Heaven Help Me!

Growing up, I had a great relationship with my mom. We were always very close and sometimes, she was my sole confidant. I looked forward to the  day when I would get to pass on such a treasured relationship to my own children – anticipating that since things went so flawlessly for me they would go flawlessly for any daughter God would give me to raise for Him.

Imagine my surprise, when tonight I found myself Google-ing, “How to parent your ten-year old daughter”. Today was a rough day of sorts. I had to confront my daughter about her not taking care of her responsibilities at home and getting behind in her schoolwork, even though the school year just started three weeks ago.

She stomped off to her room in a full blown tirade.  (Homeschooling is not always roses). After a few minutes, I quietly followed her, in the way my mom would have done for me. She sulked, she cried, she refused to peer out from behind the book she was reading to look at me directly.

I informed her that  in order to spend more time doing schoolwork, I had to confiscate her computer.

“You just like to feel powerful!” she screamed. At which point I said, “Well. You’re right, I am your mother.”

Descending down the stairs, my heart struggled with this. While I think I did the right thing, I never thought parenting a daughter would be hard for me. She really felt I didn’t understand.

Well, in a sense, she’s right. Here’s why.

I don’t understand how, after wasting so much time in my own pre-teen years on less important, less essential things,  she doesn’t embrace my message of  “use your time wisely!”

I don’t understand how, after waking up ridiculously early every morning for years as a teen to do a daily makeover, and a hour obsessing on my hair, that she could possibly be attracted to “doing her hair”, too. I used to spend my whole allowance on that crap! (After all, the only “cosmetic” I wear these days is a little cherry chap-stick and I’m lucky if I do much more with my hair than put it in a ponytail.)

I don’t understand how, after my self-imposed practically anorexic suffering throughout those years, that she could concern herself with wanting to be “thin”. And how, after my weight fluctuating from 115 pounds to 160 pounds during and after each of my five pregnancies that a flat stomach would be my ticket to happiness.

Right. I have no experience. How could I possibly understand?

With my search for information on Google, I came across an article that shed new light: “Ten Ways To Love Your Ten Year Old Girl“. Which basically comes down to the reason I wanted to be a mother in the first place: Love.

I have been blessed with four living daughters and one  son. I can take a day to slow down…kick back…listen to them…and love them. Ask them about their dreams…be silent and let them talk. Come down from wearing my disciplinarian hat and just sit with them.

After all, they grow up so fast.

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For the past month, I have been trying to solve a mystery in our home. It is one that no one will confess to. In this situation, I like to blame it on the escape artist named, “Not me”.

This is what I have found on our bathroom mirror repeatedly over the past month:

It is a handprint. It seems to be small, but then it streaks downwards to make it appear larger. It always appears in this pattern. I have asked all the children who did it. I tried to compare the handprint to each child’s hand size. I frickin’ even measured the kids hands with a ruler and studied the unique one-of-a-kind swirl mark on the fingertips of the imposed mark! (Amazing that I spend all this time doing this, but it’s really annoying that one of my kids won’t fess up! Grrrrr!)

No one admits to it.

It reminds me a little bit of this:

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This morning after I had espresso I knew I could conquer the world. Well, not really the whole world, but at least my little zoo family here at home. The house was still quiet as all the little birds were still sleeping. I bid my husband farewell for the moment, and headed upstairs to have the time of my life wake up the kids.

Me: “Kids! Wake up everyone! Guess what? We’re going to mass!”

Kids: “ZzZzZz…Snore, snore, SNORE!”

Me again: “You know – Church! Hey everyone! We get to wake up early and take an early morning stroll!”

Kids: “(sleepy moaning sounds… fading to downright, unmistakeable snoring)”

Me (chanting, playfully): “Hut, 2, 3, 4! Up, 2, 3, 4! You’ll never get rich, diggin’ a ditch – You’re in the army now!” (*Loud clapping thunders from my hands* )

Kid #1:”What’s that? 4th of July Fireworks, again!?”

Kid #2: “Good morning, Mommy!”

Me: “Awh…You’re my fav. Now hurry up, go downstairs and get ready to go out.”

