem my entire life.
I just have to keep reminding myself that life is hard, life is good and life is necessary.
Who had the brilliant idea to try to pack up her whole house and get ready to move while her boys were out of school during spring break?
You guessed it: Me.
I’d like to say I had no other options, but then again, I probably did. I love my children, but it’s been crazy around here.
Moving is hard – especially with little “helpers.”
Packing up their bedroom was virtually impossible. Each time I tried to put something into a box they’d get it back out and run away with it.
It’s not like I wasn’t trying to pack their favorite toys. I’m talking about things they haven’t seen or touched in months. The type of toys that have cobweb and dust coatings. They haven’t wanted them for the longest time, but amazingly when I was trying to put them away they were suddenly irresistible.
At one point during the break they had rearranged the boxes in the living room and my 5-year-old was climbing on top of them, followed closely behind by his baby brother. It’s a miracle they didn’t knock half of our stuff on top of each other.
Then there’s the whole – mom-is-busy-so-we-can-do-anything-we-want notion. I’ve never understood that. But when I’d leave the room to work on something I’d come back to a mountain of mess – cushions knocked off the couch, books off the shelves, Pokemon cards strewn everywhere and I can’t tell you how many Rainbow Loom elastics I have found scattered throughout every room around here.
I have misplaced my roll of tape and scissors dozens of times. Then there’s the permanent markers I have been using to write on the boxes – my 18-month-old likes to sneak off with those.
It has been wild. But we have made it through.
Like I said, moving is hard.
I have had several friends move recently. I’d like to say kudos to you. I had no idea what I was getting into. It’s hard to squeeze every single item you own into dozens of rectangular and square shaped boxes.
At this point there seems to be no end. I keep thinking that one day I actually won’t need any more boxes – that will be a great day.
Then there’s the thought that I need to just get rid of some of this stuff. Do I really use all this crap? Unfortunately I have reached the point where I can’t sort, I have to just pack it all. I have run out of time.
Then there’s the emotional part of moving. That’s one of the hardest things. Want to feel the whole gamut of human emotions? Try packing up your house and moving while you are pregnant.
I laugh, I cry and I want to go back to bed at least five times each day.
We are leaving our very first home. The place where we have settled and grown roots for the past 8 years.
My children know nothing else. They have lived here since birth.
This is where we have sledded down the hill in our backyard and built snowmen. Where we have chased gingerbread men and set traps for leprechauns.
We’ve read hundreds of books here and made countless Lego creations.
This is where we have built forts and watched movies. We have found worms in the garden and grown yummy cantaloupes.
We have had outside ice cream parties and hundreds of play dates here with amazing friends. Friends that we don’t want to say, “goodbye” to.
We have blown out dozens of birthday candles and have sent lanterns to Luca here. This is the only place where he lived inside me.
We have baked cookies in this kitchen and spilled flour all over the floor. We have swaddled our tiny crying babies here and comforted them throughout the night.
We have painted and carpeted and put a little piece of ourselves into this place.
I guess you could say part of us will always consider this “home.”
It will be hard to close the door in a couple of days knowing that it will no longer belong to us. The place where we have found comfort, shelter and peace for so many years will be someone else’s.
All of this would be almost unbearable if we didn’t have each other. Luckily I get to take my four favorite parts of this house with me – my family members. Because without them this house is just a house – not a home.
We move into our new place in a few weeks (thank heavens my in laws are graciously welcoming into their own home in the interim) and I can’t wait for our family to start making that place home.
Hopefully most of you will come and visit. Part of what has made this place so great has been the people we have shared it with. I can’t wait to share our new place with you too.
Moving is hard, but it will be good. I’m certain this new place is meant for us. Let’s hope we get to stay there forever and that we never have to move again.
I love my boys, but if they keep bringing home 95 percent of their homemade lunches, I’m going to have to knowingly let them starve.
I don’t know what else to do.
I thought I was being a nice mom. I was letting them skip the “nasty” school lunches by taking a made-with-love sandwich instead. They get to choose which days they won’t be able to gag down the school’s food and I pack them something amazing. (We have a system on how we choose what days they get to take a home lunch you can read about that here.)
