Written in Stone

I will be the first to admit that Sunday is often a hard day for me.  Don't get me wrong--that doesn't equate with Sunday being a bad day.  Despite everything, I usually enjoy the lessons and testimonies I hear at church, I love singing all the hymns, and I almost always walk out the door of the church feeling spiritually fortified.

It's just that I walk out that door and get into a van with three hungry, cranky children who are tired of wearing fancy clothes and need to get out all the loud laughter and uncouth behavior they suppressed during church, knowing that I have to go home and cook up a Sunday dinner and dreading the dishes that dinner will leave behind.

And don't even get me started on what getting to church is like.

Oh, my goodness.  All I need to say is "My husband is in the bishopric," and I'm sure any Mormon woman reading this will shake her head sympathetically and say a prayer for me.  Those of you who are not Mormons may need a more detailed explanation:  Mormon congregations are headed by a bishop, who plays a role comparable to that of a pastor in other churches.  The bishop has two assistants, called counselors.  The bishop and his counselors are referred to as a bishopric by the members of the congregation.  All leadership in our church is done on a lay basis--meaning no one gets paid--we all have other jobs to support our families, but do our church jobs on a purely voluntary basis.

So, when I say that my Bionic Man is in a bishopric, that means that he is away from home most of Sunday, participating in meetings, assisting the bishop, helping to maintain financial records, and giving service to the members of our congregation.  He also sits near the pulpit....while the children and I sit in the congregation.

Now, I know that the Bionic Man won't always be in the bishopric.  Mormons take turns filling all the various positions that keep our congregations running.  And I am grateful that he wasn't in the bishopric when our children were little.  I really shouldn't complain.  I'd just like someone to explain to me why it is so simple to get three children ready and out the door to the bus stop all by myself during the week, and sooooo difficult to get the same three children ready and out the door to church on Sunday.  But it is.

Last Sunday was really a doozy.  I'd been asked to substitute in one of the children's classes, so I was preparing a lesson.  No one could find their shoes.  The dog kept barking.  There were a few fights.  The Bionic Man made waffles for us before he left for the church, but he left quite a bit of batter and some dishes behind.  The house that had been clean on Saturday morning was trashed.  I was tired before I even got out of bed.  We were almost late for church.  Superkid wiggled up, down, and all over our bench for the first 20 minutes, then fell asleep.  Justone and Endeavor, normally well-mannered in public, could not stop pestering and bothering each other during the congregational meeting.  By the time I arrived home with the children, they weren't the only ones who were tired and grouchy and hungry.  So was I.

I proceeded to cook an impressive meal of broccoli, salad, sweet potato fries, and coconut almondine chicken with orange sauce.  The Bionic Man came home just a few minutes before dinner was ready and disappeared.  I asked the children nine times (eight nicely, the ninth in an "elevated" tone) to set the table.  It was set, but without key utensils.  The food was almost ready, so I called out through gritted teeth, "Dinner's ready!"

No response.  The children continued jumping from couch to couch as if I'd never spoken.

I tried again.  "Dinner is ready, now, come sit down at the table."

No response. 

I called for the Bionic Man.  Loudly.  I had no idea where he was.  One of the children though he'd gone upstairs.  I told Superkid to go find her daddy and tell him dinner was ready.  She wandered away toward the staircase.

I checked the steaming broccoli, which was done, and covered the chicken.  I waited.  Superkid skipped back through the kitchen.  "Is Daddy coming?" I asked.

Superkid looked surprised.  "I don't know," she responded.

"Did you tell him it was time to eat?" I questioned her.

"Ummmm...." Superkid thought about this, deeply, before she replied.  "I think I forgot."

"Go sit down at the table," I commanded the children, who were by now chasing the dog around the couches.  Then I called LOUDLY up the stairs to my husband, telling him dinner was ready RIGHT NOW.

I returned to the kitchen.  The children were still chasing the dog.  The coconut almondine chicken was getting colder every minute.  There seemed to be two choices:  I could get really mad....or I could eat dinner.

I ate dinner.

