Scariest elementary haunted house ever

The kids are so excited about Halloween. Since I have the kids for the holiday, I am obligated to buy their costumes. They wanted specific things: Captain America for Lane; Spider Monkey Alien from Ben 10 for Porter; and Madison wanted to be a Lady Bug. Of course, the divorce guilt always makes you want to get them what they want. Okay, it’s just the mom guilt I guess. I love seeing them happy, especially when it comes to make believe. I searched for the cheapest costumes I could find and low and behold Amazon had them 10 to 15 dollars cheaper than retail stores.

I had to wait til payday to order them and wasn’t sure just what bills I was going to have to juggle, but decided to throw down the dough. They came in two shipments--one for the twins and one for Lane. The twins’ package showed up on Thursday and was delivered to the office. Unfortunately, since my legal name change the office didn’t believe it was the right person so they sent it back with the driver. I don’t even want to go into the multitude of calls and lies given and taken from the delivery company. They couldn’t locate the driver, they couldn’t find the package, it was a nightmare. The package still has not come, but Amazon refunded one costume and sent me a replacement of the other. I can buy Porter’s in town—just ten bucks more.

I sat the kids down and explained we were going to have a Plan B as the costumes definitely weren’t going to be here by Saturday for their school Spooktacular. Bless their little hearts they dug through my costume box and found old costumes and dress up stuff. Madison put on her 49ers cheerleader outfit and Porter picked out a “ninja” costume. They were such good sports and didn’t complain at all, even when Lane’s cute little muscle man Captain America showed up. 

When we were walking to the school event, people were passing us and Lane said, “Mom, no one even recognizes me.” He was so pleased that he was such a convincing Captain America. I wanted to say that’s because no one would recognize you if you didn’t have your costume on, but I didn’t want to ruin his illusion that no one really believed he was the real Captain America.

We went to Spooktacular at their elementary school. I was so disappointed they were charging for breathing at the event. The kids really wanted to go to the Haunted house so we stood in line for 45 minutes waiting for that. And, it cost me 8 bucks for all of us. I only had 20 bucks with me so we had to budget, budget, budget. Halfway through the spook house, Madison had fallen to her knees in terror. Screaming, crying, and not moving one bit. We were holding onto a rope with a group of people and I could not get her to move. I had to pick her up and carry her.

Porter lasted almost until the end and then he had a break down. He usually gets upset if Madison is crying or hurt. She has no feelings when it’s happening to him. Both of the twins were frozen with fright and screaming at the top of their lungs. I’m trying to get them to keep moving. It’s impossible for me to hold both of them, plus I had Lane to worry about who was leisurely traipsing through the maze as if he were looking at art in a museum.

Somehow, we finally get to the end and have to exit out a door that happens to be close to the line of people that are waiting in line to go in. There were literally at least 100 people standing there when we came out so I’m guesstimating 200 hundred eyeballs were on us. I can’t walk—one has one leg and one has the other. They are STILL screaming in terror with tears running down their cheeks. It takes me awhile to get them to SHUT UP! I keep telling them we’re outta there so calm down. It’s over and I can’t believe I paid eight bucks for this. Lane is walking nonchalantly behind them as a little miniature Captain America with his palms face up saying, “What? What guys? It wasn’t that scary. It's even real.”

They vowed to never go to a haunted house again. Madison said, “I knew it was going to be scary, but I thought it was going to be like, ‘Boo!’ scary.” After that we bought shaved ice and they calmed down. With our remaining three tickets we bought two slices of pizza. The kids had more fun playing on the playground with their friends. Porter had to go to the bathroom and so I escorted him, but not before leaving strict instructions with Madison to watch Lane. Right before Porter was done, I was scanning the playground to check on my other two. I see Lane in an open area with a police officer squatted down next to him. Oh my gosh! I think. Lane is notorious for screaming, “Mom!” very loudly when he can’t find me. He’s not crying he just thinks if he yells loud enough I’ll hear him from China. I grab Porter’s arm and tell him I have to run to get Lane. I’m running through the playground and see another police officer show up. Now one of them is on the radio and they’re looking around for an irresponsible mother. 

