And I told him about a little girl who wanted to be a princess

I grew up in Portland, Oregon, where a yearly event occurs called the Portland Rose Festival. It's a week filled with parades, amusement park rides, Navy ships, and I can't remember what else--keep in mind, I left Portland when I was 17 and haven't lived there since. One part of this Festival is the selection of a court of princesses, high school girls from around the city, who wear crowns and beautiful gowns and ride on floats and wave a lot. Along with this high school court is a Junior Rose Festival Court, made up of little girls ages seven to ten, who essentially do the same thing as the "big girls."

When I was seven, more than anything, I wanted to be one of those princesses. And I really thought I would be. I couldn't imagine that I wouldn't be selected; the thought never even crossed my mind. Naive? Absolutely. They select only eight little girls from the entire city! The night of the competition, along with dozens of other little girls, I put on my beautiful new dress and shoes. My mom curled my hair in ringlets, and with my parents by my side, I was off to a night that most certainly would end with a crown on my head and the title "Princess Terrianne."

I was wrong.

I didn't win. I got first runner-up, which my parents tried to convince me was "excellent," but of course that is a bunch of crap because at the end of it all, "first runner-up" means absolutely nothing.

I was not a princess.

And my little heart broke.

That was years ago, but I still remember the pain of that night. I remember taking my place as first runner-up, standing stoically beside the newly crowned Junior Rose Princesses, as the audience clapped and cheered. I remember holding it together just long enough to get into the car, then bursting into uncontrollable, breathtaking sobbing all the way home and long into the evening until I finally fell asleep from pure exhaustion. I remember taking off that dress, vowing never to wear it ever again (and I never did) and feeling so horribly, horribly sad.

And I have hated competition ever since.

Now before everyone yells at me all at once, let me say that I understand at least cognitively (if not emotionally) the value of healthy competition. I know about effort and sportsmanship and teamwork and losing with dignity. I get it. I don't enjoy it. But I get it.

Fast forward three decades from that fateful night when I was seven, and I'm the mom to five beautiful children. My only daughter was 14, and her passion was cheer. She had an extensive dance background just like me, but more than anything, she wanted to be a cheerleader. As tryouts for varsity cheer approached, she worked harder than I'd ever seen her work for anything. She spent hours preparing. The day of tryouts, I was so nervous I could barely breathe. My mom and I sat in a little Mexican restaurant across the street from the high school because it felt better to be close to her while she was trying out.

The following day, I stood by her side as she made the phone call to the recorded message that listed the names of the new varsity cheerleaders. She looked at me and whispered quietly, "I didn't make it." I didn't believe her. We all think our kids are perfect, but in this case, with my dance background, I knew this wasn't just my natural mom bias. I knew how good she was, and it made no sense that she wouldn't be selected. I made her call again, so I could listen just to be sure. But sure enough, her name was not on the list.

She cried just a little and was sad for about a day. We left the guys and went out for steak dinner, just the two of us. Then in true Shulamith form, she bounced right back with that incredible optimism that I can only dream about. As a very young boy listening to a talk by former church President Gordon B. Hinckley, Isaiah once remarked, "The only two people as optimistic as President Hinckley are Sponge Bob and Shulamith."Truth! She moved forward with grace and humility, telling all her friends she didn't make the cheer squad.

Monday morning, I received a call from the cheer coach: "Hello, is this Shulamith Webster's mom?" Uh huh. "Another girl came in to ask about her scores, which led us to review all the score cards. It turns out there was a mathematical error on your daughter's card, and she actually made the squad. I'm going to call her out of class right now to inform her, but I wanted you to hear it first from me."

Well great. A mother is only ever as happy as her saddest child. All the hurt in my heart for my daughter's disappointment could have been avoided if somebody had done his math correctly. Or even better, if every girl who wanted to, could be on the cheer squad. Yes, yes, I know; that is highly impractical. Ridiculous. Yes of course, how can I even say such a thing? But dang, I just think kids should get to do the things they want to do.

Fast forward eight years, and Luke has finished his undergrad degree and is just back from his mission. His goal? A PhD in psychology. His second goal? Not to pay for it. So he only applied to six schools, all of which were fully funded programs and hence, extremely competitive. As in only 2-3% of applicants are admitted. No worries, I thought. He's incredible. But one at a time, rejection letters arrived. Why hadn't it occurred to me to suggest he apply to at least one non-funded PhD program as a backup or even a masters program, both of which would be far less competitive?