I filled my plate, prayed over it, and took a bite of chicken.  The children were oblivious.  My husband was nowhere to be found.  The broccoli was nice and tender, not overdone and mushy.  The only member of the family that paid any attention to the solitary diner was Hunter the Dog, who had taken his place under the table.  I shared some of my sweet potato fries with him.

Despite chewing very deliberately, I soon finished my Sunday dinner.  I cleared the table and began boxing up the leftovers.  There were a lot of leftovers.  Without the dog to chase, the children were hiding behind the couches and throwing sock balls at each other.  No sign yet of the Bionic Man.

I was just putting the broccoli into the fridge when the Bionic Man walked into the kitchen, hair tousled and sheet wrinkles pressed into his face.   "Hi, Daddy!" Superkid greeted him, while simultaneously Justone announced, "I'm hungry.  When's dinner?"

The Bionic Man rubbed his eyes.  "Did I just dream that you called me down for dinner, or did that really happen?" he wondered.

"Dinner," I replied acridly, "was served to those who wanted it thirty minutes ago.  It is now over."  And on that note, I put Hunter the Dog on his leash and we went for a long walk. 

We walked and walked.  I steamed and stewed for the first half hour.  For the second half hour, I thought about how I might have handled the situation differently.  Finally, I turned towards home and started giggling about it.  Having everyone ignore dinner was a somewhat funny first. 

I walked in the door and found a very different household than the one I'd left.  All the pillows and blankets and stuffed animals had been removed from the floor.  Superkid was busy shining windows.  Justone was sweeping the floor.  Endeavor was putting away the last of the dishes, and the Bionic Man was scouring the sink.

There was a hand-picked vase of garden flowers on the table, alongside a simple apology written on a chalkboard rock.

I could tell they meant it.  I gave them all hugs and told them how beautiful the kitchen looked.  I said I was glad I was their mom and wife.  They could tell I meant it.

The rest of the evening was peaceful.  I'm glad I took a time out instead of completely losing it.  I'm also glad the chalkboard rocks are being put to good use.

So, share some wisdom.  What do you do to make Sundays or other family times full of more goodness and less stress?  What is your strategy for the traditional home-cooked Sunday dinner?  What do you do to keep your cool when it seems like no one is listening to you?

And, in exchange for your wisdom, I'll share a little blogging tip:
I didn't write this post today, even though it posted today.  I wrote it earlier in the week, and used Blogger's post options to schedule a time for it to be published later.  This is a great feature, especially if you tend to blog in spurts.  Blogger will actually let you create posts and schedule a time for them to be automatically published.  Before you hit the Publish Post button, click just above that where it says Post Options.  A menu bar will appear.  Drag your curser to the right and check the box marked Scheduled At.  This, in turn, will drop a menu box down, giving you the option to name the date and time you wish your post to be published.  Once you've set up a time, just hit the orange publish button and forget about it.  It will take care of itself.  Enjoy!

Love: CSI Version

The Scene of the Crime:  A front yard, Midwestern USA.  Suburbuan cul-de-sac.  Nice home, quiet street.  Not the kind of place you would expect something like this to happen.

The Date and Time:  Valentine's Day, 2007, early in the afternoon.  All the crazy stuff seems to happen on holidays, right?  But no one around here has ever seen this kind of thing.  Not here.  Folks in these parts thought this stuff only happened on TV--not right in their front yards.  

The Crime:  Graffiti.  Obviously, a crime of passion.  

Let's take the evidence to forensics and really get a good look at this.  Right on the front lawn, too.  It's a darn shame, that we let lunatics like this run around, that we let them get away with this kind of stuff. 

What we're looking at here is a closer shot, taken from the upstairs window.  The screen's in the way.  Can we get our resident computer geek to move that screen out of the way so we can get a look at what's really going on down there?

There we go, that's better.  I think I can make out some writing, there. 

Yep, there it is.  They've written, "RUTH (heart)'s BEN".  I think that means "Ruth loves Ben."  Are you seeing it?  Uh-huh, right there.  But what could it mean?  Hey, call down to the lab and see if they've been able to get some DNA from that sample we sent 'em.  

