Bullet Points

Easter was early this year. I don't know why that's important to say . . . but every time Easter was mentioned on the news, the radio, at the mall, wherever . . . the speaker was apparently compelled to make that observation.

Here's our happy, post-church photograph. Taken with my phone, of course.

Just after I started working full-time, my kids and I had a Family Meeting. A Family Meeting is more formal that a Family Huddle, but we usually end both with all hands in the middle and a cheer – "Go FIVE!!" Then Spen always wants us to do pinkies in the middle and the cheer. Then Zach always wants us to do tongues in the middle and the cheer. We don't touch, we just like how the cheer sounds.

Anyway, at this particular Family Meeting, the kids expressed their preference for me being home as early as possible in the afternoon, even if it meant that I was gone some mornings. Because my mom is a superstar, she agreed to come down on Tuesdays and Thursdays at 6am so I may leave the house without fear of a DCFS visit.

The other morning as I was leaving, Zach and Spen were in my bed (shocker!!) and my mom asked Zach if he wanted to be the mom today.

"Can I yell?" he asked.

Great. So that’s how he sees The Role of Motherhood. The Yeller. The Enforcer. It’s not that I’m yelling, it’s that I’m competing to be heard! And I’m nothing if not competitive.

I often wonder what my kids would say about me if I died. Whoa . . . that sounds way more morbid than I mean it to. What I mean is, you know how at a mother’s funeral, her kids invariably get up there and go on and on about what a perfect mom they had? Here's my version of the bullet point list used by an adult child giving a talk at her/his mother's funeral.

• They can’t remember her ever raising her voice


• She always made time for them


• She always magnified, not just fulfilled, her church calling


• She had hot cookies and cold milk for them every day after school


• She played the piano beautifully in the morning while they got ready, setting the tone for the day and instilling in them a love of music


• She was a supportive and loving wife


• She could bait a hook and cook the fish afterwards


• Her hair was always fixed


• She always/never . . .

You get it. You’ve been to that funeral. Who's "always/never" ANYTHING? Well, besides 'always made time to eat' or 'never passed up a shoe sale.' Of course those.

What would my kids say? What will they remember? Here's my bullet point list of things I hope they remember . . . and the things I hope they don't.

• I raised my voice to show them how cool the Depot at the Gateway echoes, not that I yelled, "Get in the tub or I’ll karate chop you in the neck!!" every single night.


• We went on dates and I sent them emails from work, not that sometimes I couldn’t lay down by them at night because I had to study and if I was horizontal for even 15 seconds, I’d fall asleep for the night. And then steal the covers.


• I went to Enrichment Night, even if I’d rather stay home by them, because going was the right thing to do, not that sometimes I fell asleep in Sacrament Meeting and they had to wake me up when the bread came around.


• We made cookie dough instead of cookies, because we like it better that way, not that sometimes we ran out of milk completely.


• We made mixed CDs of our favorite music so we could rock out while we cleaned the house and have impromptu dance parties, not that I can’t play any instrument myself but I make them practice anyway.


• I loved being a wife while I was one, and that I would have loved to be a really, really good one forever, not that sometimes I cried a lot. A lot.


• I took them camping, not fishing, because that was kind of their dad’s thing and it wouldn’t be fair for me to be horning in on his specialties.


• We all had hair that I would attempt to fix, not that sometimes, by the end of the day, we looked homeless.

Who knows if us parents are doing this kid-raising thing right? Who can ever say?