But I don’t think I’m going to do it anymore. Well, let’s be honest, I don’t really know what I’m going to do.
I’m not a morning person. It’s a serious struggle for me to get up and get everyone ready to go to school. We hardly have time to eat breakfast. So on those mornings when we have planned for my boys to take a home lunch it’s particularly rough.
I am scrambling to snatch up a Go-gurt, drink, sandwich and – if they’re lucky – a small treat. If they are really lucky they get a hand-scribbled “I love you” note on top. I chuck it all into their lunch boxes and we barely make it to school before the late bell.
So imagine my surprise when last week I hustled like crazy to pack something for them to eat and it came home – nearly untouched. Again.
Here is a picture of my kindergarter’s lunch. AFTER he “ate” it:
Here is a picture of the second grader’s. He did one or two bites better:
Seriously? I think my 5-year-old took one bite of his sandwich. One bite!
And this isn’t the first time this has happened. It’s becoming more and more common at our house. Don’t they realize there are starving children all over the world who would LOVE to eat my sandwiches?
What am I supposed to do? I am sick of wasting my time and energy on these uneaten lunches.
Do I make them eat whatever the school is serving knowing very well that they won’t? At least the homemade sandwiches have a chance of getting eaten.
But I hate paying $1.75 a person for a meal that I know will get wasted.
Do I keep packing the homemade meals when they aren’t eating them?
Maybe I’ll start saving them and they can eat them for dinner. If they don’t get eaten for dinner, maybe they’ll be ready for them by breakfast.
I’m going to stop giving them snacks after school on the days they don’t finish their food. Maybe I can starve them into eating.
Oh, and who knows why they don’t just ditch the sandwiches in the cafeteria garbage. They would still be hungry after school, and I would have my suspicions on why, but at least I would be somewhat oblivious.
I think I am going to start affectionately calling my youngest son my little “sugar baby.” Because that’s all the baby wants – sugar.
He loves it. He obsesses over it. And he scavenges our entire home for it – usually 10 minutes before mealtime.
How did I end up with a baby addicted to sweets? I blame his father.
It’s always been pretty easy to get my youngest to eat. He’s been roly poly from the get go. In his short life he has probably eaten more than both of his older brother combined.
But now that he’s getting a mind of his own, it’s getting harder to convince him to eat real food not “nacks” (snacks).
From the moment he wakes up he’s wandering the house mumbling “nack” and “chaw chaw” (chocolate.) And when you’re thinking of those kind of sweet treats, who’s going to want cereal or toast?
Around Valentine’s Day I had a bowl of gummy and conversation hearts sitting on my kitchen table. I thought they were safely out of reach. Then to my surprise, each day, sometimes several times a day, I would hear the kitchen chairs rattle as my 18-month-old wriggled his way upward. He’d end up on the top of the table next to the bowl grinning as he had some more “nacks.”
Crazy kid.
Fruit snacks, Reese’s, Kit Kats, M&Ms, Skittles, suckers – you name it he loves it.
When he was about 9 months old I caught him in the living room trying to bust into my Snickers bar. I’m not kidding.
But he also has a sweet tooth for fruit. We’ve started hiding any cantaloupe, pears, apples, etc. during dinner time until he has eat at least a little bit of the main dish. If he spies it before we are ready to give it to him, we have to hear him whine, “apple” over and over.
He’s a kid who knows what he wants but it’s becoming unhealthy.
He’s started searching through the house while I’m getting meals ready looking for some sort of treat. It’s like I can’t get the real food done fast enough. But then again even if it was ready on time, he probably wouldn’t want the real food over the junk.
I don’t understand it. I don’t love candy. So I just don’t get it.
I’m glad he acts hungry – heaven knows my two oldest boys HATED eating at this age. They were both happily starving. But I’ve got to figure out how to get him to crave the good, healthy stuff.
Maybe I’m going to have to whip out my Deceptively Delicious cookbook and find some recipes I can hide nutritious food in. Maybe I’m going to have to purge our house of all chocolate and snacks. Maybe this is just a phase.
But I’m guessing he’s going to stay like his father. Who also loves “nacks” and “chaw chaw.” I don’t know what to do with my little sugar baby.
