My Own Cheerleader

We all need a little encouragement sometimes. Last week Alyssa announced that she had to go potty just as we were leaving the grocery store. Instead of turning back to go inside to use the store's restrooms, I opted to hurry home. It's not a long drive, and Alyssa did just fine; I just spent the whole way home saying, "Just a few more minutes. You can do it. We're almost home."

Fast forward to yesterday. I've been trying to drink the recommended eight glasses of water a day, and for some reason, the more water I drink, the more I have to go. Yesterday we dropped Brian off at school, then headed to WinCo to pick up some things to make graham cracker houses for preschool. Halfway down the grocery list, I realized I had to go to the bathroom. By the time we were done, I really had to go, but I didn't want to bother with leaving the cart and taking two children into the bathroom with me, so once again I opted to hurry home.

I paid for the food, loaded it into bags, hurried Alyssa along (she claims that she doesn't dawdle), and stuffed the bags into the car. While I was rushing out of the store, I told Alyssa that I had to go potty really, really bad, and that's why we were in such a hurry. It didn't change a thing - "Okay, Mom," twirl "I'm coming," - but she did hear me.

On the way home we hit traffic. Traffic! In Cornelius, Oregon! And I found myself wishing I had just used the restroom at the store. "Oh dear," I moaned. Then I heard from the back seat, "You can do it, Mom. You just need to hold it a little longer."

"Yeah," I said. "I can do it. I'm tough."

"Yeah. Not like those other girls. You can do it." Physically, I didn't feel any better until I unloaded the groceries after running inside. But sitting there in the car, in absolute discomfort, I realized that I have a friend who believes in me and is there to support and encourage me when times are rough. And even though she's only four years old, I'm thankful for that friendship.

The Star of Christmas

When I was in the third grade, our whole class put on a Christmas play, and I was the star. Literally. The play was about the Star of Christmas, and I was it. My mom cut out two huge stars out of posterboard and sprayed them with glitter and put gold Christmas tree garland around the edges. I wore a white shirt and white sweatpants and the stars were hooked together and hung over my shoulders. The greatest part about being the Star was that I had solo parts. I think I even sang a whole song by myself, and I loved it. I loved performing. I loved singing and acting in front of other people.

My career was short-lived, however, and I never received any leading roles after that. I had a few solos and speaking parts through elementary school, but from then on I didn't receive any solo I tried out for in choir, and I was only an extra in our high school production of "Fame." There was one day during rehearsals that one of the main characters was gone, and I filled in for her. I read her lines, and I sang her song, and once again I felt happy and energized, and I wondered, "Why doesn't anyone notice that I really enjoy this?" I can't say that I was better than the other girl, but I can say that I wasn't half bad. When I was performing, I sang well. I was confident. But when I tried out for anything, whether it was a solo for choir or a part in a play, I was nervous and shaky, no matter how hard I tried to control my voice. Which is a very good reason why I was always an extra, or just an alto, not a soloist.

Every night at our house we have singing time, which I originally started to help Alyssa learn the Primary songs. We have a Singing Can, made out of a large tin can from LDS Canning and a cool whip jar, that we draw songs out of. I started painting it blue, but never finished. This month we're leaving the Singing Can on the shelf and I'm teaching Christmas Carols to Alyssa and Ethan. As I sat in front of our Christmas tree singing "Silent Night," I realized that I was performing for my children, and there was no one else I would want to perform this concert for.

I continued with "Angels We Have Heard on High," and Alyssa joined in on the chorus. I went down the list: "Jingle Bells," "The First Noel," "O Come All Ye Faithful." Before I put the kids to bed, I pulled Alyssa onto my lap, and Ethan held onto my leg, bouncing up and down beside me. I sang "Away in A Manger" with all my heart, as pretty as I could. It didn't matter that I was on our living room floor instead of on a stage, or that the only people who could hear me was my children. I was a star once again; I had a solo concert of Christmas hymns. But the best part about it is that once Alyssa learns these songs, and Ethan soon after, we'll have a whole choir singing around the Christmas tree each night, and there won't need to be any "star" of Christmas.

I am feeling like quite the "domestic" lately. I made my first blackberry pie last Friday, which turned out both beautiful and delicious. It was made with blackberries that Alyssa and I picked in September and the pie crust recipe was given to me by my grandmother. After reading all the Harker girls' blogs, I was inspired to make butterhorn rolls for dinner on Sunday. I was in a hurry to get them done, because we were expecting company for dinner, so the first batch didn't have enough time to rise, but the second and third batches were just heavenly.

I finished our Christmas cards, and they're just sitting in my purse, waiting for me to take them to the post office on my way to Enrichment, for which I prepared four fleece blankets for tying that we'll take to the senior citizen's center tonight.

I babysat my pregnant friend's two boys today. They played in the back yard with Alyssa for a while, but we spent most of the time baking and decorating Christmas sugar cookies. I fed them a healthy lunch that had food from every food group, although Porter didn't eat his apples.

I pulled myself out of bed this morning, for the second day in a row, to go to the gym. I pulled myself out of bed, even though my legs are still burning from all the lunges I did yesterday morning. I've drank 7 out of my 8 glasses of water, and I've restrained myself from eating all of the sugar cookies that I didn't send home with the Lofgran's.

And the accomplishment that I'm most proud of today (the blackberry pie and butterhorn rolls are gone, so I can't enjoy them right now) is the fact that I made it to Blockbuster in time so we can finally see "Pirates of the Caribbean, Dead Man's Chest."

So if you gloss over the facts the there's still sprinkles all over the dining room floor, or that there's still unpacked suitcases in our bedrooms left over from Thanksgiving, or that the kids and I ate chicken divan from Saturday's dinner because Brian's still on campus studying, I'm doing pretty well. I'm having one of those weeks that I enjoy being a wife and mother. I enjoy having a clean house, and I enjoy doing those little extra things that make life special.

It hit me a while ago that Alyssa's getting older, and it's time that we start making our memories really count. I remember being four. I remember the house we lived in while we were still in Utah. I remember watching the Monkees and arguing with Gretchen. What really sticks out in my mind is the time she was being her meanest and I told her to get off my property. She said she wasn't on my property; she was on the side walk, and that was owned by the city. I can still feel the embarrassment caused by my ignorance, even though I was only four years old.

I know that Alyssa's going to remember the "little house in Forest Grove" for the rest of her life. I want her to have good memories of this place, and I want to start making good traditions to build our lives around. I don't know if you'd count "not finishing laundry" as a tradition, but hopefully she'll remember that I bought special pink frosting just for her sugar cookies, and that we sing Christmas carols by the tree every evening before bedtime, and that her mother let her help make the pie crust to the most beautiful blackberry pie that was ever baked.