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Mother of the Year Goes to.... Not Me

Every morning I go to the gym to exercise. I love it because I have a lot of friends there (it's my adult interaction for the day...hahah...but seriously...), endorphins are released, I feel powerful and strong....etc. Fast forward to about 10 minutes after I arrive home.

Kids are fighting over who grabbed the box of cereal first.

Tears are rolling down cheeks from, "Cameron looked at me in a mean way."

Fights are breaking out between who has to be the flippin' monkey in the middle...

You get the idea.

So pretty much all the good I do at 5:30 in the wee early morning hours gets completely undone. (Perhaps I should schedule my workouts to after the kids leave for school instead?)

Anyway, today was no different. The kids actually all got ready on their own really well without any fights. They had a good 20 minutes to kill before we had to leave for school. They decided to play a game (but not the blasted Monkey in the Middle game...No! No! I banned that game [and 'jinx&#…

10-Year Old Assistant Ward Clerk

Dad used to serve in the Bishopric as the Ward clerk--which meant he had to sit on the stand while we sat in the church pews. He missed sitting with us, and invited Spence and me to sit with him. Spence was pretty shy, so I ended up being the one to sit with him most of the time. I remember counting how many people were in the congregation and hallways, writing down the names of the deacons and priests, recording the talks that were given, etc. I LOVED it! And when we were done with our stats, Dad and I played games on his notebook paper (mostly the game with a bunch of dots, and you have to connect them to make a square and write your initial inside of it.) lol

I did this for a long time, that is until my sister, Tenille, told me I was getting a little "too old" to be doing that. I abruptly stopped, and I think my Dad was hurt a little. I never told him why, but I regretted it. I look back now and wished I would have done it every Sunday until I moved away to college.


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