I missed you a lot this past week. We went on a family vacation and at times it felt like something was missing. That something was you.
I thought of you while we drove 10 hours to California. I wondered if you would have gotten carsick like your younger brother. Would both of you have barfed on the way to St. George? What movie would you have asked to watch to help pass the time?
When we made it to Disneyland, I thought of you while waiting in line at the Pirates of the Caribbean rideWould you have been scared of the dark while we plunged into the depths of the pirate world? Or would you have begged to go back three times like your older brothers?
I wondered if you would have been scared of Mickey like your baby brother. And would you have helped us spy for Captain Hook? Maybe you could have pulled the sword out of the stone — because surely you are my prince.
Then I missed you as we left the park. We posed for a family photo in front of Sleeping Beauty’s castle. I couldn’t help but think that not all of us would be in that picture.
I guess even at the “Happiest Place on Earth” I still felt heavy-hearted that we all couldn’t enjoy the magic.
We played a lot with our family members who live in the sunny state. Would you have tried to ride the seesaw like a crazy man with your 4-year-old cousin? You probably would have loved going down their slide or riding on their stationary horse.
I thought of you most when we went to the beach. I watched your oldest brother draw your name in the sand with a long, sturdy stick. It made me smile.
The grand waves crashing into the sandy shore reminded me that I am just a small part of this world. I am part of a bigger plan — a plan that at times seems confusing and unfair, but a plan that will all work itself out in the end.
And that’s when we’ll truly go on a family vacation. All of us.
Want to feel like a horrible parent? Take your son to the book fair.
You’ll walk away feeling like the worst mom on Earth. I’ve walked, no really crawled, away from two book fairs now with no hope for raising a descent member of society.
I love books. I love to read. Luckily, somehow I passed that love onto my boys – especially my 5-year-old. He reads more than any kid I have met. And he reads really well – he’s in kindergarten and he reads at a third grade level.
So I decided to take him and his brother to the book fair last fall. I thought I’d reward them for their hard work at school by buying them a new book.
Never again.
My youngest son is a true spoiled brat when it comes to the book fair. He cried giant crocodile tears, he stomped his foot and he screamed. All because I wouldn’t buy him Chupacabra. A sixth-grade book about a mysterious creature in South America.
Now I know he reads really well. But not that well. Not to mention the fact that it probably would have scared the crap out of him.
Why was he set on that book? Because it was the featured book on all of the Scholastic posters. He saw it hanging up in the halls for a week before we ever entered the stage where they set up the book fair. He knew what he wanted and he thought he was going to get it.
Not that time. He threw a giant fit in front of all the other book fair patrons and in front of my friends who were volunteering. I was embarrassed and angry.
But I held firm. He wasn’t going to get that book. So he wandered around sobbing for 10 minutes looking for something else he could settle on. He finally found a double-feature Ninjago book and we bought it and got out of there before he could change his mind.
I was nearly in tears.
I enlisted grandma’s help the second time we went to the book fair. She loves taking kids to the book fair. Well, she probably loved taking kids to the book fair. She may never spend money on another book for the Clemens boys again.
She told the boys they could each pick out a kit/toy (something I never let them buy) and a book. I thought this would be a breeze. Until my 5-year-old started pouting again.
He wanted to get the same book as his 7-year-old brother. The second book in the Spirit Animal series.
He hasn’t even read the first book in that series. And I know he’s a great reader, but I don’t know if he even could. It seems pretty long.
I wasn’t about to walk away from the book fair with two of the same book. Especially when I thought that even if we bought only one of them it might only get read once or twice.
Once again I put my foot down and once again he freaked out.
He wiggled and wailed and flopped around right in front of the shelf filled with the Diary of a Wimpy Kid series.
It was great.
Then he spotted some book called, “Dark Lord.” Wow. Now that might be a really good book, but I didn’t feel like letting my kindergartner read it. Especially because it too is a sixth grade book.
I took him out into the hall to talk with him one-on-one. Tears were streaming down his face and he was breathing short and quick. But I told him if I heard him say he wanted “Dark Lord” or “Spirit Animals” one more time I’d spank his butt and we’d go home empty handed. I had had enough.
