Meet Norbert

Well, it has been a week, and no one has claimed the Fire-Bellied Toad my children found in the street. When I stopped at a pet store for worms and crickets I was introduced to the possibility that rather than being an escapee, it is quite likely that the toad was the victim of buyer's remorse or pet-novelty-wear-offedness.

[This will most likely not apply to anyone who reads this, but SHAME on you if you have ever released a non-native species into the wild--ESPECIALLY if you did it out of convenience! The BEST case scenario is that the animal dies because it doesn't know how to survive in the wild (so mean; give it a quick humane death if you can't be bothered to find it a new home) and if it doesn't die, you run the risk of disrupting an entire ecosystem!]

The man at the pet store said they would take the toad if we decided not to keep it, but I think we have acquired a permanent addition. (Well, as permanent as any mortal pet can be.)

So, a pet needs a name. A Fire-Bellied Toad naturally leads the imagination to dragon type names, so I thought first of Smaug, but our little guy is not very menacing--despite his mildly toxic skin.

[My children were right; although the most it might do to them is create a mild irritation, it can be deadly to other frogs. Actually, my children are a wealth of information. They also informed me that toads swallow with their eyes! After watching it eat--fascinating--it appears to be true.]

Next came Eragon--actually, the name of the boy in the story, not the dragon. His dragon's name is Saphira--a little grand and pretty for a toad. Kazul is the main dragon in the Enchanted Forest Chronicles by Patricia Wrede (one of my favorites!) but again... not quite right. Finally I remembered the dragon Hagrid hatched in "Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone". Norbert may seem like a diminutive name for a Norwegian Ridgeback, but I think it is just right for a Fire-Breathing (er...bellied) Toad.

*******Picture coming soon; I have yet to get a very good picture of Norbert, but you can see a fuzzy one on my previous post.

Found...

Yesterday afternoon my daughter walked out the door to check the mail at the end of the street. She ran back into the house and exclaimed that her brothers HAD to see something outside in the road. I was fairly immune to the excitement of grabbing shoes and rushing outside to see what amazing new phenomenon Ashley had discovered. After a few moments one of my children came in and requested they borrow my phone for the purpose of taking a picture of the frog they had discovered so they could show it to me and I could tell them if it was poisonous.

[Time froze for a brief moment as I considered the implications of this... do my children believe I am so lazy and disinterested that I will refuse to walk outside and look at something they are interested in with my own eyes? Really? How has this happened? What kind of awful parent am I? I made a mental note to evaluate and increase my enthusiasm levels.]

Responding that I was quite sure there were no poisonous frogs in Utah, I got up to investigate the curious amphibian. What I saw did in fact surprise me. The frog was green with black spots and an orange underbelly. (and stylish orange toe pads that look like polished fingernails) It was similar to something you would find in a bag of plastic toy frogs.

"I don't think this frog is a native," I surmised to the children, "I think someone has an escaped pet. Let's catch it and figure out what it is and where it might have come from."

The children were surprisingly still quite hesitant to touch the frog. Everyone knows colorful frogs are poisonous. I responded with inarguable reason--then don't lick it. Finally, I just caught the little beast myself--whereupon everyone else immediately wanted to hold it. We took the critter inside and put it in an empty ice cream bucket. It jumped out; eliciting shrieks of terror from my 13-year old. We found a larger container and then found a lid when we discovered it could climb the sides.

After consulting the all-knowing internet, I have come to the determination that what we have is in fact not a frog at all, but a Fire-Bellied Toad. Native to Asia, and considered a good beginner's pet. Supposedly they have "heart-shaped" pupils (I can't tell) and short tongues. I had the Relief Society notify the neighborhood that we have discovered what may be a lost pet. My children are hoping that no one claims it and I will consent to keep it. I'm not sure how I feel about it, but I have already considered possible names and that is never a good sign.

Below: My picture is fuzzy because it was taken from the outside of the plastic box he is confined to, but it looks like a match to me... Picture to the left courtesy of http://www.pet-frog.com/buy-fire-bellied-toad.html

My Children are Eating the Library Books

I don't recall ever losing a library book before. Not long-term, anyway. All of the sudden I am missing three. For a long time. As in, it's time to give in and pay for the books because they are lost forever. I have decided my children must be eating them when I am not looking. It is the only logical explanation. Really. Here are the possibilities:

Possibility #1: My children believe that they took the books back to the library. This was my original thought also. It has been weeks. I have scoured the shelves close to where they belong at the library. And no where near where they belong. If we really did take them back, then somehow the librarians did not get them checked in (possible) and then put them away in the wrong place (maybe) and then no one noticed for several weeks (mmmm) OR someone knew it was a book that was checked out under someone else's name, so they took it home without checking it out and now it will never been seen again.