In my marathon trek, I pass Madison leisurely sitting on the monkey bars with her friend watching the whole scene unfold. As I run by I yell, “Madison I told you to watch him!” I am watching him Mom, he’s right there. That girl.

I run up to the police officers and try to explain I was at the bathroom with one of my twins and saw him from afar. They were really cool about it and cancelled their call to Child Protective Services. I asked Lane what he said to them. He said nothing. Well what did they ask you? He said they wanted to know what my Mom’s name was. I told them, “Whizabith Lane.” And did they ask your name? Yea, I told them my name was Lane. Okay, so now they think his name is probably Lane Lane. He said, “I didn’t tell them your name was Mom because they wouldn’t know who that was.” He smiled smugly as if he was just that smart.

On the walk back to the car, Lane started singing his own version of Taylor Swift’s song:

And twins will never ever ever ever go to back to haunted houses again

Cause first she screamed and then he screamed and I just laughed

Oh we-ee-ee will never ever ever ever go back to there again

The twins were disgruntled and said, “Stop singing that song, Lane!” So he started the verse again.

God taught me a lesson today

Today, God gave me a lesson I didn’t even realize I needed.

I was driving back to the office from Target, windows down, letting the breeze cut through the stillness of my thoughts. The weather was perfect—the kind that makes you pause and actually notice life for a moment. As I slowed down, easing into the parking lot, a young woman called out, “Excuse me...”

Here we go, I thought. Another panhandler. I’ve been through this before: the awkward exchange, the inevitable “I don’t have any cash on me” because—truthfully—I don’t. I make it a point not to carry cash, always prepared with a reason not to give.

But this time, I stopped. She asked if I was parking there, and when I said yes, she surprised me. “Could I wash your windows for some money?” she asked. She held up a knapsack with cleaner and paper towels. She wasn’t asking for a handout; she was asking to work.

I looked at her. There was something in her eyes—something strong, something proud. She didn’t seem like someone used to being in a place like this, but here she was, humble enough to do what she needed to survive. She wasn’t beneath asking for money, but she wasn’t about to take it for free. And in her, I saw a reflection of myself.

I’ve been in places I never expected to be financially. I’ve worked jobs I never imagined I’d have to, sometimes juggling two at once just to keep the bills paid. Like her, I’ve felt the weight of needing to provide, of wondering if I was doing enough for my kids, of holding onto pride even when life stripped it bare.

And yet, I’ve complained. I’ve grumbled about my cramped living space, my car payments, my laundry piling up for trips to the complex laundromat. I’ve been annoyed by the broken TV that barely gets three channels and an air conditioner that can’t decide if it wants to freeze me or melt me. My loneliness in Vegas has been a constant hum in the background, amplified by the lack of time or energy to make new friends.

But this woman—this stranger washing windows to survive—made me see everything differently. She told me she lived under the tunnel down the road. I knew the place. Homeless people gather there, finding shelter where they can. She laughed about her worn-out shirt that barely covered her and said she needed food. Skinny but not frail, she looked like someone who spent her last pennies on survival, not indulgence.

My automatic response was ready: “I don’t carry cash.” But then I remembered something odd—something out of the ordinary. At Target, I’d asked for cash back. I rarely do that, but for some reason, I had that day. A few dollar bills sat tucked in my wallet, intended for the vending machine at the office.

“Wait,” I said, stopping myself mid-sentence. “I actually do have some money.” I gave her half of it, even though I’d skipped buying things for myself at Target to save money. As she began working on my windows, I handed her a bottle of water from my purse. She thanked me for the opportunity, her gratitude as genuine as her pride.

I walked towards the building, the weight of the moment settling over me. Fast-forward images flashed through my mind: my home, my car, my closet full of clothes, my cabinets stocked with food. My kids, who smother me with hugs and “I love you, Mom” notes taped to the walls. My job waiting for me inside, my friends cheering me on from afar, the simple luxuries I take for granted every single day.

