Gracie Was Doing Just Fine, Until. . .

The last day of swimming lessons is always extra fun. They turn on the fountains and water slides in the pool and let the kids have a free for all for the last few minutes of class. I let the twins (2) enjoy the water a bit as I watched the older kids swim and play. It seemed like a perfect morning, until. . . .

We headed out to the lobby and my four year old, Gracie, says very quietly, "I had an accident." First I thought the poor thing just wet, but as there was no large puddle directly beneath her, I inspected further. Yep, there was a big soggy present in there. Thinking I could just clean her up a bit at the van rather than try to duck into a bathroom while the other kids ran wild (near a pool - scary) I wrapped her in her towel to make it less noticeable then ushered everyone toward the van, carrying her part of the day since she could only walk very slowly. (You know the walk -straight legged, marionette like, barely taking her feet off the ground)

We got to then van and I realized I did not have any wipes with me. The convenient little travel container was on a camping trip with my husband. I made due with two diapers, one to clean her with and one to wrap the dirty deed up in, only to have it spill out into the car while we dismbarked. Should I note here the condition of the package, as it had probably been in a swimming pool, or would that be too much information?

I dropped Gracie into the tub and went back out to clean up the mess. Gracie didn't seem to be emotionally scarred and was enjoying her bath until . . .

She decided to let the water out and lay down in the tub at the same time. As the water made it's way down the drain, so did her long, brown hair. For a minute I thought it was stuck and was afraid I would have to cut it. My mind flashed back to the time her sister rolled her hair around a plastic comb, and when her sister (same one) cut a four inch chunk out of her hair. Life has not been kind to Gracie's locks. Luckily I was able to pull it out of the drain with only a few snags. Life was good again, until . . .

(hopefully not to be continued)

Thoughts about a National "Fast Toy" Chain

Conversation overheard between two mothers at swim lessons today:

First Mom, "I think we might go to (national fast food chain owned by a clown) today, if they have a different toy."

Second Mom, "Yeah, I have about a million of those blue cars around my house, when are they going to give out a different one?"

First Mom, "So and so called last Thursday and they said to come the next day and they'd have the new toy. So she went the next day and they were still giving out the blue cars!"

Me (thinking) Wow, they are making a big deal out of those dumb little toys that I throw away the second my kids loose interest.

Me (remembering) Oh yeah, just the other week I drove my kids across town because the nearest clown restaurant was out of toys.

Me (remembering some more) The kids always leave half of their "joyful meals" untouched and run off to play in the play place with their new little treasure.

Me (making a conclusion) It's not the food that keeps the kids wanting more, it's those darn toys that I keep throwing away.

Me some more (making a mental note) Maybe I should put their meals in a cardboard box with a junky plastic wrapped toy. Maybe they would get more happy about my meals.

Something to consider on Beef Stroganoff night . . .

In Defense of Those Who Drive Big Cars . . .

I suppose that I am lucky. I am not used to rude behavior, from adults that is. So today I was caught off guard being on the receiving end of rudeness. For some strange reason I feel people should be civil to each other and give each other the benefit of the doubt. I am not claiming I am perfect, but I am really good at keeping my mouth shut when many would not. Mostly because I think it is in my own best interest to do so.

So what set this off? Just this small incident:

I drive a very large van. Unlike many of the more streamlined mini vans with the automatic sliding side doors on both sides, my maxi (yes, it is really called that, giggle giggle) van only lets the passengers exit on one side, and all the doors swing out. Being that all passengers that exit per these wide swinging doors are under the age of eleven, as a courtesy to the car in the space next to ours, I tend to park as far to the left of the (usually much too small) parking space as possible. This ensures that the doors aren't smacked into the car next to us resulting in physical damage to the neighboring car and financial and emotional damage to our family. This also results in my not being perfectly centered in the parking space.

There obviously has to be a decent amount of space on the driver's side also so I can get out. I am an average sized person, so I figure if I can crawl out of our monster sized vehicle with out touching the car on my side, it shouldn't be a problem if the other car has a passenger for said passenger to get in or out. Heaven forbid I should make it so the driver might have to pull out of the parking space to let the passenger in. The inconvenience! It would be much better to sacrifice the side panel of the auto on the other side of me.

So today I broke the cardinal rule and parked on the line. Mind you when I pulled into the space I was not judging where my van was in relation to the lines, but rather the cars on either side. I thought I was quite courteous to eliminate possibilities of damage to both cars.

