A Noble Effort

I make every effort to teach my children manners. They try. They really do.

Occasionally I make the kids something for dinner and then Robert will pick something up for he and I on the way home from a meeting. I use these nights to make the kids something either ridiculously lazy and kid friendly like mac & cheese with weenies, or something that uses leftovers.

On one particular night my raiding of the fridge produced cheese tortellini with a spinach marinara-ish sauce. I'm sure I made a fruit salad or something to balance it out. I don't remember exactly. Whatever it was, it wasn't the issue.

I called my kids to the table.

They'd had a very pleasant afternoon. They'd been very sweet and kind to each other. As much as I enjoy this, I have noticed a trend. This behavior by my children leads to well intended conversations like this.

T: Wow mom. Thank you for this dinner. It looks very, um, interesting.
B: Uh mom, could I please have some ranch please?
t(saying the prayer): Thank you for the dinner mom made. Please help it to not taste bad and please help us to not say bad things about it.

They now begin eating. Again, this is just tortellini. Really, a glorified spaghetti. It's not like I've gone Moroccan on them.

T: Mom, this is actually good.
M: Thanks Ty.
T: I mean, it looks disgusting...
t: Sure does.
T: ... but it tastes actually pretty good.
M: Thanks Ty.
B: Excuse me mom, could I please have some ketchup or something? Please?

Bailey and I now begin discussing the level of nastiness involved in the combining of her dinner with ranch and/or ketchup.

Ty and Trey continue a side conversation on the astounding fact that despite how absolutely repulsive the dinner looked, it was indeed edible, and even more surprising, moderately good.

T(after maybe 5 bites): Mom, this was so delicious I just am so full.

Trey agrees and thanks me for being such a great "cooker" even though I make gross looking stuff.

Bailey manages to have a few ranchless and ketchupless bites. I don't think she thanked me.
She didn't yell, though. I'll take it.

My expectations?
My children should speak kindly. Check.
My children should try new foods. Check.
My children should look for the positive in people and situations. Check.

My new expectations?
My children should sit, eat, and keep their sugar-coated opinions to themselves.

A Clarification

Well, it appears I have a good deal of dog-loving/owning friends who were a bit caught off guard by my declaration of disdain for the darn animals (see "100" post below).

I was prepared to amend my comment as it perhaps came across a bit harsh (although undoubtedly accurate).

That was until one busy morning I stepped in a humongous, nasty, big dog pile of poo while loading my baby into the car in my driveway. Bad? Yes. Worse, I stepped in it unknowingly and didn't realize the bottom of my shoe was lathered in the stuff until I had gone back through my house checking doors and grabbing a bill to drop in the mail. Yep. Nasty, stinky, stupid dog poo on my grass, my shoe, and on my carpet. I changed my shoes, walked back out to the car and being very careful to not step in the now smeared heap of nastiness got in my seat. As I reached to shut my door I dropped the bill. Need I say where?

So, in closing, I would just like to say that yes, I do indeed loathe dogs.

I know God lives. I know He loves us, each of us, individually. I know that He knows me. He knows my strengths and weaknesses, my pains and fears, my joys and happiness. I know that I am His child and as such have the potential to be like Him.

I know that Jesus Christ is our Savior. My Savior. I know that he willingly volunteered to atone for our sins so that we may be partakers of the plan designed to gets us back home safely. I know that as my older brother, Christ loves me. He has felt not only the weight of my sins, but all of my sorrows. He sacrificed himself for me. He led a life I hope to, in at least some small way, emulate. I know that as I draw closer to the Savior, my home is blessed, my family strengthened, and that I am able to do things I never thought possible.

I know that the gospel of Jesus Christ is true. I know that it was restored in these latter days by a prophet of God. I know that knowledge of it carries great responsibility and accountability, but that it is the only way we can have eternal families and true happiness.

I know that we have a true and living prophet who, as a mouthpiece of the Lord, leads and guides our church today.

I know that miracles happen every day and that we have all been witnesses to them. I know that our lives are continually blessed and enriched by the good grace of a merciful God who knows we fall far short of perfect and still loves us unconditionally.

I know, without a single tiny bit of doubt, that I will have my Peyton again. Not that I’ll happen to run into him in Heaven, or that we’ll meet as friends or former acquaintances, but that we will one day embrace as a mother and a child who have separated for a bit. Our family has been sealed for time and all eternity. I know his spirit is strong and vibrant and that he is busy doing God’s work on the other side. I know that my children will one day have a joyful reunion. I am grateful for the knowledge I have that Peyton lives now safe from pain and fear and will never have to experience the hardships and temptations that this Earthly probation frequently presents.

I know that translated correctly the Bible is true. I know it testifies of the goodness and greatness of God and the example and teachings of His son, Jesus Christ.

I know that the Book of Mormon is the word of God, written anciently for our day. I know that it stands separate from the Bible, not to add to it, but as another testament of Jesus Christ. I know that its promise is true, that if you read it and ask God in prayer, that you will receive confirmation of its truthfulness. Pretty neat promise.

I know that we will only be truly happy by coming to know Christ as our brother and Savior and being partakers of His marvelous gospel.

Happy Easter.

"Mom", he said. "Why does school have to be so long? I'm just so tired."

I held his hand and as we walked down the school hallway he offered his solution to the problem.

"Why can't school just be recess, then lunch. That's it. Oh, and P.E. nothing else. Then I won't be so tired."