Soooo much has happened since I've been gone...

Does anyone else out there miss blogging? Remember how we would write all of these hilarious and inspiring stories about being moms, wives, women...? And we'd share them, and laugh over them, and sometimes even cry over them? I had a whole collection of friends out there who shared all the silly little events that made up my days, and I loved it. Facebook is nice and all (when I remember to make myself go there and look at it), but it's kind of soulless compared to blogging. Maybe that's why I've never really engaged in the whole "Facebook" thing.

But here I am, several years later, thinking all the time about what a tragedy it is that these last years weren't recorded. And oh, how much has changed! For one thing, I'M A MOTHER-IN-LAW!!! I know, crazy, right? My oldest son Liam left on his mission in July of 2017 (of the two-year, LDS variety), and wrote home in October of that same year to tell us that he'd proposed to his high school girlfriend Kaytee (over email, of course...so romantic...) and she'd said yes.

Needless to say, I did not take this seriously. Partly because there were two years to go, and partly because the lovely Kaytee had just started her first year at BYU Idaho, and, well--we all know what happens to beautiful young women at BYU.

Nevertheless, miracles do still happen, and when he arrived home in July of 2019 there was Kaytee Jo, ready and waiting. And never fear, she didn't have to wait for long. On September 7th (yes, that is less than 3 months later. Trust me, you do not have to do the math for me. I lived it. I am VERY WELL AWARE of the math...), they were married in a barn, and then sealed that night in the Seattle Temple. (Doesn't it sound lovely when I put it like that? But it actually was, and I think the whole day turned out as close to perfect for Kaytee as it probably could have.)

So now they're married, living in Rexburg, and NOT producing any grandchildren for at least a couple more years. Don't get me wrong--I want grandchildren. I am DYING to have a grandbaby!!! I actually spend way too much time watching other peoples babies and toddlers and coveting them because I'm secretly wishing I had a grandbaby of my own to cuddle and kiss. But, I do have self-control, and I can wait. Besides, they live 14 hours away, so clearly, I'd have to quit my job and go live in their spare bedroom with the child, and that wouldn't really be the best thing for my life or the two children I have left at home here, who I'm supposed to be raising.

Btw, did you catch that little phrase in there about how I "have a job?" Like, a real one. Those of you who followed me forever ago (wishful thinking, I know. None of you are left, and no one will ever read this) will remember that I was a substitute teacher and I loved it. Somewhere around the time Liam left on his mission, I decided it was time to grow up and get a real job, so I went back to school, completed a two-year masters program in a year (yes, it almost killed me), and got a job teaching highschool English at the school I'd subbed at for 18 years.

And then Niall, son-number-two, decided to join the Marine Corps. This was recent. Kind of. I guess it's been a year since he actually made that decision, but they didn't take him until December. That means I spent about 6 months living with a mini-adult (aka, an eighteen-year-old who still lives in your house, eats your food, and takes 5 hour showers, but who suddenly think they know everything and aren't nearly as pleasant to have around as they were when they were a mere non-adult teenager). It was rough. He was going through one of those phases, and sometimes I wasn't sure we'd make it out the other side intact. Then, despite all of my complaining and irritation, I cried when he decided to move out for what would be his final six weeks at home. I even bribed him home every Sunday with full-on Sunday dinners. What can I say? I love the kid :)

And then...well, where to start and where to stop? I suppose I should save the rest of the condensed catch-up story for another installment. This is already seriously such a rushed, not-very-entertaining retelling, but I have the bug to start blogging again--even if it's just for me--and I have to start somewhere! And I don't care if anyone ever reads it, because, as much as I'll miss my bloggy friends who laughed and cried with me, this is really for me. I'm so sad that I let those last years with my little kids pass by without keeping a record, and I don't want to miss anything else that they might enjoy looking back on. One way or another, I really want to do this, and so I will. And I'm committing myself publically (well, publically to myself, because I think we've already established that no one else is going to see this...), so now I have to do it. Right?

Oh, and btw, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!!! I just wish the number attached to it didn't make me feel so old...

Truth and Lies

I know that as a general rule, children in the age range of four to eight are not that great at telling the truth. More precisely, they tend to make up things and try to pass them off as truth. In our family, we call these "whoppers". My kids have told some pretty creative ones.

There was the time Niall (age 6) told the aid in his classroom about the bats. That would be the living, flying variety. Thanks to my husband, our boys are rather obsessed with hunting. They just wish there was something they could hunt - preferably something besides the cat. So Niall apparently invented his own hunting adventure and shared it with Mrs. P. She came up to me after school when I was picking the boys up and wanted to know about the bats.

Me: What bats?

MP: The ones Liam and Niall have been hunting.

Me: Hunting?

MP: Yes. Niall tells me they have these bat traps - that they made themselves - and that they hang them up to catch bats.

Me: Oh really. Then what happens?

MP: Well, the bats are very dangerous, but the boys shoot them with their bows and kill them. Niall says they do this all the time and have killed hundreds.

I could see that Mrs. P was fully enjoying this story. Women like her belong in elementary schools properly appreciating children. It turns out she had done everything she could to get Niall to admit that just maybe, the story wasn't exactly true. No go, he stuck to his guns.

Me, being the concerned parent, decided that something must be done. My child cannot get away with telling a whopper when an adult has called him on it. These principles must be taught, right? So I immediately descend on Niall (we're still at the school) and ask him what he was doing telling Mrs. P. that he hunted bats. Panic struck his adorable six yr old face at being caught in his lie, and momentarily my reserve shook. Our conversation went something like this:

Me: Well?

Niall: (tears falling, head hanging, sobs starting.) I don't knowwwww.

Me: (feeling really bad, but also thinking I must stick to my plan and teach him to tell the truth) Did you just think it sounded really cool?

Niall: Yeah. (more pathetic tears as his eyes dart around to make sure no one can tell he's crying)

Me: Well, you have to tell Mrs. P. the truth, and apologize for lying. It's okay to make up cool stories, but if they aren't true and people think they are, you have to tell them the truth. Especially if they ask you "is that true."

Poor little Niall suffered an all out anxiety attack at the thought of this confrontation. He was so stressed out about it, we finally decided he could write her a letter and give it to her the next day. He was very sweet about it, and very brave, and I was very proud of him when he got in the car the next day and announced he'd delivered it first thing.

Besides, it could have been worse. When Liam was that age he told his whole class his dad was in prison. Why prison? Couldn't he have just said jail? (Neither were true by the way, but prison just sounds so much worse!) I'll take bats over the smirching of our good names any day!

Anyway, today Niall had to make another confession. After blaming his poor little cousin Harrison for something - swearing he had seen the offense committed - it turned out he'd been *gasp* lying. He was distressed, it's true. Sheer heartbreak had caused the blunder. But alas, a lie is still a lie and a confession was in order.

I would just like to say that my little Niall is growing up. He panicked - but only a little. Tears welled, but they didn't fall. And best of all, no letter was needed. We called, and he humbly apologized with a very determined look on his still adorable face. Thank you Aunt Annie for being so forgiving. Thank you Niall for having the courage to confess. I can tell by his determination to make things right that he is learning - despite the occasional little slip-ups.