The passenger to the car on the drivers side, however, made it clear that she was quite disgusted with me. I was sitting in my van waiting for my kids to all be settled in with seatbelts fastened. As I sat a woman came out of the business with the driver of the car. She eyed the space between the cars the way a teenager looks the competition for a prom date up and down, then made eye contact with me. At first I was confused. Then I realized what her problem was. I am embarrassed to admit that for a split second I wished I could let myself say, "It's okay dear, I think you can fit. Your hips aren't that wide." But of course I have a conscience. I'm above that. I have kids within earshot. And it would just make things worse anyway.

The woman then proceeds to say to her friend,"I think I can fit," and then, rather loudly as she (without undue difficulty) gets into the car, "Don't you hate it when people park on the line!"

So now that I have vented a bit I must ask the question, Why? Why be so rude? Did it make any difference? Did it make me want to follow her and beg her forgiveness for not thinking that parking on the line automatically results in not enough space to get into a car? Did it make her better than me? Did it make her right? Is it going to change my parking skills? Only if it changes the size of my van.

So to those out there who are irritated by the big cars that have to park in the average sized parking spaces, give us a break. We are not trying to pin your car in. We are not trying to make your life miserable or inconvenient. I for one am trying to spare you the inconvenience of going to the body shop! We are not purposefully trying to squeeze into tight spaces, rather we often drive around the lot a couple of times scouting out a space that is adequate. The only reason I don't park on the outer rim is for the sake of having my children spend the least amount of time walking through a parking lot as possible. So, please, think twice before giving me the evil eye, 'kay? It will make both of our days more pleasant.

I must mention that there are a lot of really nice people out there who wait very patiently while I stand with the doors open and buckle the twins in, blocking the path to their car. There are people who refrain from honking when I have to make a six point turn where most people make three point turns. There are even people who will take the time to signal me that I can back out of my space farther without hitting another car. There are people who realize that life isn't perfect and we just have to deal with it sometimes. Thank you to all those nice people. And thank you to all the people like me who sometimes want to say something rude, but think better of it. It makes a difference.

Taking a Bite Out of Crime, and a Hamburger Too.

Our neighborhood Watch put on a great "block party" at our park this weekend. The two woman who headed it up did an excellent job. Hot dogs, hamburgers, and drinks were donated from local businesses and grocery stores. They talked a wedding DJ to show up with a PA system and music for free. There was a fire truck, a motorcycle cop and a bike cop who gave free bicycle helmets to the kids after teaching them a little bit about bike safety, and taught them how to properly put them on.

The police department had their computer system set up to take pictures of the kids and make ID cards for them in case they get lost. They also talked to us about crime in our area and how it can be prevented and should be reported. And to top it all off there was a cool martial arts demo, lots of neighbors to meet, and squirtguns for the kids.

We all had a great time, despite the heat. It is so easy for us to just know the people in the area that we go to church with or the kids have school or sports with. It is so sad that I have so many neighbors that I don't even know what they look like! This party was a great way to get people out of their houses so that we can get to know each other and have a better sense of community in our neighborhood. I highly recommend it.

A Little Privacy Please . . .

Sign I would like to post on my bedroom door:

Mom and Dad's Room

Visiting Hours:
7:00am - 9:00pm weekdays
8:00am-9:oopm Saturdays and Sundays

Rules for usage:
1. No whining, complaining, tattling, or toys allowed.
2. If occupants have eyes closed PLEASE do not try to engage in conversation, give them the phone, or yell "I want my breakfast!" in their faces.
3. Do not attempt to unlock the door.
4. Snugglers are welcome. Please see visiting hours and rule number 2.
5. Those who violate rules will be bodily removed from the premises.

Have a nice day.

Pine Wood Derby

Ah, the Pine Wood Derby. The high point of a young Cub Scout's Cubbing career. One night of fame and glory as his carefully designed machine races down the track, careening past it's opponents and into Cub Scout history. Or a night of pats on the back as his name goes to the consolation bracket and lots of people telling him how cool his car looks, even though inside he knows that it doesn't have what really matters: speed.

You see the thing that matters most in building a winning pine wood derby car, which hardly seems fair, is not the shape of the car, nor how much effort the boy puts into it. The secret to a fast car is a little bit of luck and a Dad who knows all the tricks.

Perhaps I should write a new beginning to this post: Ah, the Pine Wood Derby. The high point for a young Cub Scouts Father reliving his own cubbing career. Rarely dose a Derby pass without rehashing stories of past victories and defeats, retelling the story of Grandpa's "Dog Catcher" mobile that was the ugliest car ever made but smoked all the rest. They pull out the old cars, relive their glory days, and decide what needs to be improved for this year's competition.

