I am woman. Hear me…sweep?

It starts slowly, really. First it’s coming home, absent for eleven hours, and exhaustedly making dinner, Saturday cleaning days, and Sunday worship meetings. Before you know it there’re tiny feet mirroring your own, clinging to you as you stir the spaghetti sauce, fold the towels, change a light bulb, start the dishes.

It’s juggling schedules and middle-of-the-night feedings, handing over what’s most precious to you because duty calls you elsewhere. It’s coming home, feet aching, back throbbing, attention waning, to another shift.

But this shift is what matters. It’s what it’s all about. The wiping noses, and pulling casseroles out of ovens, another round of Princess Candyland, and Twinkle Twinkle Little Star serenades in the dark. “Another song, Mama. Just one more,” is the request.

And how can you refuse? You don’t. Though you may drift asleep, leaning against a toddler bed, once a crib, mid-tune. But you don’t refuse. You sing another and maybe another and then sneak out into the dim, quiet house.

But your shift is not over. No. It’s just begun.

There are calls to be made and emails to send, mail to be read and conversations to have.

And when you think it’s all done, when you finally slow, there’s the sweeping.

There will always be the sweeping, I’ve decided. Whether you do it or not, it will always be there, day after day. And there’s no sense in anger, in bitterness, in resentment, for having to do it all.

The washing and cooking and mowing and paychecking and comforting and listening. There’s no reason to resent having to do it all. We are women. We are the lucky ones for being able to do it all.

And it is grand.

So when the house is dark and quiet and there are little snores from down the hall and big snores from your own bedroom and you find yourself in the kitchen with a broom in your hand.

Be grateful that you can. I am. I am woman. Hear me sweep.

You Say Your Toddler Won't Use a Public Restroom

It was a beautiful, clear, crisp January day, and Collin, Bri, and I were visiting Gatlinburg for a long weekend get-away with our friends the Ograns and Bewleys. And well, I guess I was distracted by all the talking and catching up and laughing because I left our cabin unprepared.

Down the narrow, icy streets of Gatlinburg we drove, through downtown and towards Pigeon Forge to eat lunch at an eatery that came highly recommended. The afternoon began well. The entire restaurant smelled of fresh-made bread and I'd remembered to bring my Kindle Fire (so I wasn't totally unprepared) to entertain Bri as we waited to be seated.

We ordered, and ate and drank, and shared food, and asked for samples, and laughed, and that's when I realized my awful mistake.

"Mama," Bri said in her high-pitched, sweet little-girl voice. "You not bring my potty," which I had only recently determined was code for, "I need to go to the bathroom, but I don't want to go in a public restroom without my travel seat."

And she was right. I didn't have her potty. The one covered in princesses that I had purchased just the night before at the Gatlinburg walmart because she refused to use any public restroom the entire drive up. Miraculously, she didn't have an accident in the car. I'm still not sure about the how's and the why's surrounding that day.

So why hadn't I learned my lesson? Why hadn't I brought the potty? The PRINCESS potty!? Dread filled me to my very core.

But I didn't panic. Not on the outside anyway. I told myself I would convince Bri to let me hold her up on the toilet. I would convince her. I would. Or I would bribe her. Whatever worked. Because I am not above bribing my child, especially when urine and potentially poo is involved.

So I escorted Bri to the very nice public restroom without alerting Collin (or anyone else at our table) of my concerns. I led her into the handicapped bathroom stall (because anytime I'm sharing a stall with another person, I consider myself temporarily disabled). And then the pleading started.

"Watch Mama go to the bathroom. See, nothing scary. Your turn."

"I'll buy you a treat if you go potty."

"Mama promises to hold you real right and you won't fall in. I promise."

"If you don't go potty, we're going to have to go back to the cabin," I warned, thinking she would NOT want to go back to the cabin becuase she LOVES going places.

But she wanted to go back to the cabin. The cabin that was 20 minutes away. And from the way Bri was standing, from the expression on her face, and because I had just seen at least one full cup of lemonade enter her system, I doubted she could hold it that long.

Sure, I could get Collin and we could risk the ride back, hoping Bri would make it. After all, she had proven merely one day before that her bladder was magical.

But no, we couldn't do that because we had ridden with the Ograns and didn't have our own car. So we would first, have to cut the Ogran's afternoon short and ask for a ride back, and second, hope Bri wouldn't have an accident all over their brand new 2013 car.

Bonus proud Mama moment: I didn't have a change of clothes for Bri with me. Basically, I was mortified at my unpreparedness.

So I took out my potential future embarrassment on Bri. I'm not proud of what I said next.

"Bri, you can either go potty or Mama will have to give you a spanking."

She chose a spanking, and while, I know that children can often tell when you're bluffing and call you on it, I realized how scary this whole situation must be for her - having to sit on a strange toilet, much too large for her small bottom, while someone held her in place and expected her to relax enough to release urine into a bowl of water. And if she was willing to get a spanking over just using the dang potty, then I couldn't spank her for that. No, it wasn't her fault that I'd carelessly left her travel seat back at the cabin.

And that's when I noticed the drain on the floor.

So I ask you: what would you do in this situation? What would you do?? What would you do???

