Most Popular

This last Monday we celebrated our 13^th wedding anniversary.  I’ve been so stressed out about all of the stuff going on around us for the past several months that my sweet husband said, “Let’s go to Vegas!”  And so, off we went!

My few trips to Sin City in the past have left me with this one piece of wisdom:  When sitting at a blackjack table it is DEFINITELY best to have all of your belongings in a clutch as opposed to an over the shoulder purse (my usual).  It’s smaller and easier to maneuver, not to mention you look SO much more “lady-like” when you’re placing a bet or motioning to the dealer to “hit me” with a small pretty purse pressed between your arm and the table and not some gigantic (albeit gorgeous I’m sure) designer bag pressed into your armpit with its straps falling down your arm.

With this in mind I knew that I needed to find something pretty and small to hold my necessities.  However, I didn’t remember my little tidbit of wisdom until just before we left and I had to go with the best thing I could find with the lowest price.  I wanted to look cute for my mini-vacay but I know that once I’ve returned from my getaway I probably won’t use it again for a very long time. Sad, but true statement.  Mommies in my position don’t get to run off to have grown-up time in places that don’t require me taking 43 different things for my 5 little people very often.  Hardly. Well, ever really. 

With a low budget set in my mind and very limited time to grab something I came up with this one.  It was the right size, mostly black, and most importantly it was the right price. $15. But the down side?  It had “Most Popular” printed on it in shiny gold font.  How much more juvenile could I get?  It might as well say “Juicy” on it. Ugh.  Whatever.  I can make due.  We’re going to Vegas baby! 

The whole time I was there I carried my little black clutch with the words consciously turned inward, so as to make it appear plain of course, with confidence and style!  But whenever I looked down and saw the gilded letters a tiny serge of panic would come over me and I’d quickly flip it around.  

Somewhere along the way I told my husband about my shame in the self-proclaimed title of “Most Popular” on my purse and we laughed about it.  He didn’t see the big deal with it but he thought it was funny that I was so self-conscious about it.  “Hello?!  I’m a grown woman!  Grown women do not have purses with silly titles printed on them!” 

It was the first time in our entire marriage that we had ever gone away somewhere without ANY CHILDREN in tow.  Ever. 

We stayed at the Venetian and didn’t go to sleep until 6am the next morning.  We had so much fun!  We saw a show, played at a few casinos, and ate some great food!  But by the time we were ready to leave my poor husband was running on fumes.  He’d lost our valet ticket and the very thorough and very cautious valet booth would not release our car to us until we proved it was ours.  My hubby was just too out of it to deal with any of this so it all fell to me. 

Security, “Is there anything in the car that could identify you as the owners?” 

Me, “Uh, let me see… we have 5 kids so its messy and has tons of kids stuff in the back.  Just look at it.  Why would anyone want to ‘pretend’ it was theirs?” 

He smiled and said, “No, I meant the insurance card or something like that. We checked the glove compartment and there’s nothing in there.” 

I turn to RD, “Honey, where’s the insurance card?”  RD’s eyes are squinting, he looks up, and his eyeballs are darting right to left.  Bloody hell.  This guy is half asleep!  He’s taking deep breaths and trying to recall where he put the cards. 

RD, “I think I put them in the sunglass holder…?” 

Security calls it in on his radio and they find it.  Yay!  They’re bringing up our car!!!  I give my sober but intoxicated-looking husband a quick “Get your crap together” talk and we jump into our car and pull off!  I got so wound up at the car situation, but I don’t want our trip to take a down turn so I desperately try to get back into the “honeymoon” frame of mind that we had had all weekend.  And then I reach for my clutch…

“OMG!  Where’s my clutch?!  It’s not here!!!  I think I left it at the valet!!!!”

Quickly, I call the Venetian back on RD’s phone and put it on speaker. They transfer me outside.

Male voice, “Venetian Valet how may I help you?”

“Hello!  I’m panicking right now!  I was just there 2 minutes ago and I left my little black purse there!”

“Does it have anything valuable in it?”

“Yes!!!  It has my license, my cards, cash, and my phone in it!”  My heart is racing!

Pause and then a calm male voice, “Does it say ‘Most Popular’?”

%@$#&!!!!!  “Yes, it does.”

“We have it at the podium, ma’am.”  Click.

RD and I look at eachother and DIE!!!!  And all I can think of was, “Screw you Venetian Valet.” LOL!!!!!

My name is Bonnie. I have fears. I have doubts. I have faith. And I'm a Mormon Mom.

When I go to the movies I have this slight paranoia of getting head lice from resting my head on the theater seat.  I mean, that’s legitimate, right?  I don’t know who sat there before me.  Who knows what manner of residual nastiness could be festering on that cushy, high back chair!  And so goes just one of my many creeping thoughts of  “what if’s” that goes through my mind on any given day. 