When the final letter arrived from Indiana University, I was sure it would also be a rejection. It was a thin, regular business envelope, nothing to suggest extra paperwork, etc. that might indicate admission. I texted Luke at work to tell him the letter arrived. But did he rush home? Nope. He drove through Taco Bell first. Then he came home and sat at the dining room table and ate Taco Bell, as that flippin' letter sat unopened on the kitchen counter. I know motherhood is not for wimps, but I was never warned that it involved this kind of torture.

Finally, he decided to open the letter, and of course, the rest is history. He was accepted to Indiana U. and even selected as the one fellowship student from the incoming class, and five years later, became Dr. Luke Erichsen.

Fast forward three years, and my very last baby is a junior in high school. His passion: choir. He has sung in choir all three years, but for his upcoming senior year, he decided to audition for Vocal Ensemble, the select performing group. Auditions involved singing a solo in front of the director and another music teacher, and Seth was so nervous. Me? I do a little better now than I did in my earlier days of parenting, but I still get plenty nervous. Then we had to wait two weeks to find out if he made it, until last night when the senior VE members came around with personal letters to each student who auditioned. Seth made it (whew!), but two of his best friends didn't, and after all this waiting, I felt so sad for them. They just want to sing and dance in this group and make people happy, and I think they should be able to. Once again, don't yell at me.

While Seth and I waited anxiously for the letter to arrive, my memories were close beside us. I told Seth about how competition is hard for me, especially when my kids are involved. I told him about Shulamith's cheer tryouts and about Luke opening his grad school acceptance letter.

And I told him about a little girl who wanted to be a princess.

Swen-isms

Shulamith's 5-year-old son, Swen, provides regular entertainment to his parents. Often, I tell Shulamith, "You need to write that down, so you don't forget it," but usually, she doesn't. She is six months' pregnant with Monster Baby #3, while caring for #1 (Swen) and #2 (Kennedy). When would she find the time to write?

So here are a few Swen-isms, recorded for Shulamith:

1. Swen: Her, what did you have a dream about last night?
    Me: I dreamed about Swen and me sitting in the chair together, snuggling.
    Swen: That's not a dream, Her. That's a real.

2. Eli and Amanda are in California this week, welcoming home Amanda's brother from his mission. Since they flew out of the Salt Lake airport, I have their car here.
     Swen: Why do you have Eli and Amanda's jeep?
     Me: Because they went bye-bye on an airplane, so I'm keeping their car while they're gone.
     Swen: But Her, the police will catch you and put you in jail if you steal Eli and Amanda's car.

3. Those who know us Erichsen-Webster are aware of our Diet Coke addiction. It runs through the entire family, all seven of us. At any given moment you can find large cups of Diet Coke sitting around our house, some old, some new, some in between. So Swen has learned to ask before tasting: "Is this old or new?" This morning, he came upstairs just as I returned from Chevron with a brand new, 44-oz, iced-cold Diet Coke:
     Swen (after taking a sip): This is so new! I love it!

4. Occasionally, Gerald takes Swen to preschool when Shulamith has other stuff to do. Apparently, he doesn't always use the same route Shulamith does.
     Swen: Mommy, when Gerald took me to school, he didn't go the right way; he went the left way.

5.  It's tough when you don't like girls but are surrounded by them for most of your day.
     Swen: I do not like girls, so no girls allowed. Baby is a girl; Mommy is a girl; Her is a girl. No girls allowed!

6.  Swen's sweet tooth is only paralleled by his mother's. The other day he was telling Shulamith about this new candy he discovered:
     Swen:  There's this one I really love. It's called "Sneakers."
     Shulamith: Do you mean "Snickers"?
     Swen: NO! Sneakers.
     Shulamith: You mean the candy bar with caramel and peanuts?  
     Swen: Yeah, that!!

7. Shulamith and I spend a considerable amount of time at McDonald's, where we sip Diet Coke and watch her kids play. Swen often makes friends with the other kids in the play area. The other day he was telling this new friend about us:
      Swen: (pointing to Shulamith) That's my mom, and (pointing to me) her name is Her."