Or the librarians are part of a conspiracy to make patrons pay for "lost" books that are not really lost. (doubtful--librarians are a notoriously honest bunch)

Possibility #2: They are somewhere in my home, and I have simply failed to find them. In the last several weeks. Despite ransacking every bedroom and closet, sorting every book in my personal library, sifting though every toy box and storage area, looking behind every piece of furniture, in every cupboard, through every bag, in all the vehicles and in the tank of each toilet... I have failed to find the hiding place of three innocuous library books. Highly unlikely.

 Possibility #3. Aliens visited my house, and were looking for something to read. They skipped over all the classics, award winners and gripping suspense novels for two books in the Alex Rider series and a short, fluffy, LDS pioneer romance story.

Possibility #4: My children are eating the library books. Of course! The evidence is so clear! The books have completely disappeared. My children never want to eat what is placed in front of them, and yet they spend ages sitting on the toilet. Very suspicious. Why have I not thought of this before? Mystery solved.

Crying Over Spilt Milk

It's true; I cried over spilt milk this Mother's Day.
I spent most of Saturday cleaning my kitchen and living room in an attempt to have at least the main rooms of the house clean for Mother's Day. If I just stayed in those areas maybe I could pretend the whole house was clean and all I had left to do was relax. The living room was fairly easy, and then I moved to the kitchen. I washed dishes, scrubbed counters, rearranged cupboards, cleaned the stove-top, scoured the sink--I even got out the cleaner for the stainless steel appliances and wiped down the fridge, microwave, stove and dishwasher. I washed the fronts of the cabinets. I topped it all off with a really thorough mopping.
The next morning my children came knocking on the door around seven o'clock and asked if they could come in. I told them I would come out. When I opened the door they were holding a tray with a plate of eggs, toast and oranges with a tea cup of milk on the side. As they proceeded down the hall and into the kitchen whoever was holding the tray stumbled a bit and milk went everywhere. I was grateful it was the kitchen and not my bedroom, but as I sat down to my cold eggs and soggy toast I couldn't help letting a couple tears slip down my cheeks as the dream of a clean-house Mother's Day went up in smoke before I was even fully awake.
I was flooded with guilt. What kind of mother cries over a mess--especially one the children are cheerfully cleaning up?

Why is it that for so many of us, Mother's Day is about celebrating perfection? I know amazing mothers who hate Mother's Day because they don't feel they deserve recognition for their less-than-perfect efforts. I know mothers who feel they have failed if their house isn't perfectly clean for Mother's Day. (me--guilty) Mother's Day is not meant as a reward for a year of perfect parenting. It's a day to remind us that our small efforts are not wasted, that we are loved and (sort of) appreciated. It should be a day for mothers everywhere to take a deep breath and know that perfection is not required, or even expected.
So, for any mothers out there that are a little disappointed in their imperfect Mother's Day, their imperfect children, and especially their imperfect mothering skills, I would like to say--be kind, be patient, be positive. Be kind and patient with yourself. If you are doing your best, don't beat yourself up about it not being perfect. And for those of you who are now beating yourselves up because you know that you are not doing your best, because surely your best is better than this... stop it. Just "try a little harder to be a little better." Perhaps most important, try to look on the bright side: My eggs are cold, but they are not runny--I must be doing a decent job of teaching my children how to cook. My "toast" is soggy, but the jam is yummy--it was so sweet of Jason to drive me to four different stores while we were on vacation in New Zealand so that I could find it! My floor is not as clean as it was yesterday, but my children cleaned up a big mess without complaining. (Amazing! Why was I not singing Haaaa-lle-lu-jah!?) Everyone is healthy, my house is really lovely under the clutter, my kids love me--even if it doesn't seem like it any time I ask them to do something they would rather not--life is good. Life is not perfect, but it is really good. And that is good enough for me.

Mother's Day Part 2

So, I am sure your are all dying to know if I got my clean house for Mother's Day!  (Ok, probably not, but I'm going to tell you anyway.)