What do you mean?  There's no DNA?  There's gotta be some DNA!  It's written in blood!  Oh, that's not blood we're looking at?  It's a mixture of food coloring and water, huh?  That explains a lot.  I'm beginning to see where we're going with this one, now.  Someone with a little too much time on her hands filled up a squirt bottle with water and red food coloring, and took aim at the snow covered front lawn.  Real class, there.  

Like I said, it's a crime of passion, heheh.  Kids messin' around, probably, pulling some kind of a prank.  Those hooligans and their shenanigans.  You know, these teenage girls showing off for some guy they like.  Case closed.  Happy Valentine's Day, and all that.  

  

Note from Ruth:  This was actual footage from Valentine's Day 2007 at our house.  And I confess: I'm the hooligan who made that shenanigan!  I also confess that I heart Valentine's Day.  I enjoy coming up with new things every year to show my family how I love them.  I especially take evil delight in finding slightly embarrassing ways to show the Bionic Man how much I love him.  Oh yes, I have stories to tell!

Join me from February 1-14 for some Valentine fun

as I blog about fun ways to celebrate the Day of Love

with your family, friends, and Special Someone.

I can't wait!  In the meantime, here's some evidence of how things worked out on Valentine's Day 2007.  I give you a picture taken on February 15, 2007:

That's Superkid, who fell asleep on the couch holding a rose she'd stolen from the lovely bouquet her dad gave me the night before.  (She justified the crime later by reminding me that her middle name is Rose, making her the obvious owner of any rose that enters our home.)  How could I do anything but take a picture of this?  

But let's not get sidetracked by the cute sleeping child.  The point is, the Bionic Man was reminded of Valentine's Day by the graffiti on our lawn before he pulled into the driveway, giving him a second chance to do things right.  Yep, that's how we roll!

Go to Bed!

My children are out of school all this week.  I am being completely honest when I say that I love it when they are home from school on a good, long, break.  I love summer vacation, too.  I'm not the most structured person, so there is something really appealing to me about the absolute freedom from schedules and the rush of getting everyone off to school and other activities.  I get a natural high from the power of being able to say things like, "Kids, we're going to spend the whole day in our jammies and we are going to read all the books we want.  We're having a readathon!" 

Doesn't that sound marvelous to you?  Mmmm, me too!  Let's do it today!  After we do all the things we need to to get ready for Christmas.....

Anyway, there are some things you just can't do with your children when school's in session.  Like staying up late.  Children really, really need their rest when school is in session.  The fact of the matter is, they need their rest when school isn't in session, as well.  Which brings me to the point of today's post:  I like it when my children go to bed. 

I like it when my children go to bed and it is just the Bionic Man and I.  I treasure the time we spend together after the children are in bed, tucked safely away for the night.  I have worked really hard to train my children that bedtime is bedtime--whether they are sleepy or not--and once I tell them goodnight, they are on their own.  (So to speak.)  Justone and Endeavor have totally got the hang of this.  Superkid is still trying to test our boundaries, but she is learning. 

It's not just about couple time, either.  Giving your children adequate rest is practically the foundation of preventative discipline.  They are just so much easier to handle when they are well rested.  I don't think any mother could argue with me on that point.

There is only one problem.  The Bionic Man loves it when school is out, too.  Only he's not home during the day to enjoy the special freedoms of school being out.  He has to enjoy them in the evenings.  Which means he likes to let the children stay up late.

He, obviously, is not the one spending the next day with tired children.

Does anyone else have this problem?  How do you deal with it?  I mean, besides putting your foot down and telling your husband that late night fun with the children is totally out of the question.  (Because I totally get where he is coming from.)Do you have a way to get older children to take naps?  Do you have a way to get younger children to sleep in?  I'd love some input.....Christmas break is just beginning.

And now, I unveil to you the driving force behind this post.  My Fair Lady!  



I love this musical so much that it inspired Endeavor's real name.  I think it is hilarious when people comment on her name, "Oh, is that a family name?'  Because it isn't!  But it could be....if our last name was Doolittle.

Holland for Couples

As you might have noticed, I really enjoyed getting away with the Bionic Man for a few days last week. We took this picture using the timer on our camera.  I think it turned out great, because I think I look great!  Bionic Man doesn't like the way his ear looks.  Minor complaint in comparison to the benefits of me looking skinny, so I've posted this picture anyway.