8.  Gerald and I were in Las Vegas the past two days, so Shulamith gracious agreed to drive Isaiah to the airport, something Gerald or I normally do. On the way, this conversation transpired:
      Swen: Where are we going?
      Shulamith: We're taking Isaiah to the airport to go bye-bye on an airplane.
      Swen: Where do airplanes go?
      Shulamith: Wherever you want to go.
      Swen: Do they go to the dinosaurs?
      Shulamith: No, they're all dead.
      Swen: How did they die?
      Shulamith: I don't know.
      At this point, Isaiah went into a detailed lesson on meteors and what led to the extinction of the dinosaus.
      Swen: That's sad that they all died. Do you think they'll be back in an hour?

9. Driving to preschool this morning, Shulamith and I were talking about someone we know who is getting marred:
     Swen: What's "married"?
     Shulamith: When two people love each other and want to be together forever and ever, they get married. Like Daddy and I are married. And Gerald and Her are married.  So when you grow up, you'll meet a cute girl and get married.
     Swen: Or can I meet a cute boy?
     Shulamith: Yes! Or a cute boy.

10. And randomly,
     Swen: Kennedy, you're difficult.
     Shulamith: Why is Kennedy difficult?
     Swen: Girls are difficult. Boys are "intresting" [3 syllables]. Kennedy, Mommy, and Her are girls. They are difficult. Dada and me are boys. We are "intresting."

11. Discussion of tonight's activities:
     Shulamith: Tonight is our mommy-son date to Chick-fil-a. I'm so excited!
     Swen: But what about Kennedy?
     Shulamith: Dada is taking Kennedy up to the mountains.
     Swen: I don't like the going to the mountains. They're too rough.

12. Yesterday, Swen came upstairs and into our bedroom, where Gerald was lying on the bed, and I was brushing my teeth. He walked over to my closet and exclaimed:
      Swen: Oh my goodness, Her! You have a million shoes!
      Gerald: Right, Swen?

13.  Then he started asking me about my parents.
      Swen: Who is your mommy?
      Me: Great-grandma in Portland is my mommy. Do you remember her?
      Swen: Yes. Who is your daddy, Her?
      Me: My daddy is in heaven with Heavenly Father?
      Swen: Why is he in heaven?
      Me: Because he died, so he went to heaven.
      Swen: What does he look like?
      Me: Come here and I'll show you his picture on the wall.
      Swen: Why is he by a fire truck?!?
      Me: Because he was a fireman!
      Swen: Why did he died and went to heaven?
      Me: Well, he got sick, and then he died and went to heaven.
      Swen: Did he get bit by an inchworm?
      Me: Sure, something like that.

14.  We picked Swen up from preschool today, and this was part of the conversation:
      Shulamith: What did you have for snack today?
      Swen: Fruit Loops and raisins
      Shulamith: That sounds like a great snack! Did you eat all of it?
      Swen: No. I did not eat the raisins. I am allergic to raisins. They make me die.

15. I spend most of my life on a low-fat eating program in order to maintain a desirable weight. When he asks why I'm not eating ice cream or fries or pizza, I always tell him "Because I'm fat." So now he's taken it upon himself to monitor my eating:
      Swen: Are you still fat, Her?
      Me: Yep, I am.
      Swen: Then you shouldn't eat those pancakes.

16. Last week, Gerald somehow accidentally took my cell phone to work with him. He apparently can't tell the difference between a Samsung phone and an iPhone. Plus, he managed to take two phones, his and mine.
      Swen: Her! Where is your phone? I want to watch your phone [meaning he wants to watch you-tube videos on my phone.]
     Me: Gerald took my phone to work with him.
     Swen: Did he stoled it?
     Me: Yes, Swen, he stoled it, and I'm not very happy about it.

17. Swen's mommy, Shulamith, will deliver a new baby brother in exactly 19 days. Swen is very interested in that whole process. He knows the baby is growing in Mommy's tummy, so...
     Swen: How will the baby get out?
     Shulamith: The doctor will cut a hole in my tummy and take the baby out?
     Swen: How will get get all the food off the baby?
     Shulamith: He'll wash it off.
     Swen: Will he also use a vacuum?
     Shulamith:  Sure, Swen.

18.  Swen calls me "Her." Obviously, this isn't something we planned, but as he grew, Shulamith would often say, "Show her your new toy" or "Ask her to get you a drink of water." Eventually, Swen came to believe my name was "Her." Because it was so funny when he first started calling me that, we didn't stop him. Now both he and Kennedy call me "Her," and it drives Matt crazy.
     Matt: Swen, you know that isn't really her name, don't you? Because the word "her" is not a name. It can refer to all girls and women. Do you know what her name really is?
     Swen: Yes, Daddy. I know that "her" means all girls. And I know her name is Terrianne. But I don't like that name. I call her "Her."