It is truly a time that brings Dad and the boys together: designing, sanding, painting, and most importantly getting those axles and wheels into prime polished, friction eliminating condition. Yes, there really is a book about how to do all that. It's that big of a deal for the dad, um, I mean boys.

After several months of work (yes months, we plan ahead when it comes to the really important stuff) and waiting, tonight was the night. When the pins went down, our boy's cars performed. There was a tense moment for me when the boys had to race each other to decide second and third place, but both were good sports about the result. They brought home ribbons and grins.

The boy who took first place was a little guy who's dad lives out of state and step dad has a restraining order against him keeping him from the boy's family. I don't know who helped him with his car, but it was fast. I am so glad he won.

Somewhere in all this friendly competition the boys are supposed to have fun and learn sportsmanship. It is encouraged throughout the night and I think the boys in our pack did pretty good. The dads were even civil with each other.

The most fun part of the night is when all the official racing is done and the boys have a free for all racing their cars against each other over and over again. The boys line up with whom ever they want to challenge while the Dads gather in a corner sharing tips and tricks for next year.

Funny thing is, during the free for all my seven year old daughter, who is dying to be a cub scout, pulled out the car she made. It is a purple and green block of wood with wheels and it beat every other car on the track. So much for all that planning. . .

He Knows Me Better Than I Do

I sent an e-mail to my husband at work yesterday to remind him to ask the guys where we could get a good deal on sand for our mammoth sized sand box. I thought I'd make it a little interesting and wrote him a little riddle:

It feels funny between your toes.
Sometimes it burns your feet.
There is a type of shoe named after it.
You can write your name in it.
It gets in your swim suit.
You can never totally vacuum it out of your car.
It gets everywhere.
It feels terrible in your eyes.
Anikan Skywalker doesn't like it.
I want some.
What is it?

So he reads the email and decides to let me know what his first thought was: pee. Keep this answer in mind and reread it with his minor changes:

It feels funny between your toes.
Sometimes is burns your feet.
There is a type of shoe named after it.
You can write your name (with) it.
It gets in your swimsuit.
You can never totally vacuum it out of your car.
It gets everywhere.
It feels terrible in your eyes.
Anikan Skywalker doesn't like it.
I want some to make it in the toilet.
What is it?

Yes, that's what I really want.

Comprehension?

I'm reading a book to my kids, one or two chapters a night. Tonight we were on page 201. My four year old asks, "Who just went into the tunnel?" (referring to the book)

"Grace did," I answer.

She asks, "Is Grace a girl?" I'm thinking, we are 200 pages into the book and she is just now asking that?

"Yes," I answer.

"I like girls," she says, and snuggles back down to listen some more.

A few seconds later she asks about another character, "Is Marty a girl?" Two hundred pages and she seemed to have missed these minor details.

I'll cut her a break, though, because a lot of the books I read at night to all the kids are a bit above her level. I think most of the time I'm reading those her mind may be elsewhere. I read books to her that are for her age level during the day, so it's not like she is deprived and only has access to chapter books with --gasp--no pictures. The evening book is really a treat for the older kids who don't get read to as much anymore. (I still love to have books read to me, in fact my husband has been reading books out loud to me since before we were married) And I think it helps with their vocabulary a little. They stop me quite often to ask me what a word means.

On another note, my nine year old, who just began to read chapter books on his own, came out of my bedroom today carrying his dad's old college Physical Science textbook. He has been studying it all night. See, a little reading can go a long way . . . I wonder how much he is getting out of it. I'm sure he'll be telling, or asking me all about it tomorrow.

BTW - I JUST DID MY SPELL CHECK AND IT ONLY FOUND ONE ERROR! IT'S A MIRACLE! I must have only used small words tonight. . .

Father's Day - Check

I think I'm safe to post this since the man of the house doesn't usually get on the net during the weekend. We are just about done with his Father's Day gift from the kids. My friend came up with this cute idea of making a mini scrapbook with pictures of the kid's feet. (this is where I'm really wishing I had ordered that digital camera already). We took a plain 5"x5"ish spiral bound scrap book and decorated the front with some scrapbook paper that had the words "dad" and "hero" and stuff like that on it. On the first page we took a quote from Helaman 3:20 (Book of Mormon) that said,". . . he did observe to keep the statutes; and the judgments; and the commandments of God; and he did do that which was right in the sight of God continually; and he did walk after the ways of his father . . ." only we changed the he to they and bolded a few key words like keep, commandments, and walk after the ways of his father. Then we took pictures of each of the kids' feet. Each kid gets to write a little note to their dad in the scrapbook next to their picture. The pictures turned out really cute. Gracie's little toes are all curled up in the grass. We did think after the fact that we should have had the pictures done in sepia. But they look cute anyway and I think it will make a nice little gift that Daddy can hang on to for a long time.