And then there were the gifts I’d received just this past week: $20 from a friend, a $50 Chili’s gift card from a cousin, a handwritten letter full of encouragement and love. By the time I reached the door, I was ready to give her the shirt off my back—literally. I had a sweatshirt on over it and wouldn’t have thought twice about taking it off. But when I turned around, she was gone. My windows sparkled, and so did the realization settling into my heart.

I looked up at the sky and whispered, “Thank you. I got it. I really got it.” 

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By the way, this picture I found reminded me of her. The determined look and strength in her eyes. But, this picture is of Tyra Banks posing as a homeless person.

And they say Vegas isn't a safe place...

Woke up with the kids and we were headed out the door. While I was looking for the keys, the kids went out the front door and left it opened. There in the lock was my set of keys—apparently left from last night when we had returned home. The kids are in to wanting to use the keys to unlock the door. And, as I had my arms full of groceries, I never noticed the keys didn’t make it into the house.

Someone could have come in; someone could have figured out which car was mine and stolen it; someone could have just plain out stolen them. Thank goodness it wasn’t the night the crazy lady showed up at 2 a.m. I think we were lucky and definitely watched over by angels.

P.S. For anyone wanting to lecture me I already got chewed out my one of my besties. I mean up one side and down another chewed out. I know, I know, I know, I know...

Don't worry, be happy

You never know how divorce will affect your kids. Even though you hear it all the time how devastating it can be for them. I’ve been watching my own kids carefully to see if they are okay, or at least as “okay” as they can be with the circumstances. A fellow divorcee, told me his daughter didn’t start showing the effects of it until a couple of years after the divorce. She was a star student, and recently started failing in her classes. I have felt fortunate that my kids are so close in age (two 6, and one  4) that their bond with each other has helped them through a lot of this. And, no matter where they have been, they have been there together.

Porter, who is my sensitive child, has been getting upset easily lately. The past weekend when I brought them home with me he had a meltdown. He started getting really exasperated as he said, “Mom, I am so tired of people taking my bottle of Sprite and drinking it or throwing it away. I just want it to be where I left it!” All of this was said as he was breaking down in tears.

 I said,” Porter there is a whole fridge full of Sprite.”

He responded, “I know, but I AM the one who had to unscrew the lid!”

“Porter,” I said, “I put it back in the fridge. This isn’t a big deal.”

“Yes it is, Mom! You don’t understand,” he cried some more. “I’m just so tired of it.”

I told Porter I thought there was something else he may be upset about and asked him to come and talk with me. We propped ourselves up on some pillows and he fell into my arms. As we talked I ask him a lot of questions. I told him I felt like he was worried about everyone. He worried about his Dad, he worried about me, he worried about his Grandma, and he worried about his brother and his sister. He said he did and that he even worried about the kids at school.

I tried explaining to him that was a big burden for a six year old boy to be carrying around. He was only six and should be having fun like a six year old, not trying to take on the problems of the world. I explained that it was nice for him to care about all of these people, but it wasn’t his job to worry or try to fix their problems. He told me he tried to do nice things for everyone because he wanted everyone to be happy. I told him that he always looked so happy and had such a great smile. He said he did that because he was trying hard not to be sad inside.

Wow. That was a lot for me to take in. He essentially was trying to be the man of the house and take care of everyone in the only way he knew how. I asked him if he had been carrying this burden around for a long time. He said yes and started sobbing again. As gently as I could I told him, “Porter you don’t have to do that. You don’t have to carry all of this weight on your shoulders. Mom and Dad and everyone else have the opportunity to make their own choices and to fix their own problems. We all have Heavenly Father to help us with that too. That’s why we are here; to learn and to grow and to become better people. But we have to find our own way. Sometimes people in our lives are there to help us and support us but our lives are ours to own and be responsible for. You just have to worry about yourself and your life. And you always have Heavenly Father to talk to. He is only a prayer away and will be with you when no one else can.”

“So I don’t have to worry anymore?” he asked.

