Am I a Good Mom?

Warning: This post may offend some people, but that honestly isn't the intention. I'm just trying to keep it real, yo.

I know I've essentially said this before, but one of the hardest things about being a mother for me is knowing that my children's poor behavior reflects on me-- but not as much their good behavior as the opposite, because, see, no one really notices too much when your child is not being a disturbance as much as when she is. I'm sure there are an innumerable number of people in the ward who, while they may like Kev and I as people, think we bite as parents considering the way Kev and I spend the entire meeting holding screaming children in the foyer during Sacrament Meeting. Case in point...

Kev's parents had to take the girls to church without us while we were in DC. Sacrament Meeting went for them how it always goes for us-- you're lucky if you catch two words of anything. After the meeting, an older sister in the ward came up to Mom Smith and said, "Don't feel like you're a bad grandma because of the way they're acting-- they're just as bad when their parents are here." It doesn't help that this is coming from a sister whom I think doesn't really like me much anyway.

Another example... Today I took Allie to swimming lessons. After all the classes for that time had ended, a small group of us stood underneath the umbrella getting kids dry and gathering our things. One friend carried her 21-month-old out of the pool, as the little girl cried-- seemed like she didn't want to leave the pool. Mind you, it wasn't the screaming and thrashing that comes from Allie if you have to take her away from something she's enjoying, so I really didn't think anything of the crying-- I figured, she's a kid, and what kid ever understands why you have to stop doing something fun? However, my friend lamented about her daughter having issues with obedience at the moment. Then another friend praised her efforts in teaching obedience to her daughter. Okay, I know my friend is very consistent, admirably consistent, but I honestly think I work just as hard-- her daughter is, however, naturally more obedient and cooperative and amiable than Allie, which many kids are, I think. She knows that her daughter tends to be pretty easy-going, and fully admits this, by the way. Perhaps I was being a bit sensitive, but I just felt like that compliment to my friend was also a shot at me, since that complimenter actually spends time with Allie once every week and ends up telling me about all the bad things Allie does. If Allie ever does anything good, it's because she was being asked or even compelled. She makes it seem, unintentionally, like Allie is never good on her own, which I know is not true, especially considering I know she behaves better for people who aren't her parents.

You see, many parents tend to expect perfection out of their own children-- they believe that their kids, and every other kid, should fit into this mold, and then get after them them when they think they're faltering. Are my friend's kids good kids? Yeah! Perfect? No way. Is that acceptable? You bet! And as much as she may doubt this fact when her kids make a mistake, is she a good mom? Of course.

I realize I shouldn't get annoyed when people judge me as a mother according to Allie's actions-- bad or good. Although I realized it's usually just the bad. After all, who are they to judge? So many people who are good parents, just as I think Kev and I are, just have easier kids. No offense, but it's true. Although, many good parents have difficult children as well. We happen to have both. However, Sami is developing an ornery streak in her. Parents can't look at how their kids turned out and say, as long as they tried to be obedient to God, that it was either all because of their hard work, or all their fault. That's a load of garbage. While Lehi and Sariah were parents to a prophet, they were also parents to some wayward sons that led a whole line of descendants astray. How should we label them? Or how about the ultimate, perfect parent-- Heavenly Father? A third part of his children rebelled, one of them being the leader and becoming a dude badder than bad. Would anyone care to judge the Almighty as a parent? I didn't think so. The point is, kids have agency-- it's a gift we've all been given. We can teach them obedience, but they still have the agency to say, "I know you want me to be obedient, but I'm going to do what I want." That's their choice. Of course, we discipline. But the idea of discipline is not to compell your children to be obedient, but rather to show them that there are consequences for their actions. Who wants their children to be mindless robots? Obedient, sure, but do they think for themselves? I want our kids to be obedient because they want to be obedient. It's hard as Allie gets older, and choosing my battles is difficult to remember. I look forward to day when that becomes second nature.

It's funny, I started out this entry feeling a bit sorry for myself-- like if everyone else believes I'm a bad mom, then I must be. But now, I think I actually feel sorry for those that have sat and judged me, because most likely, they're judging themselves in exactly the same way. They watch their kids' actions and grade themselves accordingly. That puts a lot of pressure on the family. The parents expect perfection out their kids, which makes the kids expect perfection out of themselves, or perhaps the children rebel, believing they can't do anything right, so why try? Either way it leads to poor self-esteem.

So, in conclusion, I'll think I'll just give myself a grade as a parent... Kidding.

"Happy" 4th!