Cleaning Day Again

Okay, I really shouldn't be on the computer right now. I just need a little distance from the kids rooms for a minute.

It is our third "cleaning day." The first week went great, the second week was okay. This week . . . lets just say the novelty has worn off, reality has set in, and I'm a little short on patience. I know I shouldn't be, it takes a lot of time and effort to train kids how to do their jobs and how to STAY FOCUSED so it doesn't take all day. If only I could show them once and then let them go at it! Then I could focus on th things I have to do instead of monitoring, urging, and training. Ugh!!!

I really think one of the problems we have is just too much stuff! I'm not sure that my kids are any more spoiled than the average American kid, but seriously - they have so many toys. No wonder they are frustrated when they have to clean it all up. It's just overwhelming. I wonder if we give our kids nice things in the name of love faster than we train and teach them to care for and appreciate the things they have. Hmmm - lots of stuff + not enough training to be responsible= spoiled? Are my kids spoiled? I'd like to blame it all on the grandparents, but I'm afraid I'm guilty as well. I keep thinking about the time my friend from Taiwan told me how incredible it was that American kids have so much stuff.

--Okay, just got interrupted by a salesman. I've got to get that no soliciting sign (if I can find a cute one). So back to my train of thought --

Oh, I've been rereading one of my favorite books, Positive Discipline by Jane Nelson, and love the idea that we don't necessarily have to make our kids feel worse to do better. I don't want to be a better person when people are yelling at me, I'd rather (but I wouldn't) kick them in the shins. So I am racking my brains on how to make my kids rooms more manageable for them, help them learn responsibility for their things, and help them feel like the capable kids that they are. Perhaps the most important thing I can do is stay positive and keep at it.

Now it is time for me to take a deep breath, remember they are just kids and are still learning. Patience, patience, patience . . . Oh, and forgetting about perfection ought to help too.

Sorry Spot . . .

I have a few irrational fears, mostly having to do with keeping my children safe from harm, heights, and public toilets. But I try not to pass these on to my children and try to focus on teaching them safety instead of paranoia. Unfortunately one of my childhood fears seems to have been genetic and passed down to my two oldest daughters.

Dogophobia.

I don't know if that's a real word, but I do know that when I was a kid I was terrified of my friends galloping, slobering, white ball of fur. Eventually I came to grips with it, and even enjoyed my sister's Cocker Spaniel, Daisy, (who, by the way, peed on my wedding dress pattern while I was altering it) and my brother's Sheltie, Midnight. Although I never think I will be a "dog person" I can see that they do have some endearing qualities.

My girls, on the other hand, get chills up their spines if they even hear a dog. When they go to a friend's house who has a dog I have to go up to the door first and make sure the dog is "put away" before they will set foot inside. I worry that a loose dog will startle my girls out into the street one day.

Neither of them have been bitten or have had a horrible experience with dogs, other than just being jumped on. I guess when you're little that can be pretty scary.

So I am just at a total loss of what to do for them. I just sort of grew out of my fear. I learned to walk on the other side of the street and not look at a strange dog, and to put my hand out when I met a friend's canine. Having them pet a dog while someone is holding it hasn't been successful either.

And to be completely honest, although I can understand being afraid of animals, sometimes it is just tiring to deal with. If we go for a walk and we see a dog down the street I have two girls clinging to me in near hysterics. I have to ask before we enter any house if there is anyone in the family with fur. If I forget, you had better believe I hear about it. And I know I can't just say,"It's a nice dog, it won't hurt you." I just doesn't work, and what if the dog did hurt them, even in a small way?

So I try to be patient. I try to remember what it is like for me to stand at the top of a cliff and inch toward the edge. With a guard rail. It terrifies me.

I hope that they will grow out of it, or I can help them find some way to handle it better. Maybe then we can start working on Charity's fear of cats.

Water Water Every Where

It turns out our flooded back yard was simply a result of miscalculation. It was the first time Hubby had used the timer for our new grass and misjudged how long he should have them on. The sprinklers will now be taking a rest for at least a week.