“No,” I said, “You can let it all go right now. In fact I’m going to pick it up off of your shoulders for you and smash it on the ground!” I pretended to lift something very heavy off of his back. He giggled when I did then this, and that was a welcome sound. If you are ever feeling like you are worrying too much I want you to remember something someone once told me. It is a phrase, “Let go, and let God.” It means that whenever you are worried about something you don’t have any control over or can’t fix you have to let it go. Then you can turn it over to God and let him and the other person take care of it. You don’t have to be the one to fix someone else’s problem. “You’re a pretty wise kid, buddy” I hugged him.

“I know,” he said.

I said, “ Do you know what that means?”

He said, “Yea, it means I’m really smart.”

I laughed, “I guess so.”

A few hours later, he was bouncing off the walls and smiling from ear to ear—a lot like the kid he used to be all of the time. I asked him “What got into you?” He jumped up on the bed and started bouncing on it like it was a trampoline and started shouting, “I don’t have to worry anymore!”

At the end of the day when we pray together, I asked each of the kids to say something they remember from the day that was good. Lane said, “Everything. I just like everything. I’m always happy.” True, true. Porter said, “I liked my talk I had with Mom.” Yes, it melted my heart. I’m so glad my son can talk to me. Madi said, “I still want to beat Oscar up for not letting Porter play with him. Don’t think I haven’t forgotten about that!”  Oye vey!  She’s a whole other nut I’m not sure I know how to crack. Her anger is masking her feelings and she’s not easy to talk too….another chapter.

The next evening, a day later, the other kids had fallen asleep and Porter came and cuddled with me. He told me he wanted me to get married to a man that didn’t yell at me. And then there were three other things he thought I should have: 1) strong; 2) could play football really good; and 3) was rich. Hmmm….I thought, he wants to me to start dating NFL players. Alright, I’ll put that on my list of things to do.

Later in our conversation he said, “Mom if you knew that about me (referring to his worrying) why didn’t you tell me sooner? It has helped so much.”

I said, “Porter I didn’t know exactly what was wrong. I just could sense there was something and didn’t know for sure until after I talked to you.”

He said, “Boy, I wish you would have told me about that sooner.”

I asked, “So it’s been a big relief for you?”

“Yea,” he said, “I like being a six year old boy. I always wanted to grow up really fast so I could do big things.  I think kids always want to be grownups and I’ve noticed that grownups always say they wish they could be a kid again. Everyone wants the opposite, but right now I think I just want to be a kid.”

That’s what I want for him too. I’m grateful he talks to me and for his wisdom and insight. He is a tender hearted boy who has tried to step in and be the man in my life. I love who he is and know he will grow up to be an amazing man, but am heartbroken he has been put in this position. Let go, and let God.

I'm at a payphone

My kids love to hear me tell stories about when I was growing up. I've recently started telling them stories about the pizza parlor my parents owned when I was a kid. I never realized how many things I would have to explain and describe to them. Things they had never heard of--like the huge arcade games we had to pay a quarter to play. Or, what 45 RPM records were inside of a jukebox. And the payphone in the corner...it was too much. They can get all of three of those things in a little tiny cell phone now.

They could not for the life of them figure out why somebody would attach a phone to a wall. When I told them we had to put money in it to make a phone call, they thought that was the most absurd idea ever imagined. They looked at my phone and tried to figure out how someone was supposed to put quarters inside. I explained how bulky a payphone was. I told them there was a short cord attached to the handle so you couldn't walk away from this big, huge box.

I tried to share my teenage years of euphoria mastering arcade games including Ms. Pacman, Donkey Kong, and Centipede. They gave me blank stares. I sang, "I've gotta pocket full or quarters, and I'm headed to the arcade!" They said to stop singing so I never finished, "...I've got Pacman fever!" They asked what's with quarters in 1982? Everything needs a quarter. None of this absorbed into their 21st century minds. Machines that nearly touched the ceiling; manipulating a joystick to play or tapping buttons; and least understood of all—more quarters. They concluded that everything back then needed a quarter. 