19. Swen and Kennedy were playing doctor.
     Kennedy: I need some medicine.
     Swen: Okay. What kind you want? I got allergy medicine, Ibuprofin, or pills.
     Kennedy: Hmm, maybe pills. Do I have to give you money?
     Swen: No, it's free!
So proud of Swen for his inherent understanding that healthcare should be free to everyone!

20. Swen is currently adjusting to his week-old baby brother, Theodore.
     Mom: Swen, why are you angry and grumpy today?
     Swen: Because Heavenly Father made me like this.

21. Yesterday, Swen and I were running to the store, and the only car available at the time was Isaiah's. Isaish is a minimalist, and this shows in his choice of a car. When he purchased his first car after graduating from college, he deliberately bought one without automatic locks or windows.
     Swen: How do you roll down the windows in this car, Her?
     Me: Like this (and I proceeded to demonstrate how you grab the handle and literally roll it around to lower the window).
     Swen: Wow, I've never seen a car like this before!
To say Isaiah is not the neatest person in the world would be an understatement. The back seat and floor of his car is filled with all sorts of crap.
     Swen: Isaiah throwded a lot of stuff on the floor. He needs to vacuum this car and take it to a car wash!

22. Swen was mad at Kennedy and sort of attacked her. Immediately after, as Kennedy was screaming:
     Swen: Her, I want to watch your phone.
     Me: But Swen, you just hit Kennedy and made her cry. So that makes me not want to give you my phone.
     Swen: No, Her! That's not how it works!

23. So Swen was very unhappy to learn that his daddy ate all the apple Nutri-grain bars. I don't blame him because those are super delish.
     Swen: Where are the apple bars?
     Mom: Dada ate the last one.
     Swen: He is the stupidest Dada in the whole world! I want you to not be married to him anymore.
     Mom:  Well I already am married to Dada for ever and ever.
     Swen: Take Dada's ring and throw it in the garbage. Then you won't be married to him, and you can get married to Her.

24. Swen and I took a road trip to Rexburg to visit Eli and Amanda and also my friend Lindsey. As we were driving, we discussed traffic laws and what happens if you break them.
     Swen: What is that sign for?
     Me: It tells me how fast I can drive.
     Swen: What happens if you drive faster than the sign says?
     Me: Then the police can pull me over and give me a ticket?
     Swen: Do the policees have a very long string to pull your car over?

25. Swen loves to hear stories of him as a baby.
      Swen: I know we've talked about this before, but how cute was I as a baby?

26. So this one is more of a "Shulamith-ism." Recently, Swen has become a bit obsessed with smoke detectors. This has sort of replaced his interest in car washes, or at least set it aside for now.
      Shulamith (in the most serious tone ever): Swen, sweetie, I can't find you any you-tube videos of smoke detectors because, you see, not everyone is as interested in smoke detectors as you are.
      Swen: Why not?
      Shulamith: Well, they just aren't. Most people think smoke detectors are just sort of "there."

27. It's General Conference for our church this weekend. I was watching the session this morning. Well, when Swen came up, hoping I would give him some "conference treats." He stayed for a while and ate three Mint Milanos, then went back downstairs. Then this conversation occurred between him and his mom:
     Swen: Mom, do we have to be quiet when we listen to this church on TV?
     Shulamith:  Well you can talk, but just try not to be too loud.
     Swen: Well, Her said I have to be really quiet during church TV.
Yep, I sure did. Because I love this "church TV."

28. Shulamith: Ugh, I cannot keep up with the four of you and your messes!
      Swen: Mommy, that's why you shouldn't have three kids. It's so hard with three kids because Theodore cries all the time, and me and Kennedy make messes, and Dad throws his socks on the floor!

29. Swen: Mommy, why don't buses have seat belts?
     Shulamith: Well, buses are really big, so if another car hits a bus, the people in the bus don't get hurt.
     Swen: Also, buses are already flat.

30. Swen used to want to be a garbage man when he grows up, but lately, he has changed his mind and wants to be a fireman. But I'm not sure it's the best career choice for him.
     Swen: When I grow up, I'm going to be a fireman. But if there is a real fire, I won't go in the building because that would be too scary!