Kids #3 & 4 follow…

Choas ensues as everyone waits until the last minute tries to cram into the bathroom to use it before leaving and takes turns shoving each other out of their way using teamwork to get a drink from the kitchen.

Final kid, still in bed with eyes closed: “What’s going on? It’s too early. Why can’t we go later?” (Whine… Whine… Whine!)

Finally everyone is assembled by the front door (in birth order), ready to proceed to go to mass, while I’m in the other room explaining to the same kid who’s been rubbing their eyes for the past 60,000 seconds why I’m taking everyone to mass this morning. As I give a one word answer, I’m interrupted by my two year-old who says,

“Maaaaaa-mmmm-eeeeeeeee, I p-oped! I need a diaper change!”

And suddenly, instead of the long, drawn-out stupid reflection I was going to give, I simply say,

“If we’re going to go through all this, and still want to go, (actually, really long to go), then there must be something there.”

Yes, there is truly something there.

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Shortly after getting home from church today, Nick and I thought it would be a wonderful day for a trip in our “yacht“. This end of June day was unseasonably temperate for Chicago, and not blazing as the summers of years gone by. The “kill-joys” (i.e. mosquitoes) would not be biting yet, which would indeed heighten the thrill. We planned to depart for the boat launch at noon.

We recently purchased a motor for the raft, and today would be the day we’d get to try it out. After working out the kinks caused by a motor manual that didn’t explain things very well, we finally got the raft inflated, equipped with paddles and life vests just in case, and we were ready to go! We gave word to the kids and they burst out of the van running towards the boat, ready to be the first one in.

It was fun and exhilarating to be out in nature, floating down a river. The motor took some getting used to, and I accidentally rammed us into a low tree limb several times. The first two times were okay – everyone forgave me. By the third time, I had one passenger begin crying, claiming it would be better to abandon ship and be out in the water than sticking with me as the captain. The sobbing effect flowed through the rest of the boat until every passenger was in tears. And me? I had a very hard time controlling myself at the ridiculousness of the situation, and unfortunately, much to my childrens’ dismay, found myself wrapped with laughter. I tried very hard to dole out hugs and kisses and kind words, all the while laughing that I couldn’t for the life of me get the stupid motor under control! I steered one way, the boat fired up in a circle and blasted off in the opposite direction into a floating log whose impact spilled river water (“Mom, is there really sewage in there???”) onto the arms and legs of everyone. I turned the lever in the OTHER direction, and low and behold, I steer us directly into another low tree limb, to which the children scream and cry, “I’m never going in this boat with you again!” (from my seven-year old), and “You’re a terrible driver, Mom!” (from my five year old). My thoughts at that moment were along the lines of defeat…here I tried to take the kids out for a delightful relaxing Sunday excursion on the river, and I get nothing but grief. Well, I admit, it might have been better if I tested it out before taking ALL the kids out – but when Nick and I saw how happy they all were to come with, we hated to disappoint them by telling them it wasn’t their turn.

So, the crew threatened mutiny, to which I responded they could “walk the plank”, to which they cried with squeals and tears, “You don’t care!” To which I thought (but did NOT say out loud), if that was true I would definitely have flipped the boat by now. They cried for their father, who was on “rescue duty” at our prior agreed location, and of course there was no way he could hear them. They said if he were the captain, they wouldn’t have ended up crashing into tree branches and having large spiders fall atop their heads as a consequence!

One child cried for like twenty minutes until the siblings were effective at convincing this child to stop, and I was more effective by saying we had lots of floors to wash at home.

Silence.

The rest of the journey proceeded slightly more perky, albeit an occasional groan from the passengers who had now created a sailing union to insist on their rights.  Good news – they were smiling again!

Docking was challenging, as it involved perching the boat on a fairly steep slope, and everyone stepping into gooey mud twice before finding the BEST spot to land. You see, we would dock, all get out, climb to the top of the bank, only to discover that it would be impossible to carry all our gear across the field to get to the road that Rescue Nick would be picking us up at. Part of said gear included an eighty-pound battery for the motor!