But the way we look when we are kissing is not supposed to be the point of today's post.  Well, maybe it is.

Sometimes, I think we married folk get hung up on the idea of a "picture perfect" relationship.  You know, the snapshot version you've seen of other couples' relationships.  You might be doing it right now, as in, "Oh, look at that.  Ruth and the Bionic Man are always doing the coolest things together!  He takes her on business trips and totally finds time for romance.  And she has the most fantastic hair.  My husband never takes me on his business trips.  And I can't get my hair to grow past my shoulders."

Well, you might not be thinking that, specifically, about us, but I have a feeling most of us have had similar thoughts about someone else.  And usually we base it on a "snapshot" version of their life: the time we saw them at a Christmas party, when we saw them through the window of a fancy restaurant, the time we saw them at church holding hands, or maybe it is the family portrait above their mantel.  We see these "perfect" moments, when everyone is happy, or dressed up, or on their best behavior.....and then, unfortunately, we use them as a measuring stick for our own relationships.

Stop it.  (I'm saying that to myself, too.)

The reality is--and I'm sure of this--every couple has their moments.  Their moments that they wouldn't want preserved in snapshot form.  Like when I backed the new van into the other car--didn't even check my mirrors--and the Bionic Man was so mad he couldn't speak to me for, ahem, some time.  Like when the Bionic Man spent days looking for the perfect Christmas present for me, gave hints of the thrills to come, and I opened the large box to find new cooking pots, and I was really, really offended.  Like when the Bionic man.....well, I think it is just better for me to let bygones be bygones.

My parents recently celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary.  They still kiss each other hello and goodbye and goodnight, hold hands, and Dad never fails to open a door for Mom.  They compliment each other frequently, and they are an excellent team.  They are so right for each other.  But they still have their un-snapshot worthy moments!  I'll never forget one roadtrip we took together when I was in college.  I was sitting in the backseat as we made the two day drive.  My mom would make a comment, and my dad would look through the rearview mirror at me, and roll his eyes.  Later, my dad would make a comment, and my mom would turn to look at me and roll her eyes.  I thought it was hilarious, they kept it up the whole trip.  And then I noticed, after I had said something, that they turned to each other AND ROLLED THEIR EYES!

I just think that is a great example of imperfect unity.  They might not be perfect people yet, but they are perfectly imperfect for each other.  And they are not nagging at each other to become perfect, they are growing in that direction together.

And, whether you get it or not, that's my point.

To get that lovely shot of us kissing on Lovers' Point, the Bionic Man and I had to jump through a few hoops, so to speak.  Before we exited our car, we had to take off our nice shoes and put on our hiking shoes.  Since the Bionic Man hadn't packed any jeans, he looked pretty funny in his nice slacks and hiking shoes.  The rocks we are sitting on are quite a ways from the grassy park they jut out from, so the Bionic Man and I had to pick our way across rocks and crevices, trying to avoid the steep edges of the cliff that dropped down into treacherous waters below.  I had to sit precariously on a rather sharp rock while the Bionic Man figured out how the timer worked.  He didn't make it into the picture a couple of times.  I patiently waited for him to get it to work, while a seagull overhead used me for target practice.  (Fortunately, his aim was off.)  Bionic Man used his engineering degree to figure the camera out, tripped over several rocks as he ran to my precarious perch, we kissed, and then he asked, "Do you have any gum?"

Just remember, when you are viewing a snapshot of someone else's picture-perfect marriage, that you haven't seen the effort that went to getting there.  Be grateful for the journey you are taking to make your own snapshot moments, and find a way to treasure the fun of getting there.  I now have a sweet picture of the Bionic Man and I kissing by the ocean, but I have a hilarious memory of what it took to get that picture.

As we picked our way back to the shore across those rocks, we saw that someone had spray-painted a marriage proposal on the rocks.  "Ana, will you marry me?' the Bionic Man read aloud.

"I hope she said no," I sniffed.  "He spraypainted his proposal on scenery!"

"Yeah, who wants to marry a graffiti artist?" The Bionic Man agreed.

Click.