31.  As an extension of #26 above, Shulamith has managed to find a couple You-Tube videos about smoke detectors. Swen is thrilled! So the other day I was trying to take care of Shulamith's baby Theodore, and Swen wanted me to find smoke detector videos:
     Swen: I want to watch about smoke detectors.
     Me: Swen I don't know how to find smoke detector videos.
     Swen: You just type it in your phone.
     Me (trying to get out of this): I don't know how to type "smoke detectors."
     Swen: You can type "smoke detectors." I know you can. Sound it out: ssssss-mmmm-ooooo-kkkkkk-detectors.

32. So the Monson-Webster Family recently moved out of our home, and I am so sad that I really can't talk about it without crying (which is why I haven't given it its own blog post...yet). But Swen is also trying to adjust. Swen loves order and routine, so change is never easy. He is also obsessed with smoke detectors and carbon monoxide detectors. About a week ago, he stole my carbon monoxide detector and took it to his new house. The following conversations have occurred since:
      Swen: Look, Daddy, I took Her's carbon monoxide detector, and now if there's carbon monoxide, she won't know, so she will be dead in heaven with Kitty [our dog, who died a couple years ago]. But I think she will still be crying all the time there, because she misses me so much at my new house.

Then today...
      Swen: Mommy, look, I still have Her's carbon monoxide detector. I hope she doesn't die because then we won't see her anymore or go places together. What will you say to me if I say "Mommy, can I go somewhere with Her?" but she's dead?
      Shulamith: I would say, "Well, honey, you can't go anywhere with Her because she's in heaven," and that would be really sad, so I don't want to talk  about it.
      Swen: I hope she isn't dead right now, because I'm sleeping in her bed soon. (Since they moved, Swen has been asking to sleep here with me, and we promised him tomorrow night he can).

And then a few days ago...
      Swen: Her, if I take away your smoke detector, your house will burn down, and then you can come live with me at my new house.

33. Like many new moms, Shulamith is still working to lose all the baby weight she gained while carrying Theodore. She's doing great, but still has a little left to lose. She was standing in a particularly unflattering position, when the following conversation between Swen and Kennedy occurred:
     Swen: Mommy, do you have another baby in your tummy?
     Kennedy: No, she doesn't. She just has fat.

34. So Swen and his dad have a great relationship, but they do run into conflicts occasionally. I'm glad Swen doesn't shrink from the fight; he always stand his ground. Go Swen!
      Swen: You are mean, so I'm going to live with Her for ever and ever and ever. That's what I'm going to do.
---or this
      Swen: I don't want to talk to you, Daddy. So I'm making a sign that says "Pass." I will hold up the sign, and when you see it, you can just pass right by, and don't talk to me!

35. Swen has been learning sight words in kindergarten. Those are very common words that can't be sounded out or that appear so frequently that they need to recognize them by sight.
      Swen: Her! Your name is a sight word!

Love means never having to say, "Mom died of a heart attack because of a terrifying GIF video"

So we've already established here that I suffer from several anxiety disorders, including an intense and sometimes debilitating phobia of snakes. Just writing that word right there took quite a lot of concentration, and looking at it isn't easy. I wrote about this phobia once here, in case you'd like further understanding of its magnitude. If not, feel feel to leave the link closed and move right along.

It was Easter evening, and the day had been lovely. Church was nice, followed by a yummy turkey dinner with all the wonderful trimmings. Yep, we cooked "Thanksgiving" on Easter because it's about the only thing we know how to make. Around 6:30 p.m., Shulamith and tribe left to visit Matt's parents, and I settled in to relax after a full day, anticipating dessert in celebration of Isaiah's birthday once they returned.

But an hour or so later, my rest was interrupted by a sudden burst of contact from several family members within the same split second. Meine Gute! My phone, it seemed, was coming alive!

Here's what happened. Matt frequently steals Shulamith's phone and participates (as Shulamith) in conversations, especially in group messages. Usually, we can tell it's he, not Shulamith, texting, but sometimes he fools us, at least for awhile. I guess another thing he likes to do (and this one is beyond my comprehension) is use her phone to look at pictures and videos of those nasty reptiles (I'm not gonna write the word again).