I am a practical and realistic sort of person. (No laughing!)  So, being a practical, realistic, forward thinking person, I realized that the only way to have a clean house on Mother's Day is to work very hard the day before Mother's Day.  So I did.  And, at the end of the day my house was---mostly clean, at least where you could see. (As long as you didn't go in the basement.) *sigh*

So, on the day, I got up early.  Showered and got ready for church--with a new skirt and freshly painted toe nails (which is a big deal for me--they get painted once a year or so) accented with a macaroni necklace that my 4-year old made for me.  Then I got four children up, fed (just cereal--don't think I'm super noble or anything), showered and ready for church.  My cute hubby made me some bacon for breakfast, which was very sweet of him.

Church was lovely.  I led an orchestra of twelve youth (ages 12-16) while the primary (ages 3-11, a LOT of them) sang a beautiful Mother's Day song. It was great.  Then my mom and my daughter sang a song with me in Relief Society (that's the meeting for adult women).  It was a sweet experience to sing together, and I could tell we touched some hearts, which is an awesome feeling. :)

After church my parents and two of my brothers (plus wives and children) came over to the house for dinner.  I made ribs and cheesy potatoes and jello (it is Utah, after all) for 14 people.  That might sound like torture for some of you, but I truly enjoy cooking for people, and it was so nice to have most of my family together.  (We miss you, Tracy!)  Adam and Amanda (my brother and his wife--all the way from Georgia this weekend!) stayed for a while and visited.  It was great.

At one point I washed one of the pans from dinner to send home with my mom.  My husband told me not to worry about the dishes.  [Which was very sweet, but would have been even sweeter if he had meant 'I'll do them'--as it was, he actually meant, 'You can do that later, come relax for now'.]

It was, all in all, a pretty great day.  Topped off with a very thoughtful gift from my 6-year old.  A picture of a clean house.  At least somebody gets it.

All I want for Mother's Day...

One of the local news channels recently did a Facebook poll to ask what ladies would like for Mother's Day.  Can you guess what the overwhelming majority asked for?  I bet you can!  A clean house.  No kidding.  I think there is a feeling among fathers and children that Mom is joking when she says she wants "a clean house" or "everyone to get along" (I'm sure that's a close second!).  So let me clear things up a little.

We are not being noble or self deprecating when we ask for things that cost no money.  We do not secretly mean, 'I want a diamond bracelet'.  We honestly, truly, passionately desire the clean house and peace.  If you really want to find some hidden meaning in this humble request, we could be more specific by saying, "I want a clean house that I didn't have to clean myself."

Men, think about your job.  Whatever kind of work you do, chances are you go to work (even if "work" is one room in your home) and you have tasks and projects set before you.  Whether the job is done or not, when it's time to go home, you go home.  (I know sometimes you work late, but when you go home you're done.  That's the point I'm making.  Stay with me here.)  And, while you may think about your project, you can't really do much about it until you go back in the morning, so it's fairly easy to push it to the back of your consciousness.  And, when the project is done.... wahoo!  Look at this fantastic thing that I have completed.  What satisfaction--and sometimes positive recognition--is yours as you look at this wonderful work you have accomplished.

Contrast this with the work of a stay-at-home mother.  Putting aside the fact that mothers are primarily responsible for taking little monsters that arrive in our homes unable to walk, talk, or feed and dress themselves (or use a toilet!) and turning them into productive, moral, intelligent, independent contributing members of society--with good grades and eagle scout awards and soccer trophies, etc, etc, etc... (AH!) our job as home-makers is to make our homes clean, orderly, and pleasant places to be.  This presents a few problems.  First of all, our tasks are never completed.  As soon as the dishes are "done" someone gets hungry and dirties a dish.  The laundry is never finished.  (Unless you are a family of nudists, in which case you still have sheets and towels to wash.)  As soon as the windows are washed, the toys are picked up, or the counters wiped, someone comes along with grubby fingers to mess it all up.  So, we do the same mundane tasks over and over and over and over again... but it's never done.  Can you comprehend the frustration and anxiety this causes?!?  And, the worst part of it all is that we never leave.  When we decide to call it a day and crash on the couch for a little mind-numbing television, our unfinished projects and dirty dishes are staring at us from across the room.  Mocking our daily efforts to make a dent in the chaos.

The basic point of all this is, as a Mother I am constantly feeling like I have failed at my job.  And, because I rarely leave my job, my failure is constantly right in front of me.  So, when Mother's Day rolls around, and we ask for a clean house, I guess what we're really asking for is to feel like a success for one day out of the year.  I guess there is a hidden agenda after all.