It’s unbelievable that technology has advanced so much that my children have no frame of reference to understand what I am explaining. The only thing that made sense was Sandy the quarter horse. They got that. Those are still around. But, even Sandy asked for a quarter. Their favorite thing was the idea of a huge refrigerator a person could walk in to. And, an oven so big it could hold almost 40 pizzas. I haven't told them about the soda machine that poured endless multiple flavors of pure cavity causing bliss! That they would get.

Cow for sale

Two sisters lived next to each other. They both lived on farm. One sister bought a cow. Of course, they shared the milk. The sister, who owned the cow, experienced a financial hardship with her family. Her sister, who didn’t own the cow offered to buy the cow for $500. The cow stayed in the same place and they both shared the milk. Later, the sister who now owned the cow, needed help. The other sister decided to buy “her” cow back. This practice went on for years as they took turns giving to each other when they needed help.

Life seems to be that way for everyone. Sometimes you buy the cow, and sometimes you need to sell it. I have never wanted to be the one to sell my cow. The blessings of hardship are the many friends and family always willing to buy your cow. This experience has happened with me a lot. I can remember the years of surplus; when I was single and always had extra money. I was so thrifty I always seemed to be in a position to help someone else. I’ve bought a lot cows.

Unless you’re a socialist, you can’t possibly want a handout or someone else to take care of you. I’ve been very blessed to have people reach out to me and help. Someone gave me $40 bucks for gas yesterday; someone that previously I have loaned money to and helped them buy groceries when they didn’t have a dime. My pride didn’t want to take it, but my wallet was starving.

My best friend, whom I know would not like to be mentioned, has been buying so many cows lately she’s going to have a herd soon. There was an advertisement on television for a “cash giveaway.” My little son, Lane, who always seems to be so acutely aware of my financial circumstances it breaks my heart, said one day, “Mom, I really hope you get a cash giveaway.” Not much later, my friend had sent me a check. She wanted to buy a cow. It was for $200. I told Lane, “Hey, guess what buddy? We won the cash giveaway!” He was so thrilled and so happy for me just because he had wished it. The money bought much needed things for the kids.

I used to be the cow buyer. It’s hard to have to sell your cows. But I’ve realized that sometimes we are up and sometimes we are down. Without people around who love you and care for you, you’d be in a real bind sometimes. Whether it is karma or just kindness, I think it’s always good to give. I’ve had my turn giving and lately seem to be taking. I’m taking it in stride and overwhelming thankful but trying to buy back my cows. If you’ve got the money or the means, go buy a cow; there’s always someone that really needs to sell one.

Yesterday, at church

Yesterday at church, I was watching all of the primary leaders as they helped to put on the primary program for sacrament meeting. They looked tired, but they had their hearts in what they were doing and they were committed to helping each child do their best and say their part. [As a disclaimer, I am hardly a shining example of my religion, but I do go. So don’t judge the church by me.]

I did however, reflect on several occasions—three to be exact—when I had been asked to serve in the nursery. It is one of the least coveted tasks for most people. It almost seems like a punishment. You miss two of the three meetings and babysit everyone else’s kids so that they can serve as teachers or attend their classes. 

The first time I was called, I was young and single and completely insulted that they would expect me to have to watch bratty kids. I wasn’t the one that decided to have kids! Although there was supposed to be a lesson and structured outline for the two hours, I skipped it. I didn’t want to bother with trying to teach kids that could hardly speak and were NOT my children. I didn’t pay attention to their names and still can’t remember any that were in there.

The second time, I was married and both my husband and I were put in Nursery. I had 23 month old twins and a nursing baby. Since my husband was primarily interested in disciplining, I tried to do a lesson, coloring, and singing time. But it never failed that I would have to leave to nurse and the twins would cling to me and want my attention.

The last time I was in Nursery, the twins were in Primary and Lane was in another Nursery. It was a very young ward. There were eight nurseries. Lane hated his class and started screaming and crying every Sunday as soon as we parked in the church parking lot. So, I was actually excited to take over Nursery. I pulled Lane from his class and just brought him into ours. This time, I really looked forward to being a Nursery teacher. I felt sympathy for these moms who were exhausted from their little children and babies and took my calling very seriously.