So I guess he was watching an especially awful GIF of one of those things, and he copied it into a group text conversation among Gerald, Eli, Amanda, Shulamith, and me. Why did he do this? Who really knows? I think he doesn't fully appreciate the severity of my phobia or even phobias in general. He thinks I just make it all up. I don't. Enough said.

Anyway, Shulamith saw this GIF copied to the group text conversation, panicked, and tried to get her phone out of his hand. In that struggle, Matt accidentally hit "send."

And into immediate action my wonderful family went:

1.Gerald jumped up from his computer and raced into the bedroom to tell me not to open the text.
2. Shulamith texted me in our private thread, saying, "Group text. DON'T OPEN IT!"
3. Amanda began sending multiple messages, one after another in the thread, hoping to get past the awful video by the time I opened it.

But it was Eli for the win! He decided to go primitive and actually call me, and just as I was about to open the group chat, I saw his phone call and clicked on that instead. "Hi Eli!" I said. And in a calm, but untypically serious voice, he replied, "Mom. Listen carefully. Do not open the text in the group conversation. There's a terrible video there."

Panic pulsed throughout my body. I knew exactly what it had to be.

Love is an interesting thing. In my Sunday School class earlier in the day, we had discussed situations in our lives when we had witnessed, though "through a glass darkly," glimpses of self-sacrificing love between humans, which shadow the Savior's love for us. My family, at least those four mentioned above, love me enough to want to see me live another day.

There's a line from a 1970s romance novel (and movie) called Love Story that goes, "Love means never having to say you're sorry." But I don't think that's accurate.

I think instead it should say: "Love means never having to say, 'Mom died of a heart attack because of a terrifying GIF video.'"

"That's just sad!"

To say we Erichsen-Websters are casual about food is an understatement. But twice a year, on Easter and Thanksgiving, we try to all sit together at the table ("try" being the key word). The rest of the time, when we're not in restaurants, we tend to, well graze. We grab food and eat it wherever we happen to be. On Sundays, we are usually at least in the same room together, but at the table, uh, no.

So just as we put the finishing touches on Easter dinner this afternoon, Shulamith asked everyone to come to the table for a picture:

Shulamith: Okay everyone, come sit at the table, so Mom can get a selfie of all of us.

Seth: So you're gonna make us all come over there just to take a picture, but we're not gonna actually eat together? That's just sad.

Me: People can do whatever they want. They don't have to sit here if they don't want to. I just want a picture.

As it turned out, all eight of us stayed at the table and ate together.

And it was perfectly lovely.

So yeah.

A cougar, a Jazz game, a piece of rope, and Easter Bunny help!

My friend Rebecca, the pastor of a Protestant church, sometimes updates her Facebook status with the events of her day. When she does this, I come to realize just how much I truly suck, because by the time I finish reading her "day in the life of" status, I'm thoroughly exhausted and pretty sure she accomplishes more in one day than I do in an entire month. That said, my schedule this weekend could maybe compete? Wait no, never mind. It's Holy Week and Easter tomorrow, the busiest week of her year. I won't even come close.

I'm desperately trying to wrap up the semester, which ended Thursday. Grades aren't actually due until Wednesday, but honestly, you don't even know how desperate I am to get them submitted so my actual 4-week semester break can officially begin. But it's also Easter weekend, so no, I can't spend all my time reading essays. There is cooking and shopping and Easter prep to do. It's also Isaiah's birthday today. I won't tell you how old he is, but he's been telling all his friends and coworkers he's turning 23. I couldn't be prouder! So glad to have passed on the genetic link of lying about age to my middle child. Go Isaiah!

The problem, though, is he is impossible to buy gifts for, absolutely impossible. All he really wants for his birthday is for the Jazz to win its first playoff game tonight, and though I'm an expert gift buyer and the Queen Mom of surprises, I can't promise a win tonight or do anything whatsoever to make it happen. Help!

Along with figuring out that dilemma, there is Easter to prep for. Shulamith and I surprised even ourselves by having most of our "Easter Bunny" shopping done yesterday, both for her kids and mine. Still, I found myself needing just a few more items for dinner tomorrow, so out I went this morning, when I should have been home cleaning and cooking. Gerald did a bit of the cleaning, fortunately, and Shulamith make "smashed" potatoes (Hi, Eli!) and an ice cream dessert, which will also serve as Isaiah's birthday cake. Done and done. I still need to make stuffing. Turkey will go in oven tomorrow, along with glazed carrots in the crock pot.