The girls and I spent our 4th of July once again with the Goodiers, Jill Terry's parents. It seems to be a tradition now that Kev will never be around for that holiday ever again. Seems to be tradition with the Scouts in our ward to sign up for this week of Scout camp-- the leaders don't have to use up as many vacation days. It's been great going to the Goodiers' house-- we get to be with friends, swim, eat really tasty meat, listen to Nancy tell stories (to where her plate full of food ends up practically untouched), and watch Kim's hubby and Russell light fireworks (hey, some were legal). Oh yeah, and there always seems to be some glamorous ordeal dealt my way. I told Jill, "I don't know what it is about your mom's house, but I always have some crazy fiasco here!"

She replied, "Maybe it's actually just because Kevin's gone-- a test to prove how strong you really are." Perhaps...

Last year I decided to bring some homemade lemonade as my contribution-- heck, lemons were all we really had on hand, actually. We pulled up to the house and I began unloading children and bags. I had placed the pitcher on the floor of the front seat, completely surrounded and held steady by bags and towels. In grabbing things out of the front seat, I completely forgot that the bags were the support-system for that pitcher. Yeah, I pulled at a bag, and watched the pitcher tip over, as I reached for it yelling, "Nooo!" I swear it was all in slow motion. The floor turned into a lake of lemonade. I rushed to the door with my children, and after a quick greeting and introduction, asked if they had any spare towels to soak up the mess. We all laughed, and Kevin (Terry) and I spent the next hour cleaning up the mess. Thankfully, the Goodiers happened to have a carpet cleaner on hand.

This year, I skipped the lemonade and cut up a cantaloupe instead. What on earth could go wrong with a cantaloupe? Nothing. And nothing did go wrong... with that. After we had all eaten, the adults sat around talking and resting before the "good" fireworks, the boys were outside messing around with the smaller ones, and the babies ran around the house looking for trouble. Allie was out on the porch, alone and minding her own business, entertaining herself with the toy space shuttle that had been sitting on the table. She's obsessed with space shuttles. I had just brought Sami into the dining room and given her a cookie, when Kevin T. walked out to the porch. Suddenly he poked his head inside.

"Uh, Krissy, can you come out here for a minute?"

"What's wrong?" I walked out, and he picked Allie up and turned her around. I gasped. Her shorts and the backs of her legs were covered in poop. She had gotten the runs, of course, while wearing underwear since she is finally potty training. Pooping in the toilet has yet to happen, though, and having diarrhea while being stuck on a porch all by herself doesn't help anything. Kevin carried her to the bathroom, placed her in the tub, and I proceeded to strip her down and wash her up. Unfortunately, she had used the spare pair of underwear in the bag, so I had to put her in (ugh) a diaper, since it was all I had. Jill had gone and fetched my bag of, well, everything for me, and tried to do all she could to help the situation. After washing Allie and rinsing out her clothes, I then had to scrub the tub clean with Soft Scrub-- you can understand why.

I'm just wondering what will be thrown at me next year while Kev's away. Actually, I don't even want to think about it. I'll deal with it when the times comes.

Oh, and to top things off, I counted eleven mosquito bites on my arms and legs from last night.

I Can Do Math?!

All right, so for the few of you who knew me in high school you're probably laughing your heads off-- busting a gut right now. The other night Kev and I had a discussion that began with him telling me how when he was in high school he really thought he was pretty good at everything... with the exception of the visual arts. He told me about how as he has gotten older, he has realized that doesn't have as many skills and talents as he originally thought he had. I thought that was fascinating, because, while I do realize I know far less than I thought I knew, age (and little bit of wisdom) has proved to me that I can do far more than I thought I could do. In high school I sincerely thought I was an idiot space-case with no practical skills who could dance a little, sing a little, and play a few songs on the piano. My mom wanted to beat me over the head for all the times I put myself down. And math was one of those things I really thought I could not do-- that it was a weakness. In math class I felt like I was drowning completely alone, while everyone else seemed to be schmoozing on luxury liners. I struggled with the idea of being stupid, and being stuck with a class full of mathematic geniuses tortured me.

A couple weeks ago when Kev's parents were here they brought with them a suitcase full of old clothes, trinkets, and papers from Kev's growing-up years. As we looked through a file of old papers one night, Kev came across a paper outlining Darren's scores from the PSAT's back in high school. We wondered how that got in there, but looked at them-- I mean, heck, Darren's a pretty sharp tack, so he didn't have anything to be ashamed of. In looking at it, I got to wondering if my old tests scores were still in the same place in the file box. I checked. They were there, so I pulled them out. I looked at the first one. Ha! Math score is better than the English score. Funny... I looked at the second one. Huh, that one, too... I looked at the third. And that one, by a ton, too. I was astounded. I had seen these scores dozens of times before, but in looking at them this time, something dawned on me. Each time I had received one of those scores in the mail, I thought I had just "lucked out" on the math portion, because there was "no way" I was better at math than English. Suddenly, I began to think I had been totally wrong all along. Memories began to flood back to me. Like the memory of taking a math placement test in 6th grade and being placed in the accelerated class and attributing it to luck. Or the memory of being corned by Mr. Anderson and Ms. Noddings, the pre-cal and calculus teachers, respectively, at the beginning of my senior year-- they "ganged up" on me asking me why I wasn't in calculus. I went back and looked anxiously at my grades for my math classes in high school compared to my English classes. Not worse.