That’s when he did it. He walked right back into the stage and said he wanted “Spirit Animals.” I just about came unglued.
If it hadn’t been for grandma he might not have made it. I took a deep breath and left. She said she’d stay with him until he chose something else. Oh the love of a grandparent. They don’t get as embarrassed or angry as a parent. I hope to be just like my mom someday.
They came home about 10 minutes after I did with a Magic Treehouse book and a pointer toy.
He loved the book and can’t stop pointing with that stupid stick finger. And when his older brother is done reading Spirit Animals he can borrow it from him.
And I hope he likes it. Because after that fit he threw about not getting it he’s never going to get to pick out another book at the book fair again. If I go, I’ll go by myself and I’ll choose what we check out.
OK. Let’s be honest. Signing your kindergartner and second grader up to do a school fundraiser is pretty much signing yourself up to do a school fundraiser. I have some newfound respect for those parents who opt out and tell their kids they aren’t selling stuff – especially after our most recent candy-bar selling spree. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t horrible, it was just a lot of work. But boy I’m glad we did it.
The PTA just wrapped up its annual fundraiser. And my boys were selling maniacs.
I guess they take after their grandpa Cutler who, rumor has it, used to sell admission tickets for his friends to sit and watch his sister put in her contact lenses.
Anyway, the boys were hooked from the beginning. They were pumped up about selling their product – $1 chocolate bars.
It’s partly my fault. I’ve been involved with this from the beginning too. I am on my school’s PTA board and cast my vote as to what we would sell and what the prizes would be.
I really do love these chocolate bars. They are cheap, delicious and this year they came with a free-admission coupon to Fat Cats for Bumper Cars or Glow Golf. That coupon in itself made the bars more than worth it.
Oh, and we decided to let the students do the fundraiser as families if they wanted. That meant my boys could work as a team and earn prizes as a team.
Otherwise we probably wouldn’t have done it. I can’t imagine having to decide which one of my boys would get the reward from us selling. I’m glad they let us team up.
Because, what kid doesn’t get stoked about prizes? If students sold one box they got to go to an ice cream party. If they sold two or more boxes they got their name entered into a drawing for cash envelopes. If they sold 4, they got to ride in a “party bus” to get a free lunch!
Awesome.
Each box had 60 candy bars neatly packaged inside. And once you took a box home you were responsible to sell – or buy yourself – all 60 bars. You couldn’t return any partially sold boxes.
Anyone who knows me knows I stress over money. I hoard it. I don’t like to splurge. And I also don’t like sweets. I still have some of my Christmas stocking candy left over.
So the prospect of being stuck with $60 worth of chocolate bars really gave me anxiety. But I signed us up anyway.
We sold our first box easily. We called grandmas, great grandmas, aunts and uncles. It felt like a breeze.
Then we made a long list of people we knew who we thought would buy some. We ran around the neighborhood with the big box of chocolates checking names off our list.
I also posted a picture of the candy on Facebook. That really helped us sell our second and third boxes.
But after 180 I was done. Yes I said 180. That’s $180 worth of product.
I’d driven my boys around for three nights knocking on doors of people we knew.
Surely I’d burned through several chocolate bars’ worth of gas at that point. I was ready to be done – I didn’t want to see another chocolate bar again. (Unless it was caramel flavored, those are my favorite.)
But I caved. My oldest begged me to sell one more box. He had a couple of friends who were on their fourth box. Why couldn’t he sell another?
That’s when my mom guilt took over and I brought home 60 more bars.
I knew the reward. If we sold this box, my two oldest boys would get to take a spin in the “party bus” to get lunch.
That better be the best lunch of their lives.
So we made another list. More people we knew. More people who didn’t have their own kids selling candy bars. More Facebook friends who said they’d buy some. And we hit the pavement again.
It was stressful, it was crazy and I wondered if we’d have to pay our mortgage out in chocolate bars. But we did it.
We sold 240 candy bars. Something I NEVER thought we could do. Granted we bought several ourselves, but I figure we can spend some family bonding time at the bumper car arena. There’s nothing more fun than slamming a car into the ones you love.
But frankly I’m glad I let them sell that last box. I didn’t hold them back. I didn’t get in the way of their passion. And when we were almost done selling it my seven-year-old said, “It feels really good accomplishing something.”