In the middle of all this, I decided to go to a play. I know, right? Why would I do that today? Well, you see, my friend Hilly is starring in Desert Star's production of "Captain American Fork," and she got me comp tickets for this afternoon's performance. I can never say no to "free," and I really wanted to see her perform, so why not add yet another thing into this carefree day? I just now got home from that, and let me tell you that Hilly was fantastic! Really, she was. Like most Desert Star plays (maybe all of them?), it was one Mormon joke on top of another all the way through, but she went above and beyond in her performance as the villain cougar. Locals, if you get the chance, go see it. It's double cast, so make sure you buy your ticket for a night Hillary is performing.

Now you might be wondering why, with so much to do, I would be blogging at this moment. Remember: writing is therapy for me. And yes, I pretty much always need therapy, but why especially today? Well last night I decided to get a head start on today's tasks and mow our lawn. It was the first mow of the season, so the grass was tall, and just as I came around the corner of our lot, I encountered this horrible piece of rope, all wrapped up super gross-like. Just the color and positioning in the grass, well you get the idea. I about died. Ugh. It took some time and every ounce of concentration and bravery I could muster to kick it out into the street. Even now, it's still there, and it looks really awful.

So I'm hoping some writing therapy will help me settle down, that and exercise. Oh, did I forget to mention that I also started new workout program, "Bikini Body Mommy 90-day Challenge," and yesterday was my first day? Yep, I did. So I still need to do that. And make stuffing. And clean kitchen. And sweep and mop floors. Rebecca, am I coming even close?

So I better go. Happy Easter, everyone. May we pause from the crazy, long enough to remember the sacrifice that was made and give thanks. Love you all!

"And he came to himself": Dispelling the myths about non-punitive parenting

Last weekend, I was talking to Eli's wife, Amanda, about our parenting style. She told me that when Eli first told her about how he was raised, she was stunned. She had never heard of anything remotely resembling our parenting style, and she couldn't imagine how it would work. The following are not Amanda's exact words, but they represent questions she, and others, have asked our kids over the years:

"What? You never had a bedtime or a curfew? You were never grounded or placed on restriction or denied privileges? You were never put in timeout? Your parents never forced you to say "please" or stop whining or sleep in your own room or eat foods you didn't like?"

When faced with questions such as these, I think my kids typically pause for a moment, then offer a single-word answer: "Uh.....no."

And then the typical followup: "Well what DID they do then? Did they just stand around and let you do whatever you wanted? Did all five of you just run wild?"

Of course not! Quite honestly, I think it takes more time and effort to choose positive, gentle parenting than to be punitive and authoritarian. But then I've never tried the latter, so I can't be sure.

For us, the key is respect. We respect our kids and their unique personalities. We also understand and respect their age-appropriate behavior. I wrote a post about this once titled "Just doin' their jobs." When we understand and, yes, celebrate age-appropriate behavior, we honor the growing-up process, so inherent in the Lord's plan. Ultimately, our kids want to make good choices, not because they fear punishment or negative consequences, but because they desire to be good people. They want to make good choices for the sake of making good choices, not to please us or others.

One of my favorite scripture stories is the account often referred to as the Prodigal Son, and my favorite line in that story is "And he came to himself" (Luke 15:17). It doesn't happen overnight. It can take weeks, months, years or even longer  for growing humans to "come to themselves," as they begin to understand their innate worth as children of Heavenly Parents, but it is well worth the wait! And really, aren't we all still in the process of internalizing this amazing truth? Don't we all struggle to "come to ourselves" day by day, week by week? It's one thing to train dogs using operant conditioning with promise of rewards vs. threat of punishment, but I would suggest that it isn't an okay way to treat Heavenly Father's precious children.

When you choose respectful, non-authoritarian parenting, I can promise you that others will question your decisions. Depending on how polite they are, some may even challenge your choices or even predict your failure and your children's failure. All of this has happened to us. Sometimes I was tempted to "cave," especially with our oldest two. I was a new mom, and no, I hadn't yet tested our parenting style. I was just going with my gut, with my instinct. Everything inside me said that these two precious little people were doing their very best, so I had to do my best too. They had only been on earth for such a short time; how could they know what to do? I had more experience, lots more, so it was my job to model appropriate behavior and allow them to learn in their own time from my example, and to love them through the process.