I started to get mad, extremely mad, at myself. I had wasted all that time, putting barriers on myself and keeping myself from excelling. I remember the first time math really got tricky for me, but before that time, I don't remember any problems. Maybe my parents have better memories of this. I remember fractions in elementary school sending me for a loop. It was a difficult concept. And from then on, I thought I just couldn't do math. So, I used that as an excuse to not have to try. Why try if I'll just never be good at it, right? Wrong.

Something else occurred to me. I struggle with patience, as I've said a million times before. I tend to get frustrated when things don't come easily, especially in subjects where I thought I had some ability. If I ever hit a road-block, suddenly I would label myself as not having any skill in that area. Since I had a hard time doing double-pirouettes on my left leg, then I obviously couldn't dance. Or since it was difficult to me to sing a high "G" correctly, that my singing voice wasn't any good. And along that same thinking, since fractions were a tough concept for me, then math just wasn't my thing.

As I pondered these things, I wanted to shout to the world, "I can do math!" And in a way I did. I ran out to the living room expounding upon all these things to my in-laws, and they rejoiced with me. Kev's mom encouraged me to sign up for a calculus class. Woah there! I don't know about that. Nowadays English, of course, is my strength between the two. It's what I studied in college, and what I taught, for Pete's sake! I do think I chose the right path for my studies. I mean, I don't believe, had I known about this earlier in life, that I would have made a career out of math, but I sure would have used the ability-- I would have learned a whole lot more. And just because you don't plan to make a career out of a subject, doesn't mean it's not worth learning.

I wonder in what other subject I'm a "genius"? Hmmm... maybe I'll take up neurosurgery.

In the Past Month

I seriously just barely posted an entry equivalent to War and Peace, so I'm gonna make this as short as possible. Of course, I know I've said that in the past, and that promise has almost always ended up being a load of malarkey. But, we'll see...

Kevin's parents came out to visit for a week, which was definitely one of the highlights of the month. It took a day for the girls to warm up to them, but they got used to them fairly quickly. Of course, the trip Kev and I took to Washington D.C. helped push that along (see previous post). We went to the zoo, where Allie got to feed the fish, the birds, and a giraffe... which, of course, never happens when we go alone 'cause you have to buy the food. And other than going to the zoo and letting them spoil the girls, I didn't really take them to do much. I really did offer some ideas, but they seemed to just want to stay around the house. Turns out that since they've been preparing to move, they haven't had time to just sit and watch TV or read books. And they definitely haven't been hanging out with grandkids. Although, it won't be long before they move to Utah, and then they'll have grandkids around to play with all the time! Pretty nice-- I know my parents are envious, that's for sure. The day after they flew home, when Kev came home in the evening, the door chimed as it opened, and Allie declared, "Grandma and Grandpa are home!" Poor thing. We're going to be making a trip to Phoenix come August, though, for her cousin's sealing to her aunt and uncle, so I've been getting her excited about getting to see them, my aunt Gina, as well as seeing Grandma and Grandpa, who will be there. Then the girls and I will hop on a plane to San Diego to see my parents. So, she's also pretty excited to see her other Grandma and Grandpa, and silly Uncle Evan who, according to Allie, "gives Dad hugs." Uh, okay, kid.

Earlier in June, Sami decided that walking would be her main mode of transportation, and since then hasn't stopped. The crazy woman can reach anything you think is out of her reach, and taught herself how to open doors. She's trying with all her might to run, and I must say she has gotten more agile, and, therefore, more difficult to catch-- juking me several times a day, trying to get away from me when she has popped something inedible in her mouth, like a hair clip or Barbie shoe.

Well, I suppose I'll end there, and try to keep to my word.

Florida Day-- the Novel

Father's Day turned out to be a pretty special day-- actually, the whole weekend was a treat. Unfortunately, the "Father's" part of the day didn't have much to do with it, though. Yeah, like a slug, I totally forgot about it. But I think I do have a pretty good excuse. I mean, we were in Washington DC after all... without the children... and with a gig for my choir to sing at the National Cathedral for the Florida Day service that Sunday morning. So, yes, Father's Day wasn't at the top of the list, but I honestly don't think Kev minded too much that I forgot until after the service. Heck, even the sermon had absolutely nothing to do with fathers, which I thought was strange... once, of course, I remembered what day it was.