Here's what I did.

I lowered my voice and whispered (because remember, this was a multi-stall public restroom, which means there were patrons and employees rotating in and out throughout this entire conversation).


I whispered to my frightend 3-year-old, "Bri, you see that drain on the floor? Either I need you to go potty on the toilet or I need to take your pants off and I need you to pee on the floor in that drain."

So, Bri chose to pee in the drain. Of course she did. But not until after making me promise that we would take her boots off as well because she did NOT want tee-tee on her boots.

So I stripped her down. Off came her boots, her socks, her pants, and her underwear. I held her hand as she straddled the drain, advising that she spread her legs wide, and began tee-tee-ing onto the floor.

But instead of the fluid going neatly down the drain, it splashed everywhere and pooled, and well, the drain may as well not have been there at all from the mess that was made. And Bri started to whine because 3-year-old girls who are very into princesses and lipgloss do not like being dirty.

Once I was sure she had voided her bladder, I picked her up out of the mess, careful to keep her as far away from me as possible, and placed her in the corner of the large stall.

Cleaning her legs and feet as best I could with toilet paper, and redressing her quickly, I attempted to clean up the mess on the floor with the only thing I had access to: more toilet paper. But public restroom tissue is weak and thin so I didn't make much progress.

What I needed was a mop. So I picked Bri up, finally emerging from the bathroom stall. And since things really couldn't have gotten any worse, they got better.

Just outside the stall was a "wet floor" sign which I strategically placed in front of the stall door, and after washing our hands, we high-tailed it out of there.

Back at the table, the bill had been paid and our group was standing, waiting to leave, and no one was the wiser. But my conscience got to me (as it so often does, dang you conscience). So without saying a word to Collin or anyone else, I stopped by the hostess on our way out, as casual as if I were asking for a mint or a menu, and informed her of what happened. I might have left out the part about me undressing Bri and encouraging her to tee-tee on the floor.

Bri burried her head on my shoulder upon my telling someone about our adventure, which is Bri-speak for "I'm in trouble and sad that I'm in trouble" so once we were outside, I apologized to her for forgetting her potty, assured her that while she should have just tee-teed in the toilet, I was proud of her for doing what I had asked; that she wasn't in trouble for "going" on the floor, and that no one was mad.

Okay, so maybe the person mopping up the remnants of our adventure was mad, but I wasn't.

By this time everyone with us was alerted that something odd had just happened. Maybe it was the length of time Bri and I were in the restroom. Maybe it was my unsuccessful bribing tactics being overheard by Rebecca while she was in the stall over using the bathroom. Or maybe it was just the look on my face, but an explanation was needed that was never given.

So this my friends: Rebecca, Steven, Kirstin, and Tyler, is that overdue explanation.

And to the rest of you reading this out there, I ask: What would you do?

Notice the boots. The boots survived.

Loving My Daughter; Loving Myself

Disclaimer: This is not a compliment-fishing post.

Let's talk about girls for a minute. I'm a girl. I grew up with six others (including my mom). All my close friends have been girls. I know girls. Girls, I know. Girls, I'm comfortable with.

Boys are a different story. They've always been a complete mystery to me (still are!). They may as well be nonhuman from my perspective. And so when I found out I was pregnant (way back in 2009), I wanted a boy.

I wanted to find out what was what and get an early, insiders track on this species we call "male". I wanted a child who would not grow up with body image issues and insecurities, and eating disorders. I wanted a child who would not grow up with their value as a person tied to their beauty.

And so, okay, I admit that boys, too, can fall victim to these same issues, but I thought my child would be less likely to experience all this if my child was a boy.

And then I found out I was having a girl. (I know spoiler, right?) And Bri was born and she looked just like Collin. It was insane how much these two looked alike that first month.

My relief was intense. She would take after her dad. She would be thin. She would be happy.

Over time, slowly and almost unnoticably, Bri began changing (as children do), and one day I looked at her (really looked at her) and realized she no longer looked so much like Collin, but a little more like me.

Not in the obvious ways. Not in the hair color or the eye color. Not in her fingers or her toes. But, dang it if that child didn't have the exact body shape as mine.

When this realization hit--when it became apparent to me that the body I'd grown up loathing (knock-knees and a thick waist, narrow hips and broad shoulders, all torso and short legs), had been passed on to my daughter whom I LOVE, my reaction was quite different than what I thought it would be.

I thought I would feel sorry for her. I thought I would mourn with her over a future of body image issues and insecurities, and eating disorders; of growing up with her value as a person tied to her perception of her beauty.

But I didn't. I don't.

Because she is beautiful and she is healthy. I love her knock-knees and her thick waist. I love her narrow hips and broad shoulders. And I love her long torso and short legs.

And...I love that she looks just like her Momma.

And in turn, I now love all those things about my body I've always hated. I look at Bri and I see beauty beyond what I ever could have imagined or hoped for (inside and out!).

And because I see Bri in me, when I look in the mirror, I finally see beauty in that image reflected back.

It's not just physical beauty that I see in us. No, I see the beauty inside of us, too. Beauty the younger me couldn't find before. Beauty possibly only a mother has eyes to see--in her children and in herself.