By the time our middle boys were born, I was far more secure in our parenting decisions. The older two were in school by then and doing well. Their teachers loved them, and they loved their teachers. Again, well-meaning advice givers would occasionally chime in about how my oldest two must be "special cases," "exceptionally easy children," "not typical." Haha, really they weren't. They were, and still are, just regular people, navigating through this mortal experience and just like us, the process of "coming to themselves." We continued on alongside them, doing our best to model good behavior and offering them our support both when they made, and didn't make, the best choices.

Our two middle boys were also pretty typical, though Eli was the most spirited kid I'd ever met. Passionate he was; oh my goodness! There were times Gerald and I felt like two tiny parents on the floor in a puddle, not exactly sure how to handle his powerful emotions. I distinctly remember holding him tight in my arms and whispering over and over in his ear, "Eli, we don't hit in our home; we only love each other." It took a long time for him to internalize this value, but eventually, he did! As he grew older, he channeled all that wonderful spirit and passion in positive directions, and today he is one of the kindest, most gentle souls I know.

My parenting style probably wouldn't work for everyone, though I wish more parents would give it a try. I think many would be shocked by how much more peaceful life can be when both parents and kids are on the same side. I've heard the phrase "Choose your battles," but what if there weren't any battles at all? Honestly, when you say "yes" to kids most of the time, on those rare occasions that you have to say "no," they tend to be much less resentful.

A wise man once said, "Treat your children as though they were special guests in your home because (guess what?), that's exactly what they are." I'm far from perfect with this, but I do try to keep these words in the back of my mind as I'm blessed with this final opportunity to parent the most awesome 16-year-old on the planet.

Amanda has told me I should write a book about this stuff or give a TED Talk. Hmmm, I don't know if I'll ever do either of those (maybe?), but I did feel prompted to write this post. If you ever want to discuss the specifics of gentle, non-punitive parenting, ping me. It's one of my very favorite subjects.

I'm not scared

Seth isn't home tonight.

"Where is he?" you ask. He's in a tent at a campground about 20 miles south of here with three of his friends. Four 16-year-olds camping alone. In the dark. In the cold.

But I'm not scared. Absolutely not.

I'm not imagining all sorts of gruesome things that could happen to them in that tent all alone. I'm not thinking about bears. Or snakes. Or kidnappers. Or serial killers.

Nope. Not even a little bit.

Apparently, only Sprint has service there. We have Verizon. I told him before he left that if he didn't find some way to communicate with me, I would likely drive down there to find him. Fortunately, one of his friends has Sprint. He borrowed the cell phone and called me tonight while I was in class. When I saw the missed call, I immediately left my classroom and called him back:

Seth: What's up, Mom?

Me: Are you okay???? Are you cold? Are you hungry?

Seth: Mom. We've only been here a few hours. We're fine. We went on a short hike, and now we're eating dinner. We cooked hot dogs over a fire.

[Fire?!?! What if they don't fully extinguish that fire? What if it spreads to their tent and burns them up in the night? Okay, settle down. Settle. Down. They're all scouts. They will extinguish the fire properly. Of course they will. I'm not scared.]

Me: Seth, be sure you extinguish the fire.

Seth: Yes, Mom. Of course.

Me: Is your tent set up? Will you all fit in it?

Seth: Yes, we all fit, even Ashton's dog.

[Dog?? Dog??? That's wonderful! A dog will scare away any potential serial killers.]

Me: Oh, you have a dog with you. How nice. What kind of dog? How big is it?

Seth: Uh, I dunno what kind. A big dog, though.

[YESSSSS! A big dog! Perfect.]

Me. A big dog. That's great.

Seth: Okay, I need to go now. We're gonna roast marshmallows and make s'mores.

[Yikes, s'mores could definitely attract bears. What if they bring them inside the tent? No, no, they won't do that. They're scouts. They know better. I'm not scared. I'm not scared.]

Me: Okay, Seth. Remember not to take food inside your tent. And text me right when you wake up in the morning. You have Dad's mummy sleeping bag, right, the one that keeps you warm in sub-zero temperatures?

Seth: Yes, Mom. But I don't think it's going to get below zero.

Me: Probably not, but I want you to be warm. Text me in the morning. Please be safe. I love you.

Seth: Love you too.

And thus ended our conversation. I won't hear from Seth for at least another 10 hours. Here I am, all alone, trying so hard to convince myself that...

I'm not scared.

And failing miserably.