In the end, we had docked three times before settling on a spot to get out.  (I had started looking for a spot just after the crew threatened revolt. It just took a while to find a spot that could work.) Some of the crew had jumped out at the second docking when Rescue Nick was there to save them, and happily returned to the comfort of our van. Just myself and my faithful brave co-pilot were the ones who returned the boat and all equipment to shore, as the insurrectionists kicked back and waited for us to get done.

Thus, the end of my Sunday summer adventure.

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With the advent of new technology, comes new trends, and sometimes a need for new guidelines and etiquette. As I was out shopping over the weekend, I noticed, much more than ever before, people talking on cell phones while shopping. Now this is not a problem, as long as the folks with appendages stuck to their ears keep walking. But it does become a problem when cellphoners have not yet mastered the art of multitasking, and instead of keeping up the pace, just “stall” multiple times in the middle of the shopping aisle!  It also poses a problem when people gabbing on phones park themselves and their cart so as to block other shoppers from getting through the lane, and since they are gabbing away on a cellphone, they don’t notice others politely saying, “Excuse me. Can you move your cart and your body so I can get through?” Puleeeeze! Some of us shoppers are in a minor hurry, since my dear husband is at home watching all the children, so I can do my shopping more efficiently (without 15 minute bathroom breaks, drink breaks, and/or “can we go home yet?” breaks).  And… I… would… like… to… get… home…. QUICKLY! to make sure no one has set the house on fire yet.  I suppose it was just “bad luck” or God trying to teach me to be patient, I don’t know… or unbeknowst to me, was it National “Talk On Your Cellphone While At Target”  Day?

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My dishwasher stinks. It broke down & quit on Monday. Service guy says it  can be repaired for $450. For that, I figure I’ll go get another one; a different brand! I did get them to waive the diagnostic fee because I was “mad” on the phone when scheduling service. I reminded them of that $800 they paid six months after the piece of crap was installed in January 2006 to fix parts covered under warranty, so that was a little leverage. I saved $70 there. I’ve had AWFUL luck with dishwashers. I really have not had one that “washes dishes”. Isn’t that what they’re supposed to do??? By washing dishes, I mean I scrape the plates of all chunks of food, and the dishwasher gets them clean. I’m not expecting it to puree a steak or popcorn kernels – just clean & (sterilize, or come as close to it as possible) the dishes. After all, Kitchen Aid claimed this model would go beyond my expectations – cutting through cheese and eggs – without pre-rinsing.

I bought this “Kitchen – Afraid” dishwasher in Jan 2006. I call it that because it seems afraid to roll up its sleeves and get dirty. It started having problems three months later, the one-year warranty covered the replacement of the motor and pump three months after that, things would be ok (no food residue) for a few months, then they’d have to come out and clean it (I knew enough to have an extended warranty at that point). Unbeknownst to me (I didn’t read carefully enough & they didn’t send me a renewal), this warranty expired, but I just found this out last Monday. On Monday, the touch pad went out & the thing went beserk (off/on, off/on, I push “Normal Wash” and it starts trying to wash on the “China” setting instead ) that I thought it was under mind control from someone far, far away!

I’ve been through three dishwashers in the past 12 years.  This seems so silly. They have all had problems getting the dishes clean. Dishwasher is an oxymoron. I’ve used Cascade complete like they say, had my water temperature & pressure checked, and finally succumbed to pre-rinsing slightly when nothing else worked. Or they work for a while, then begin to leave food residue on the glasses, bowls. Before the touch pad went out, I was checking each dish before handing it out to make sure no one would get a “floaty” in their milk, or a formerly familiar food chunk in their cereal! Ha-ha!

I’m vacillating between spending loads of $ and spending nothing – loads because I still have hope; nothing because I’ve almost given up. A Miele looks flawless. Bosch’s look pretty darn good, too (however, the mixed reviews give me pause). But I know the second it enters my kitchen, IT and all the other dishwashers that haunt me will gang together & turn against me – all the while redepositing food on all my dishes and trying to make my life as challenging as possible.

Can anyone out there recommend a dishwasher out there that does what it says it will do and a manufacturer that will stick by its product and not give customers the run around? Because if there is, I want it.

Go put your head in a hole, Kitchen Aid. I will never buy a dishwasher from you again.

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