Mother

The children learned a song in Primary last year (Sunday school for children ages 3-11) called The Family Is of God.

I was playing a CD in the car the other day that included this particular song. One of the verses is all about mothers. The words are:

A mother's purpose is the care, prepare, to nurture and to strengthen all her children.
She teaches children to obey, to pray, to love and serve in the family.

Apparently I'm not living up to the standard because when the song had concluded she said to me, "Mom, when you forget what it is you are supposed to do you can listen to this song because it tells you all the things a mom should be doing."

My husband blames me

We took the kids to the Off Broadway Theater last night to see Robin Hood. My friend Kelly was in the play and so I thought it was a good opportunity to expose my children to the theater.

Zoey, however, was not impressed with merely sitting the audience. At the ripe old age of 4 she felt she deserved to be up on stage. When I told her that that just was not possible she settled for dancing in the aisles. Yes, literally. It started during intermission and lasted clear through the second act. As far as she was concerned the laugh and applause was all for her!

My only regret was that I left my cell phone in the car. Even crappy cell phone video of the rising star would've been better than none, which is what I have.

Pretty

I can't help it. I think my daughter is beautiful. And I try to tell her enough so that she knows she is, but not so much that she thinks that being beautiful is the most important thing.

But one Sunday morning I was just completely overcome by her beauty and couldn't stop myself from blurting out, "Oh Zoey, you really are the most beautiful 4 year old I know!"

She responded, "Well mom, you know, I do have a lot of friends who are awfully pretty, too."

Blame it on the genes

The other morning I decided to make blender pancakes. So I tromped downstairs to find some wheat. Adam, always the inquisitive one, followed me down and asked me what I was doing. So I showed him the wheat I had just retrieved and, figuring this was a prime teaching moment, said "This is called wheat. I grind it up and it turns into flour."

He rolls his eyes a little and says, "Yea mom, I know. That's what Millers do."