Codename: Mean Mom

I have just invented a new system for measuring the relative mean-ness of individual mothers. It's called The Strichter Scale and, as the name suggests, it measures the impact of rules, chores, and punishments on children who are in the vicinity of maternal seismic activity.

For many years, I have compared myself to other mothers and tried to be less strict than that one over there, but perhaps more strict than this one over here, in the hopes that my children will have a nice balance somewhere between spoiled rotten and indentured servitude. As long as there are a few mothers who are stricter than I am, I feel like a nice mom. It also helps to be able to say to my children, "I know I'm strict, but aren't you glad 'Mrs. So-and-so' is not your mom?"

Now, of course, some children are more sensitive to these tremors than others. Something that would normally register at about 5.5 on the Strichter Scale may come in at something in the neighborhood of 7.9 with a sensitive child. Without naming names, let me just say that I know what I'm talking about when I say "sensitive child". A simple request to pick up a few blocks and toys can register as an 8.8 quake in our house. And sometimes the aftershocks can be more severe than the initial one.

Once in a while, when the situation warrants it, we attempt to cause an earthquake. This happens when there has been a severe infraction of a rule and we are set the task of fixing the appropriate punishment. We then go for the gusto and announce the removal of some privilege, with the hope that that will really shake the house and help that child to make better choices in the future. However, it usually registers very low on the Strichter Scale and we scramble to come up with some kind of aftershock that will add to the blow.

I must admit, from time to time, I am the sensitive person over-reacting to events in our household. The aftershocks in those cases are completely unpredictable and always result in regret on my part, which just shows how unstable and fragile our little world really is. Do scientists ever attempt to repair those cracks in the earth's crust that lead to earthquakes? They probably don't, but maybe we mothers should.

Picture Puzzle #4

Here it is, another picture puzzle. See how quickly you can figure this one out. A little more will be revealed each day in the Picture Puzzle section in the right-side column. To make a guess, comment on this post or email me. Fame and glory await you.
No prize, but...fame and glory.

Deciphering Boys: Gross Things

What is it about the Y chromosome that compels its owners to an eerie fascination with gross things? Like some kind of strange black hole, pictures like the one below seem to pull on a boy's mind and place him in a sort of hypnotic state. Transfixed gaze, slightly elevated heart rate, open-mouthed wonder at the hideousness of it, yet unable to pull himself away. Daniel opens up to this page of our "Ancient Egypt" book every time he looks at it. He asks about where the man's eyeballs are now and whether or not those are his original teeth. Now, I certainly find mummies and ancient Egypt to be quite spellbinding myself, but a five-second look at the mummy photo will suffice. The death and decay are not a pleasing sight.
Here are two more examples of the love of gross things amongst boys:

1. Nathan had a friend over recently and they were talking about snakes. (No, I do not put snakes in the gross category, in and of themselves.) His friend was saying, "You have to go on youtube and watch 'Snake regurgitates antelope'! It's so awesome!" The antelope is dead and all covered with slime, which I guess must have been part of the excitement. That was the gist of it anyway, and of course, Nathan did ask me to see it later that day. (If you must watch it yourself, follow this clue.)
2. (This is literally "#2", just so you're forewarned.) Nathan came out of the bathroom the other day and said to me, with a huge smile on his face, "I weighed myself and it was 66. Then I went #2 and then I weighed myself and it was 65.5. Cool, hu?"

Note: I know I said I would refrain from toilet topics for awhile, but at the time I said that, I really hadn't given enough thought to how much of my life seems to involve the bathroom.

So what is the answer to this mystery of why boys have such an affinity for gross things? Does it make them feel more manly if they like them? Do they truly just relish the look of those things? My personal opinion is that if they convince themselves (and other people) that they love those gross things, then they won't feel so scared of them. Find it funny or awesome and it loses some of its horror. Maybe I'll have to test this hypothesis somehow...

To Catch a Thief

Hoarding and thievery. Those are phases of early childhood, right? Stephanie has reached that stage where she knows if she can just get hold of something she wants and take off with it fast enough, she may be able to hang on to it long enough to enjoy it or at least stash it somewhere safe for later. It's a common occurence, so it wasn't too difficult to snap this photo of her exploits. She's holding one of Daniel's precious cowboy boots. He was asked to put them away and she immediately ran over, grabbed one, and took off around the kitchen corner where she knows she's out of sight. I did not take the "after" picture of the scene she makes when the stolen item is recovered from her, so just use your imagination.

Doppelganger

For some reason, it rubs me the wrong way when people tell me they know someone who looks "just like" me. (This has recently happened, which is why I'm on this train of thought.) I've been trying to figure out why this should bother me so much. Is it because I feel less special if there's another me out there? Is it because it makes me think I must be rather a plain Jane to have all these supposed look-alikes? Maybe there's a bit of a yes answer to both of those questions. But since I enjoy categorizing and organizing, I've divided these "doppelganger" moments into three groups for further analysis:

1. Someone tells me I look similar to someone famous.
This is usually the least annoying of the look-alike incidents (as long as it's not someone old, unattractive, or weird). Sadly, this is also the least common of the look-alike incidents. And no one ever tells me I look just like Cindy Crawford, or Anne Hathaway, or Catherine Zeta-Jones. That would be fun. It's always someone whose name is vaguely familiar but I can't quite remember what movie she was in.

2. Someone tells me I look just like someone they know or are related to.
This is more bothersome than the previous category because I don't know the person they're referring to and I'm always pretty sure they're not as interesting as I am. Afterwards, I always feel like the person who told me this will view me as quite different than I actually am because their opinion is tainted by the physical resemblance. About an hour after this happens, I usually have an unexplained urge to go get a haircut.