I read the introduction to the Nursery manual and one part in particular touched me. It said to love these children as Jesus does and know that this is their first experience with church. I had the stewardship to help them begin with a positive experience. 

I decided to make a poster board that said, “Nursery is our garden, let’s grow it!” I made foam flower pots and birds and a sun. Then put on detachable flowers, I took a picture of each child and put their name on a flower in foam letters. When they would come into class they would grab their flower and stick it in the garden. I also would buy cool nametag stickers so that after putting their flower in the garden they could put their nametag on.

I bought wicker chargers—the kind that are supposed to go under a dinner plate. They were all different colors and I would put them in a stack. When it was time for a lesson or singing time they each had to grab one and put it in a semi-circle around me. They would sit on their mat and listen or sing. 

Each week I would come up with a craft to go along with the lesson. Our church was from 11 to 2 so most of the kids were getting hungry during that time. I bought small utensil trays that were the perfect size for a lunch tray. They had four sides and rubber lining so they were easy to clean. I bought tiny sippy cups in orange, pink, blue, yellow and green—so each child had their own water throughout class. For lunch, I would make tiny sandwiches with crackers or goldfish and fresh fruit. They would each get their little tray and sippy cup and sit down at the little table. Each week, there was a brown paper bag on the table with their name on it. Every week it had a homemade treat and they would put their craft or activity inside of it, so they always left with a brown bag.

I looked forward to Nursery all week and would find myself thinking of new ideas for class. I loved those little kids. It was really the best two hours of my week. One woman, who brought the newsletter and lesson updates to our class for me, had a daughter in another nursery class who hated to go. She was a tiny little thing with a soft voice. She had been born with some damage to her vocal chords and even though she could speak, if she cried it was a tiny noise. 

She had told the other teachers that it was difficult to listen to her and about how they needed to listen to her closely because it was hard to hear what she was saying or if she was crying. She would often go in to check on Ellie and she would be curled up in the corner crying.  I told her to bring Ellie into our class. After only a few weeks, Ellie would come straight into class with a big smile on her face. She was partial to Brant and would run straight into his arms. Her mom came and thanked us with tears in her eyes. She was so grateful. As a mom, this time, I totally got it.

By the end of the year, the kids would graduate to primary. I was so sad and almost cried our last Sunday. Throughout the year, parent after parent would come in and thank us and tell us how much they appreciated how much effort we put into the class. Two different parents wrote us thank you notes and expressed gratitude for helping their children have such a great experience at church.

I felt humbled and so honored to serve them. They helped me to learn and grow and become a better person. I truly gave everything I had to make it the best that I could. They say that service is one of the ways to be happy.

I’m not writing this to show how great I was or how much I went above and beyond what every other teacher did. (Even though, let’s be honest I overkilled it.) The point is, that when I changed my attitude I changed lives. When I was humble to serve, I was blessed with insight. Everything that happened blossomed into something great. I think back to my earlier times of service, and am ashamed that I had such a bad attitude. It was the same calling, with the same tasks, but I don’t think I affected anyone in a positive way.

It’s made me think about my life and how much my attitude will affect the outcome of the future. And how much—me, one person--has the power to influence a lot of lives. Everyone has that opportunity whether it is at church, work, or at home. Our circle of influence can spread like a ripple in the ocean. The most important person it can influence is you. When you’re stronger, everyone else around is stronger, happier, and more successful. It’s an important time to reflect on this for me. Attitude IS everything.

Joyful Noise

Primary church program is tomorrow. All three kids have a little line that they go up to the pulpit and say. And, this proud mama hen watched all of her chicks say their lines with perfect execution. Bless their little hearts they had to sit through nearly an hour and a half practice in the chapel. At first all of the kids were excited, but towards the end every child was either extremely restless or about to fall asleep. I was about to fall asleep watching them.