I was a bit worried about the grass drowning, especially as we just barely forked out the dough and put it in, so I tried several different ways to try and use a hose to siphon some of the water off. My dad taught me how to get a siphon started when I was a kid, but working in three inches of water and not having a surface lower than the grass for it to flow out to was a bit of a problem. In my last ditch effort I tried the "suck on the hose until you get the siphon going" technique. After a mouth full of dirty water and some really sore lips I put the hose away.

I ended up getting the kids out of the house to help me bail the yard out. Using smaller buckets and bowls we began filling up the larger buckets, which I then loaded up into our trusty three wheeled (no, it wasn't made that way) wagon and dragged them out to the storm drain in the front of the house.

I was very impressed with the kids, they had a lot of fun working together, and of course ended up wet. One of the best workers was two year old Timothy who worked very steadily and followed directions exactly. Stark contrast to his twin sister, Tabitha, who wouldn't put a toe outside. She sat on the couch and watched through the sliding glass door the whole time. I hope this is not an omen of things to come.

After about an hour of bailing we decided that Mr. Sunshine could work his magic on the rest. The kids had worked hard and I was proud of them. I suppose only time will tell how the grass will fare!

While Hubby's Away

My husband is out of town for a few days, and I miss him for many reasons. Here are just a few:

Since he left the toilet broke.
Since he left the front door broke.
Since he left the back lawn flooded and I can not find the source.
I don't have anyone to distract the kids while I'm trying to fix dinner.
I don't have my team mate in the challenge of getting the kids into bed.
I can't run a quick errand alone.
He took the big bag of M&Ms with him.

In short, I miss my guy. It's not that I can't handle most things that come my way when he's gone (I fixed the toilet and door, but I have no clue about the lawn - but it's not getting any worse). I am used to having him at work the majority of the day, after all. And the kids really are good kids. But I miss a kiss when he gets home from work, the kids wrestling with him and telling him all about whatever is on their minds, the help at the end of the day -- the reprieve from the full weight of responsibility, some one else who is on my "side". And, of course, adult conversation (more than just a phone call). Sigh. Not much longer, I shall endure . . . If only I had that bag of M&Ms.

Oh, and by the way - today is my one month blogaversary!

Yeah, We've Mastered That

My husband is in the process of getting into a Masters program. Today I peeked over his shoulder as he was looking over his transcripts from college. I was surprised to see that he got a D one class. I was even more surprised to see what class it was in - Physiology of Human Reproduction. He said it was a lot of memorizing of every piece of anatomy, hormone, etc. I really didn't know it was so complicated. (One plus one equals three, right?) Well, we may not know how it works, but six kids later we sure know it does!

Side note: I know so many couples who struggle to conceive that I just have to add that I don't take for granted for a second how blessed we are.

Read All About It!

I love books. There are times when I don't read as much as I would like, but I really love books. Books are a way I escape from the pressures of life, the way I dream, the way I expand my views and formulate opinions, and the way I educate myself. Although I wish to teach my children to enjoy many things in life, if I can pass on my love of books to them I will consider myself having given them a great gift.

That said, I am very excited to announce that my nine year old son finished his first chapter book that he has read on his own all the way through because he wanted to last week. And then he read another one. Because he wanted to! He has always been interested in books, looking at them and reading snatches here and there out of non-fiction books. I have tried to sit down and read alternate pages with him, but it seemed too tedious and he soon lost interest. I guess I didn't make it fun enough. When we went to the library last week he picked out two "how things work" books like he always does (and I have nothing against that, it is reading and he has learned a ton), but I hoped he might pick out a fiction book also. So I nonchalantly picked out about six fiction books that I thought he might be interested in and, again, nonchalantly put them on a table and said, "Hey, here are a few books I thought were cool. I just thought you might want to look at them." No pressure. At first he really wasn't interested, but after a while he went back to the table and picked up War of the Worlds (the illustrated classics version). I tried so hard not to jump for joy when he brought it home and got lost in it's pages!

Each child is so different it sometimes feels like learning how to be a parent all over again with each one. My oldest son learned to read quickly and devours books. It didn't come as naturally for my second son (the one who just read his first two chapter books on his own . . .) so I've had to try different things to help him along. I guess a lot of parenting is trial and error, and persistence. And patience. I think that's what he needed most.

Hopefully he has caught the reading bug and will continue to find joy in reading all kinds of books!