3. Someone tells me I look "exactly" like my mother.
Sorry, Mom. No offense intended, but this is by far the most vexing of the three categories. Why it should be is a mystery to me because it is usually coupled with a comment about how attractive my mother is or how they thought she was my sister. She does look much younger than she is, but still...don't people see how telling me I look "exactly" like someone who is 25 years older than I am could be a bit of an insult? Age aside, though, who really wants to be an exact copy of anyone else, let alone their mother? Good thing I'm not a twin.

So now you know. I am an overly sensitive egomaniac and you should probably be cautious about telling me whom I resemble. (Hmmm...is it "whom" or "who" in this case? Mom?)

Picture Puzzle #3: Rise and Shout, the Cougars are Out!

Afton wins again! This is the BYU campus - cougar country. My dad used to wake us up for early-morning seminary by singing, "Rise and shout! The cougars are out." And we didn't even live in Utah. We took this picture a few years ago on a visit there, and we noticed afterwards that our boys were both dressed like Utes (Univ. of Utah). Oooops!

The Usual Suspects

Life is full of little adventures. Three juvenile suspects. Three adventures yesterday. Here's a breakdown of the small but significant happenings around our house over the past 2o hours. (Imagine some film-noir music in the background while you read these).

"Deer Park Lake"
5:18pm. At the computer desk.
My 6-year old came in and asked if he could take a water bottle outside with him. Normally I would have said yes, but I knew he had just had one that a friend brought out for him. So I said he could just get a drink in the kitchen and go back outside. He replied, "But I really need this out there. We're making a lake." Ummm, no. Not with bottled water, you're not. I'm glad he asked before taking our entire supply out there.

"Writing Style"
7:04pm. Kitchen table.
My 10-year old was nearly finished with the homework he had been whining about for forty minutes, which was to copy a one-page paper into cursive. He suddenly burst into tears and cried that he would have to start all over. I entered the room to find that he had knocked over his water glass and about half the page was soaked. I couldn't stand the thought of him whining (even more intensely than he had before) for another forty minutes. So, while he cleaned up his water mess, I took the page upstairs and blow-dried it. Yes, I told him, Mom now offers salon services for homework pages.

"Tomato Tornado"
Part 1: 6:07pm. Dining room table.
Our 18-month old loves tomatoes. She especially likes them when they are part of home-made salsa. She eats the salsa like it's the main course, begging for more the moment she finishes. She had several helpings last night until my husband said that was probably as much as she should eat of it. When she understood no more was coming to her tray she leaned over and put her face in the remaining slop (tomato juices, etc.) and starting sucking it up.

Part 2: 7:16am. Her bedroom.
I opened her bedroom door this morning and the smell hit me like a truck. She had thrown-up the salsa all over in her bed and on her clothes. There were tomato bits hanging from her hair, looking like projectile debris from a tornado. I put her in the bath and began the disgusting process of cleaning up her room, which reminds me--I need to go change the laundry.

All in a day's work, I guess. Today, I feel somewhat like a super-hero. Liqui-girl. Or maybe De-Liqui-girl, because I have been de-liquifying things. I prevented an unnecessary lake, I saved homework by shooting it with my blow-drier, and I saved us all from the horrific smelly liquid in the baby's room. Whew! What's next?

Picture Puzzle #3

Here is the first portion of Picture Puzzle #3:

To make a guess at the location in this photo, post a comment or email me. A little more will be revealed each day in the section labeled "Picture Puzzle" in the right column.

Grammar Misdemeanors

"Me and her are going to the park."

A sentence like this, spoken aloud in my mother's presence, would have raised the dreaded Red Flag of English Errors in my growing up years. No matter how occupied she was with something else, her ears would have perked up, her eyebrows would have jumped an inch, and her mouth would have opened involuntarily as the corrected sentence burst forth from her lips. I used to cringe whenever one of my friends used the word "ain't" in front of my mother, because there was no stopping the free-flow of incorrect-grammar-detection and the resulting lecture on proper speech. (Even as I write this, I am carefully choosing words and sentence structure so that, in the unlikely event of my mother reading this post, I will not receive a red-pen corrected version in my email.) I found it rather embarrassing when my mom would repeat a sentence spoken by one of my friends, giving the correct version along with the "why that is the right way to say it" English lesson.

By far the worst offense was the use of the word "snuck". This would actually produce something akin to righteous indignation. "Snuck" was a common word to use in place of "sneaked" which was, at that time, the correct past tense version of "sneak". However, as an interesting note, "snuck" became so common that it is now the accepted past participle (it sounds like I know what I'm talking about, doesn't it?) for "sneak". Microsoft Word recognizes "snuck" as a valid word entry and Merriam-Webster's online dictionary acknowledges its use without even referring to it as slang. Breathe, Mom.

Why am I taking time to write about this now? Because yesterday, my 6-year old came in the front door after school and began telling me about something that his classmate "brang" to school. Immediately, the red flag popped up in my mind and, before I could stop myself, the word "brought" burst forth from my lips, and I realized that the next generation of grammar police had donned its mantel of authority.

(For those who care, the correct form of the sentence at the top is: "She and I are going to the park." The way to check for correctness is to separate "she/her" and "me/I" and try each by itself in the sentence. In my mother's words, "You would not say 'Her is going to the park' but rather 'She is going to the park'; and you would not say 'Me is going...' ", etc. If this lesson offends you, I'm sorry, it's just the way I was raised.)