A Beautiful Baptism and Stinky Feet

The same events I once excitedly counted down to with young naive eyes now fill me with both a mixture of anticipation and dread. Have I become cynical? Seasoned? A little run-down? Too set in my ways? Maybe all of the above.

Our graceful Little Mommy was baptized on Monday. The service was amazingly beautiful. I was deeply moved and my soul filled by the many friends, members and non-members of our church, who joined us because they have been touched by Little Mommy's tender and thoughtful being. She radiates kindness. I know my children love me in my head (even when they tell me they don't) but I feel Little Mommy's love in my heart because she speaks my love language of service. As I've told one of my children recently, I didn't choose to have children to make my life easier, but to make it richer and more fulfilling. Yet somehow, Little Mommy often makes it easier anyway.



We are blessed to live in an area with so many dear friends who feel like family. Our kids have adopted grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins, which is a good thing since our large families all live in the west. Fortunately, my children's four super-grandparents are willing to travel for these major events, despite having 18 and 34 grandchildren to be mindful of. It's wonderful for them to see the children and wonderful for the children to be reminded of these people who live far away from them, but who love and care for them and pray often for their well being.

Watching the baptismal font fill with water. 

As it was also Little Mommy's birthday on Monday, we spent the weekend enjoying games, treats, lots of eating out and a couple of nice dinners at home with the grandparents. Good thing our dining room table seats 12.

My in-laws on the left and my parents on the right.

On the flip side, because we most often spend time with the grandparents for major events, they generally see the worst of the children, and by the time they all leave, my minions seem to have turned into the scary purple kind, leaving me scrambling for a cure. If only there were a shot that could bring them back to normal in an instant!

Yesterday brought an hour and a half's worth of tantrums about flipping around the fixtures at Taco Bell (which I only went to as a goodwill gesture towards the tantrumer). The last memories of that child for her grandparents on this trip must have impressed upon them how determined she is, if nothing else.

In the afternoon I made the mistake of taking the boy bike shopping (since his bike was too small last year) with another sister, which ended in violence between them. Sigh.

This morning I set off one of the violent children by offering to help with the back of her ponytail because it was puffed out funny where she couldn't see it, though I did tell her if she didn't care about the puff I didn't either.



I am apparently the worst mother in the world.

And then there was the stinky feet episode. Yesterday I noticed after school that Max smelled like a locker room. He is a boy, but a little young for that degree of pungency. After taking extra care last night in the shower to scrub his feet after soccer practice I assumed the problem would be solved. It wasn't.

This morning was rough on most of the children, who probably should have slept till noon but had school to attend both to learn and to be separated one from another. At the last minute I carried Max to the car where his running shoes were waiting and hurriedly began shoving his feet in, when my nose was put on high alert and I noticed his socks were a dismal grey...the kind that comes from wearing the same ones for how many days in a row I'm afraid to know. I ripped them off his feet, called for HAZMAT, and ran back to the house for his flip flops.

He carried on the whole way to school about how he wouldn't go, throwing the shoes into the back of the car. I pulled into the front driveway of the school and the others ran in just before the bell. Not Max. I offered to bring him clean socks for the I Forgot Bin (just like any worst mother would). He threw one of his Nikes out the door. And that's when the vice-principal came to join us. The bell rang and he still sat there, sullen and exhausted by the whirlwind of the last couple of weeks.

I told him I would count to 5 and then if he wouldn't go in I couldn't bring him the socks and he would have to wear flip flops all day. That counting thing always works for me. Except for this morning. I waited. And then I spoke softly to him. I reminded him how much I loved him, how much his friends were missing him, and how he really needed to go in. And in a rare moment, I went back on my word. I told him that sometimes we all need a second chance, and I thought he needed that this morning. That if he would go on in to school, that I would still bring him clean socks, even before any of his recesses. And he went. And I delivered the socks soon after.

Anyone who thinks that glorious fun and excitement out of the ordinary for their children will harvest extra gratitude and cooperative behavior is living a pipe dream. I know that now, which is why I have mixed feelings leading up to these pinnacle weeks. I know enough to know what the fallout will be.

Which is why I sit here contemplating whether our family can swing the ward camp out tonight, with gymnastics, soccer, and maybe a Cubs game tomorrow. Or whether we all just need a timeout. I know I do. Yet, I can't help but be reminded that ours is a blessed life, and sometimes happiness is a choice we make by focusing on the good in our life. And even when they drive me bonkers, these minions are part of the good.

Stinky socks and all.