Weighty Issues

Some women are so brave as to post their weight on their blogs. As for myself, being fiercely protective of my children, I have chosen to be an anonymous blogger (except to both of you in RL that I have admitted that I blog to), therefore I'm not sure it would mean much if I did post my weight. And besides, seeing it in black and white before my very eyes is worse than saying it out loud. Which I NEVER do. Suffice it to say, I could stand to loose a few. But I must not look too bad because I get comments like this:

"You look GREAT for having SIX KIDS!"

I know this is meant as a compliment, and I always graciously accept it as such, but in the back of my mind I am thinking, "What the heck is that supposed to mean?" Is there some kind of poundage allowance for each pregnancy you've had? Do I barely squeak under the allotted amount for six kids because I got two in one pregnancy? Are they really saying, in a very polite way, "It's okay that you are a little pudgy, because your body has been through so much trauma."

Somehow I think I should weigh less for having six kids. Yeah, I always carry over a little extra weight after each baby, but shouldn't all the work I put in to caring for that kid shift my body into calorie burning over drive? Especially with toddler twins. I should be allowed to eat 6,000 calories a day and come out negative by the time the kids are in bed. At least it feels that way. Sigh.

I guess the stress eating doesn't help with anything. Maybe what they are thinking when they tell me that is, "If I had your six kids I'd be keeping Hershey's in business single handedly."


On another note:

As Gracie was saying our family prayer she asked to "please bless Luke that he will close his eyes and fold his arms during the prayer." No mention her help herself keep her eyes closed.

This is "Why?"

I have figured out the reason for one of the most plaguing periods in toddlerhood that we mothers have to endure. I have learned the impetus behind the "Why?" stage. You know, the stage where every sentence ends with a question mark, the one that comes right before the "Can't stop talking and Mom needs to be looking straight at me the whole time I'm saying anything" stage.

Here is the scoop: I was trying to understand my two year old's toddlerese and figure out what is was she wanted when it dawned on me: We mold them for it. Yes, nearly everything we say to these wee little ones is a question.

"Are you hungry, sleepy, hot, cold . . .?"
"Do you want the ball, book, doll, cup, car, super noisy toy that I'm about to rip the batteries out of . . .?"
"Is your diaper poopey?"
"Do you want to go outside, to see Daddy, to the park . . .?"
"Can Mommy read you a story, sing you a song, give you a cuddle . . .?"

You get the idea. They are bombarded with questions. Questions that they can't always answer. Sound familiar? Some may argue that the "Why?" stage is a child's curiosity at it's peak. Curiosity, schmuriousity. I think it's payback.

So now the damage has been done. The twins are at the verge of speaking clearly. One day soon I will relive the days when my oldest boys where two and three. One would ask, "Why?" and after I gave that child what I thought was a satisfactory answer, the other would pipe up, "How come?" This sometimes followed by another, "Why?" It's acomin' and now I know -- it's my own darn fault.

An Extraordinary Woman

It's funny how a little thing can get your mind rolling. As I was contemplating what to put in my "things I want to do before I die" list for the se7ens meme so many things came to mind. So many things that I had planned to do when I was younger. Exotic things, extraordinary things. Things that not your average run-of-the-mill house wife would do. I always knew I would grow up to be a mom, and hoped I could be a stay at home mom, but still I had big dreams and big plans.

So what happened to those dreams and plans? As time went by I met my sweetheart and we welcomed six beautiful spirits into our home. My idea of exotic and extraordinary shifted as my view of life changed. I still plan, and I still dream, but what I dream and plan for has evolved. I could say it is because my life is not just my life any more. That it is inseparably connected to my children, and that I have a huge responsibility to them that I cannot ignore. This is all true, but it is not all. I made my life this way, and I want it this way. I am one of the lucky ones.

My plans no longer entail traveling the world, performing on a stage, or immersing myself in an exciting career. My dearest hopes and dreams are simple. A golden anniversary with my husband. Children who love each other and cherish their childhood experiences. Children who grow up to be loving, honest, and spiritual people. What more could could I ask for?

Sure, I still have goals that are just for me. I work on them and try to expand my mind and abilities. And occasionally I feel the urge to go out in the world and do something extraordinary. But then I think about what is dearest to my heart and I realize I don't need to do any thing extraordinary anymore. Now I need to be extraordinary. I need to be the mom who is her children's greatest support and advocate. I need to be a listening ear and an open heart. I need to be a teacher and a friend. I need to be a cook, maid, homework corrector, chauffeur, and all the other things moms do. I believe if I try my best to do all these things with grace and love, eventually I will be an extraordinary woman. Perhaps a typical extraordinary woman, but extraordinary none the less.