And I'll make it my mission to help Bri along her journey to finding this truth.

So I'm thankful my child ended up being a girl. It turns out, it's just what this low-self-esteemed girl needed. And leave it to Heavenly Father to bless me with just that: not what I want, but what I need.

A Child's Prayer

The LDS children's song, A Child's Prayer, has always, always been one of my favorites.  It's a mother/child duet with the mother teaching the child about prayer and about our Father in Heaven.

Since Bri began talking, I've wondered how long it would take her to be able to say a prayer on her own, without any help from us.

It started with her repeating us, and then at her Christian daycare, they teach the children to say grace before meals and snacks and so she got really good at saying, "Dear Lord, please bless this food that it will nourish and strengthen our bodies, in Jesus name, Amen."

She said that all the time. In the morning, before dinner, before bed. You name it, that was her prayer. I tried a few times to have her change out the food part for simply "thank you for this day" when we said her evening prayer, but she wouldn't budge.

Then, two Sundays ago, she came home with a note from Primary asking her to say the opening prayer in Sharing Time.  We told her right away to get her used to the idea, and then a few days before, I practiced a prayer with her and had her repeat it about three times so that she might try and say it on her own.

The day came and I went into Primary with her where she refused to sit anywhere but on my lap, and when it was time for the prayer, I took her up to the podium, and whispered the words in her ear, but she didn't repeat them, so I ended up saying the prayer for her.

I wasn't surprised by this. I know my child. She is loud and funny and energetic when she's comfortable, and silent and still when she's not.

But good things have already come out of this first experience with saying prayers in church, and many good things will come in the future.

The next evening (Monday), when Collin and I tucked her into bed and asked her to say her prayer, it went something like this:

"Dear Heavenly Father, thank you for today, thank you for not being sick, and bless that we not spit up (throw up), thank you for going to the store and for Mommy buy me a treat, thank you for today, in the name of Jesus Christ Amen."

Afterwards, all three of us smiled ear-to-ear at each other and hugged each other tight. We told Bri what a great prayer she had said, and each night, the prayers have gotten longer, and are specific to what we did that day.

This is her first step to "getting" prayer and why we do it, and I'm so thankful to be able to see her progress and help her learn.

Way to be Creepy, Bri: A Story of Comeuppance

I have no tolerance for creepy children; which is weird because I used to be one.

See, in my younger, pre-mom days, I loved all things scary. Halloween was my favorite Holiday (Still is! But for different reasons. Can you say candy?) 

At any given time in my yearing years, I wanted to be a witch, a vampire, or just plain gothic. And while I was too much of a wuss to be a Goth on the outside, I sure was one on the inside. 

Sarcastic, non-smiling, emo-listening, is what I was.

But I'm not anymore. Only, I keep forgetting that this change occured.  So a scary movie will come on T.V., all edited and censored and stuff, and I'll say "don't mind if I do". And then a baby or a child will appear somewhere in that movie, and I will be plagued for days and days, and sometimes years and years with the images and sounds of creepy, whispering, possessed children.

I blame motherhood for this.

You know how when people have kids and their parents sit back and just wait for them to get what's coming to them? Like, they gave them a hard time growing up, and now those grandparents want to watch while their grandkids treat the new moms and dads in the same manner?

It just happened to me; Mom, I'm sure you're thrilled.

And I'll tell you how.

A few days ago, I was cooking dinner in the kitchen, and Bri calls me from her room.  "I can put a dress on, Mommy?"

And I yell back, "No, Bri. You're about to take a bath so just keep on the clothes you have on."

"But my sister told me I need a dress on."

And I drop my spoon because, you see, Bri is an only child, as far as I know.  So, I walk into her room and ask, "Your sister?"

"Yes. The one in my mouth."  She then opens her mouth and points down her throat.

Oh, great.  Now images of a creepy, dead child clawing its way out of Bri's mouth are filling my head.  Have you seen that movie preview? No? Good. Count yourself lucky.

I (trying to stay calm, but freaking the crap out) let Bri pick out a dress and put it on because who am I to make a ghost mad and take it out on my three-year-old?

And I must have made "sister" happy because the evening went on quite normally.  Until Bri went to bed.  And I hear this through the monitor.

"Stop. You hurt me. Why did you hurt me?"

I immediately run into her room and look around like an idiot because everyone knows only children can see the ghosts, and (again, trying to be calm) ask Bri if she is okay.

Through a series of vague head shakes and nods, I get that she was just playing - talking to herself if you will - and was not actually hurt.  No one in her room hurt her, she said, nor did anyone hurt her at school that day.

After I left her room, she went right to sleep and everything has been just fine, except for the occasional mention of "sister". 

In the car a day or two later, Bri told me that she played with "sister" on the playground at school.  So great. Not only is "sister" at home, but now she's following Bri to school. 

I tried telling Bri that it was scary for Mommy when she talked about "sister", but she just laughed and let out the most blood-curtling, jump-out-of-your-skin scream I have ever heard.

So, if this behavior keeps up, who am I going to call?

Yep, ghost busters.

Don't let the innocent face fool you.