Lane, in his usual stubbornness got bored and started reading a hymn book. I guess that was more interesting. When they were supposed to stand, a primary teacher was prodding him to stand up with the other kids. He was like, no thanks I'm fine sitting here reading hymns. He did finally stand up and started doing the crotch hold. I knew he had to go to the bathroom, but didn't want to walk up there and interrupt. Eventually, either a teacher noticed or he said something. He could not get away from the boredom fast enough. I was even relieved to get a break from the monotony.

Madison and Porter started draping themselves over the partition next to the pulpit. I kept signaling to them to sit up and smile. They started signing "No. Boring. Go. Hungry." They've learned enough sign to "speak" in short words. I hoped no one else knew what they were signing. So I started signing back, "Sit! Quiet. Stand. Sing." Madison in her passive aggressive way, started refusing to sing and put on a defiant frowning face.

The leaders kept encouraging the kids to sit up straight, look happy, don't be too loud, watch the chorister, and remember where you're supposed to stand. I know they were all probably nervous about the program not being a total disaster and trying to keep 50 kids under control is certainly not a job I would want any part of. I know they needed a practice, but it was so long I don't know how the kids did as well as they did.

A friend of mine was explaining his church to me and it sounded like so much fun. Church and fun almost seem like a paradox. I mean, boring doesn't have to equal righteousness, right? Imagine that. The preacher was giving his sermon from his Ipad. That can't be sacrilegious right? I mean it's just an updated version of writing notes on paper or a computer print out. The music was lively and they stood up several times to participate.

I'm not suggesting church turns into a party; I understand that reverence is an important element of religion, but I'm wondering if there isn't some happy medium that could be reached. They are getting a little more progressive. Just in my lifetime they've changed the three meetings per week to just one on Sunday. And I remember in the 70's we used to go to church in the morning; go home; and come back later in the day. They said they changed it because gas prices were getting too high and didn't want everyone spending their money on extra travel to and from church. Imagine that--78 cents was so unreasonable.

I think it could be time for some modern innovation that wouldn't take away from the core principles of the church. In the last couple of decades Blacks have been able to hold the priesthood and in a revolutionary move, missionaries can now serve at a younger age.

I have this really great idea. I figure if Mitt Romney becomes President maybe he could use his political influence to change up the church routine a little. He could appoint Glady's Knight (also a Mormon) to head up the revolution. She is very gospel oriented and I believe she could liven things up while still retaining reverence and R-E-S-P-E-C-T! (Okay, so that was Aretha Franklin who is not Mormon, but you know what I mean.) David Archuleta (former Idol finalist AND Mormon) could be on the committee. And why not let Donnie and Marie help out too. They have a big Mormon family so they could enlist all of the brothers, sons, daughters, grandkids, etc. to introduce the idea to each ward. Or maybe stake conferences would be more efficient. It could be like a Mormon tour, "Mormons really can be fun."

This is like the best idea I've had all day! Fun and church could become a synonym instead of an antonym. I hope somebody famous (with influence) is reading this, or maybe just a General Authority.

On an ADD and unrelated note...do you wonder how weird General Authority sounds to non-members. They're probably wondering why we have appointed men who are authorities on general matters.

I'm a single mom, with three kids...

...almost 42 years old, I can only afford a studio apartment, and have a poverty-level job. (Oh yes, Franklin I'm going there.) That was my go-to line to emit sympathy from anyone that would give it. I'm not above pity.

Today, I was leaving Target with my three kids and my niece. (Meeting the ex for drop-off and pick-up of the kids.) A grand total of two 6 yr olds and two 4 yr olds. I'm maneuvering through the parking lot with my little cluster of chicks trying to keep them out of the road and still MOVING. This woman comes up to us with her arm around two kids. And then she says, "I'm a single mom with two kids..." I'm like, no that's MY line. Then she goes on to say how any money would help. Not to be judgmental but her kids were old enough to look embarrassed that their mom was lying to strangers to get drug money.