It really does. This fundraiser was about more than milk chocolate and almond bars. It was about making a plan, setting some goals and getting to work. It was about believing in yourself when your mom doubted you. I’m proud of my kids. They rocked it.
In the end it was a win-win. And the victory was especially sweet.
Author’s Note: My children hate doing crafts. However I love doing them. If I ever write about a new craft we did together, just know that I had a great time but my boys had a less than great time. Like when we did these valentines. Rest assured they were weeping and wailing at the kitchen table as I asked them to write a few sentences. How dare I ask them to write anything other than their nightly homework! Don’t get me wrong, they love their grandparents, they just hate putting forth any extra effort – especially when it’s not their idea.
I don’t love Valentine’s Day. I think it’s a dumb holiday that leaves people out. And who needs just one day to show their friends and family that they love them? We all should do that every day.
That said, I love to show people that I love them and I really love to tell them that I love them.
So this year I made my boys write love notes for their grandparents for Valentine’s Day. And can I say that I was laughing so hard at what they wrote I just had to share. I’m including a free printable at the bottom of this post for you to make your own grandparent love notes. If you do, let me know! I’d love to hear what your kids said about their grandparents.
Here’s what we did:
I stumbled across the cutest tutorial for Valentine’s Day mailboxes. You can see that here. I made 28 little advent mailboxes using my Silhouette machine (by the end I was wondering what in the world I was thinking). But they turned out really cute. I put vinyl numbers 1-14 on the side of each mailbox.
Then I had my boys write a note to their grandparents to put in a mailbox for each day. That way they have one love note to read each day from Feb. 1 to 14.
I gave my boys little printed slips of paper with following Valentine’s prompt phrases:
– I love Grandma/Grandpa because ___________________
– I love when Grandma/Grandma _____________________
– I want to give Grandma/Grandpa ____________________
– I love when Grandma/Grandpa ______________________
– Grandma has beautiful ________________________________
– Grandpa has beautiful _________________________________
– Grandma/Grandpa’s kisses are like __________________
– I love Grandma/Grandpa’s ____________________________
– Grandma/Grandpa has my favorite ___________________
It was hilarious to see what they filled in for their blanks. Some of my favorites were:
“Grandma has my favorite tootsie rolls”
“I love when Grandpa plays the Wii with me”
“I want to give grandma $1,000,0”
“Grandma has beautiful hair”
“I love Grandpa’s ribs”
“I love Grandma because she likes the Red Sox”
They were so funny! I cut the notes out, rolled them into tiny scrolls and then put one in each mailbox.
Like I said, my boys didn’t write these notes without complaining. They had a great time coming up with what they wanted to write they just didn’t want to write it. But in the end they did an awesome job. And I hope their grandparents get as big a kick out of the notes as I did.
Especially the note that says, “Grandpa’s kisses are like getting swallowed by a frog.” Seriously?! Who comes up with these things.
Here’s a LINK to where you can download your own grandparent love note prompts to print out, or click on the photos below:
Now I know not all of you have a Silhouette (you are welcome to come borrow mine anytime) but I think these notes turned out to be so fun that you could easily do them without putting them into a paper-cut mailbox. Just roll them up and stick a number on the outside. Or fold them into cute little envelope squares, place them in a wicker basket and hand them to their grandparents to read all in one day.
Here’s another quick and super easy $1 Valentine’s Day craft for friends or family. I saw a framed poster at a local craft store with the ABCs typed out. The I and U were a different color and the O was heart-shaped. When they lined up they made a diagonal “I ‘heart’ U.”
It was so cute I wanted to make my own. I searched Pinterest and found a couple examples to look at for spacing purposes. I typed up my own ABCs, threw a chevron background behind and viola! I had my own printable artwork.
I bought a few $1 frames at the dollar store and put my printed pages inside. They made instant framed Valentine’s notes. So fun! We gave them to my grandparents.
If you want to download and make your own click HERE or click on this photo:
Now, I better stop crafting before I break or ruin something.
Some of us worked on making new-sew hats to donate to Utah Share in Luca’s memory. We were able to
Boogers on the Wall 