We flew out there Friday afternoon, leaving the girls at home with Mom and Dad Smith who had come for a visit that week. While I perhaps feel a bit guilty for pawning our children off on them, I know they relished the time to get to know them better. And since Sami's such a Mama's girl, it definitely would have taken more time for them to create an attachment with her had I been around the whole time. Right, back to DC... After our flight got in and we took the Metro to our hotel, Kev convinced me to walk around with him and find some dinner. We ended up walking about six miles that evening, very unexpectedly, even walking through the Natural History museum-- all in flip flops, mind you, which I would not recommend to anyone.

The next day we hit the museums, tackling the Gallery of Art, the Air and Space museum, the National Archives (think National Treasure), the Holocaust museum, etc. So, add at least another six to eight miles to the previous number from Friday night. Saturday evening, my choir had a gig to sing postlude to mass at a nearby Catholic Church, St. Dominic's. Unfortunately, we forgot the camera, but trust me, it was a beautiful building-- old grayish stone, stained-glass windows, the works.

I had planned this whole trip, had looked at bus and Metro schedules, and knew exactly when we needed to be where. It was all somewhat for naught, though, because with getting around in an unfamiliar city, no matter how much planning you do, you really have to just get in there and do it to understand how it all works. It took until Sunday to really understand how the Metro worked, and to realize that the bus system is a joke. We woke up early to make a bus that would take us right to the National Cathedral. We stood waiting for the bus for about fifteen minutes, and no one came, the slackers. I told Kev, "Okay, the dude has five more minutes. If no one comes, we're taking a cab." So, a cab it was, which really bit-- it cost us, like, fifteen bucks to get to the cathedral (including tip), when, if the bus had come, we could have gotten there for $2.50 total. We told the cab driver about how we tried to catch a bus, and he said, "Oh no, you can't do that-- around here you could be waiting half an hour for a bus!" Of course he'd say that, though.

As we're winding around on this stunning tree-lined (natural foliage, mind you) highway, passing churches inviting people from their bell towers, the Cathedral suddenly rose out of the forest. Enormous. It reminded me of what it's like to see some of our temples, the ones that just appear out of nowhere, like the San Diego Temple. Time literally stands still, for just a brief moment. The cab pulled up, and we paid him and got out. I don't remember ever feeling so small. After an hour and a half of pictures and warming-up, we walked into main hall. The sun shone through the window pains displaying every color of the spectrum through the depicted scenes of biblical and national history.

I expected the acoustics to be amazing, but I honestly have no idea how we sounded, because it was like I was singing in this tiny box with only the people next to me and behind me. I had to just sing according to memory when it came to texture, volume, and phrasing, all the while praying that I wasn't sticking out as badly as it seemed. We finished and took our seats all together to the left of the podium. The service began with a processional of their choir and clergy. My eyes went to the Florida flag to see Kevin holding it. "What's Kevin doing up there?" I whispered, as everyone in the choir was also pointing and whispering, "That's Kevin! How'd he get to do that?" Turns out, at the beginning of our set, Kev started taking pictures, but then remembered he saw a sign prohibiting pictures during the prelude and the service. He looked up to see a man in a suit with an official-looking badge walking towards him, and he thought, I'm busted. This guy's probably going to confiscate my camera or something. Instead the guy asked him if he was from Florida and if he'd like to carry the state flag during the processional. Kev agreed, and was taken to this room called the slype where they prepped him on what he was to do. Too bad he still had the camera. Although, I guess I technically wouldn't have been able to take a picture of it anyway, eh? That dude probably would have confiscated my camera... or maybe he just would have asked me to give the sermon. Lesson learned: taking pictures during a service in the cathedral is like asking for a calling. Don't do it.

After walking about two miles with Fred and Cheryl to take the Metro back to the hotel (didn't want to pay for another cab, and didn't trust the busses), we grabbed a quick snack, changed, and hopped right back on the Metro to make the 40-minute trip to see our BYU friends the Maksymovs. Eldar picked us up from the station and drove us to his apartment, where Courtney and their daughter Brinley were waiting. I know I said it about our visit with the Sextons back in April, but seeing old friends reminds me of how much I miss them. And 20-month old Brinley is absolutely precious, especially with the croupy little cough and raspy voice she had at the time. They even drove us out to the DC Temple, about a thirty 30-minute drive, which was very kind of them.

Our flight home was late Monday morning. We had originally thought to stop by Arlington on the way to the airport, but that idea fell through when breakfast took longer than expected. So, we checked our luggage just to realize we still had two hours until our flight. So, with no luggage to worry about, we jumped back on the Metro and made the 9-minute ride to Arlington National Cemetery. We had just enough time to be able to walk around and see the JFK Memorial, as well as Lee's old mansion and the views of the site from there. Thirty minutes later, we ran back to the Metro station and took the train back to the airport, went through the security check, and made it to our gate before the plane even started boarding. Not bad!

We actually got to do a crossword puzzle on the flight, too. Anyone with children understands why we would relish in that.