I was like, "Lady, I'm a single mom with FOUR kids! (so I claimed my niece, not like I'm actually going to do that on my taxes.) I am broke and don't have a dime.  Since you've already been collecting money all afternoon, maybe you could help a broke mama with four kids out!" All of a sudden she didn't have any money either. We were starting to have a little too much in common and I left before she ask if we could be facebook friends. It's good to know that panhandling doesn't really pay much more than my job. If I would have only thought to ask for money every time I used that line maybe I wouldn't have to work anymore. Why do all of the good ideas come after it's too late!

I choose...

Have you ever noticed that choices you are anguishing over don't seem to be hard decisions for other people on the outside looking in? I guess it's because whatever the dilemma--it's not a challenge for them. It's debilitating to realize this is an area that you haven't made good choices in the past and the road it leads you down isn't always the best. But when you haven't been able to make up for your incompetency, you still are handicapped about making good, healthy choices.

I guess no matter how old we all get, we still have those areas that we need to work on. I have a best friend that always tries to steer me in the right direction--because she's really good at the area I am weak in. But sometimes I don't relate to what she's saying. I don't get why what I'm doing may not be the best way. Wow! How did I get to be 41 (for ten more days) and not get some things that are simple for everyone else.

I made a choice. I don't know if it's the right one, but I'm sticking with it. I'm nervous about it. Some things I like to ignore and then let life choose me. But life is getting shorter not longer. So I guess I have to try to grow up and not act like a whimsical 14 year old. I might be growing up...just kidding.

Super duper dimple cute

I love all of my children equally. They are each so special in their own way. But Lane seems to steal my heart so often with his overwhelming cuteness. Monday's are especially special. It's my day off from work and we take the twins to first grade in the morning and then have the rest of the day together. Sometimes we run errands or go grocery shopping. And sometimes I take him to the Burger King that's within walking distance of my apartment so he can play. But we always have one-on-one time and that's what is so special to me. Today we went grocery shopping, then to Blockbuster because he loves the Spy Kids series. We have 1 and 2 at home, but he's been begging to see Spy Kids 3. Which he actually has already seen, but we don't have at home.

We got it and he begged me for cuddle time. The one thing he only does when no one else is around. He basically likes me to hold him and wrap us both in blankets while we either talk or watch movies, TV, etc. He always tells me cuddle time is his favorite time. For anyone who knows me, lying in bed doing nothing is like pure torture. I can't hold still and am always wanting to get something done as I feel it's a waste of time to lie in bed. But my sweet little angel boy can talk me into anything.

He is fascinated by flowers and always picks them for me anytime he sees one. He says these are for you Mom! He told me that one time he had a dream that he was with me and we were in the most beautiful garden of flowers he had ever seen. He loved it. I said, "We weren't in Heaven were we?" He said no, just a place with a lot of beautiful flowers. I told him we were going to the grocery store, but he wanted go to the grocery store by grandma's house. I explained that Smith's was Smith's and we were headed to one by my house. He insisted on Grandma's Smith's. But, I explained we were already by ours and wanted to know why he wanted to go there. He said, "They have the most beautiful flowers and flowers remind me of you."

Unfortunately, we were too close to my Smith's and went there. We got out of the car and he said, "Do you notice they don't have any flowers here. That's why I like the other one." He's so adorable. When we got home and we were having cuddle time and watching Spy Kids 3 together, he said, "How much do you love me, Mom?" I said, "I love you more than anything else in this whole world. If a truck were going to hit you I would push you out of the way to save you." He said, "Would you die, Mom?" I said, "Yes, but I would give my life for yours." He said, "I wouldn't do that for you, but I do love you more than anything else in this whole world!"

I told him that the had the the cutest dimples I had ever seen. He said, I know Mom. I said do you even know what dimples are? He said, no, but I know I'm cute cause you always tell me I am. He's so excited that I have changed my last name to Lane. He likes to pull my wallet out and read my name. He says we're both the Lanes in the family.

Life can be a challenge, but days and moments like this make everything you have worth fighting for. God blesses me with angels, and I'm proud they are my children who inspire me to be better and to fight for the best I can offer them. I'm thankful for my angels.