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.

ITS LEGS: In search of memories

Late last night, Eli was sitting on the couch in our living room thumbing through nine years of ITS LEGS blog books. Amanda was asleep next to him; somehow she manged to stay asleep despite our animated conversation and intermittent laughter. In search of memories.

So I'm here to tell you something important: Keep records. Those of us who are LDS are counseled by both the scriptures and our church leaders to keep a record of our lives, but if that doesn't provide sufficient motivation, allow my experience with Eli last night to help you along.

Eli and I read stories about conversations I had with Seth when he was nine years old. We laughed and laughed. "Mom, do you really think P90X is a good idea. Look at the computer; that girl's leg is much higher than yours. You'll never have a beach body."  We read stories about Luke's PhD graduation, and Shulamith's engagement and wedding, and Isaiah's audition for "Mr. Skyview" his senior year in high school. We read stories of joy and frustration, excitement and disappointment, happiness and fear. The stuff of life. All the things that make us family, along with a few of my personal opinion pieces (mostly about parenting and politics) thrown in.

Of course Eli's favorite stories are the ones about him: church basketball, prom, college, mission. It seems everyone likes to read about him or herself. Even my friend Lindsey tells me she gets excited whenever she turns up in one of my posts: "One time we got a whole paragraph!"

But here's the thing. I only have a record of the past nine years. I only began blogging nine years ago, and though I'm pretty darn prolific, this is still only my 558th post. And nothing prior to 2009 is covered. When I see the joy my kids experience looking back at these stories, I grieve the fact that they go back only nine years.

So my advice? Start now! Make record keeping a priority. I get that you may not enjoy writing as much as I do, that it may not be therapy for you. But do it anyway. Your kids will thank you. You will thank you.

 ITS LEGS: In search of memories.

How do you get A's in high school? Just ask for them.

So Seth's third quarter of his junior year of high school concluded today. Hoping to get all A's (or very close to it), he's been staying after school this week and talking to teachers about how to accomplish an A in each class. Several A's were already secure, but three were not, so those were the classes of focus.

Current grade in computer programming is a B+, so he started there. Approaching the teacher, he asked, "Hey, is there anything I can do to get that grade bumped up?" Answer: "Nope."

Okay, then. Accepting the fact that the 4.0 was out of reach this time around, he moved on.

Current grade in choir was also a B+ because he apparently hadn't passed off one of his songs, so he approached the choir teacher: "Hey, I really think I sang this song pretty well." Answer: "Okay, I'll give you the 100 points for it," which brings his choir grade up to an A.

Now there's the result he was hoping for.

Next up, history, where he was sitting with an 88%. "Hey, is there anything I can do to get this grade bumped up?" Answer: "Sure. I'll just add a few points to a couple of your test scores, enough to bring it up to an A."

Excellent.

And that was that. He'll finish the quarter with all A's and one pesky B+ in programming.

Now the teacher in me has all sorts of thoughts regarding this little story, like....

• Maybe Seth should have actually, you know, done A-level work in order to get an A. Or,
• This is exactly the training that causes my students to come to me, expecting me to just GIVE them grades they didn't earn!! :-(  :-(  :-(

But we'll just leave all those thoughts on hold for now and congratulate Seth on his fabulous grades. Because what else can we do? For the record, he tells me this last quarter will the the one he finishes with a 4.0. No question about it, he says.

But if not? How do you get A's in high school? Just ask for them.