This brings me to what my husband calls my over-protectiveness of our children. When I was 11 years old (the current age of my oldest child) I rode my bike up and down my street for hours on end like I owned it.  There were never any thoughts of what scary monsters could be lurking in the shadows ready to pounce and steal my childhood innocence.  Never once did I consider that any of my neighbors could be a potential pedophile or sadistic serial murderer on the prowl, waiting for me to ride past his or her door on my ten speed so that they could snatch me up and carry me away to some dark room, only feet away from my frantically searching family, never allowing me to see the natural light of day!  But as a mother, these are my fears.  And this is why I don’t let my children go anymore than 30 or so minutes without checking in with me, and I N-E-V-E-R let them leave our little cul-de-sac, on foot or bike.  They are constantly pointing out their friends who we pass on the street several blocks away from our neighborhood and saying, “Mom!  Look!  It’s Jesse or Tony!  Wow, they can go this far from their house?” To which I reply, “Oh my goodness!  That’s crazy far!  I wonder if their moms know where they are?  But you guys know you guys can’t do this, right?”  My fears, which some may say are a bit irrational, require that I keep my children close to me. 

When my husband was a kid he had a circle of cousins and friends that consisted of about 10 to 12 slightly delinquent boys that walked up and down several blocks, not just in their own little town but all along their neighboring cities as well.  He has stories upon stories of all of the mischief they got into on this street corner or in front of that store.  He tells them with a warm smile and nostalgic chuckle and I listen with genuine interest.  They were some crazy kids!  My stories consisted of me spending hours with my best friend who lived down the street and the most rebellious thing we ever did was ride our bikes down the busy main road just outside of my block to the local liquor store to buy candy.  We both have ridiculously funny stories of our childhood adventures and sharing them with one another has led to some really awesome and insightful conversations.  I love all the sharing! But what if my method of keeping my children safe leads them to have uninteresting lives?  Am I really keeping them safe or am I robbing them of their own fun stories?

I want them to enjoy their innocent years and to feel the excitement of having these little adventures.  However, I am not 11 years old anymore.  I am old enough now to know that the monsters aren’t under their beds.  They’re not big and hairy with sharp, pointed teeth.  They are normal looking, probably fairly charming people in or around our neighborhood, who can tempt you with kind words and requests for help with something in their backyard or finding their lost cat. 

Recently, there have been several stories in the news of adults who were kidnapped children held in captivity for decades who have, through a series of miracles, found their way back home.  These stories, while I am so grateful for their happy endings, haunt me.  They’re usually so close to their homes, just a few miles away, and yet they were living nightmares for years.  When I hear these stories I clutch my babies just a little bit closer.  How can I loosen my grip on them and allow them to run the streets the way their father and I did when we were their age when I have all of this information about what could actually happen to them? 

The funny thing is, other than my potentially crazy fear of something happening to them, I’m actually a pretty liberal parent.  I talk everything out with my children. There isn’t a topic that I am not willing to address with them.  Their goals, dreams, any and all areas of interest... lets talk about it!  Forensic science, gays and lesbians, movies, where do babies come from, whatever it is, let’s have a dialogue! If I don’t know the answer we “Google” it together.  But this one thing, giving them more freedom to do things away from me, I find SO difficult. 

The reason why this is on my mind today is because I am a Mormon.  I love God and have a relationship with my Savior Jesus Christ.  I am also the mother of 4 sons and 1 girl.  It is expected as a Mormon mother for me to raise my sons and daughter to also love the Lord and to want to serve missions when they become of age and to teach others about Christ and His sacrifice for us.  I have always believed this and it is toward this purpose that I have worked to build my children’s spirituality.  It has always been my goal to raise good, honorable young people who love the Lord and will be productive contributors to society someday.  Today I heard a story from Jeffrey R Holland at our General Conference about 2 missionaries, sister missionaries, who were walking through a park and saw a man sitting on a bench eating his lunch and so they started to approach him.  When the man on the bench saw them walking toward him he started to yell and spit his food at them.  They immediately turned around and walked away.  As one of the young women went to wipe some of this man’s food off of her face she felt something hit her in the back of the head.  He’d thrown his mashed potatoes at her.  She told President Holland that in that moment it was so hard for her to be a missionary.  She wanted to turn around and say something to the man, confront him, but she didn’t.  She found a way to humble herself and continued to walk away.  I cried like a baby when I heard this story.  I mean, I did that ugly cry.  My heart ached for that poor girl.  How could anyone be so despicable to these young people who are out there sharing their testimonies about Jesus Christ?  There’s no excuse for such behavior!  In that moment, I became that nameless sister missionary’s mother and I cried for her and I wanted nothing more than to protect her. 

For the first time in my life, I questioned whether I had the faith and the strength to send my children out into a world where this could be a possibility. Where do I find the grit required of mothers to let our children go out into the great big unknown in order to serve missions?  How did my Father in Heaven let his only begotten son come down here knowing what awaited him?  How did my Heavenly Mother do this?  I think of this enormous sacrifice and I want to weep.  I can only imagine what she might’ve said to Our Heavenly Father as they discussed what needed to happen. Her eyes filled with tears, “Is this really necessary?  My poor son.  They are going to persecute him, call him a liar, beat him, mock him with a crown made of thorns and then nail him to a cross.  My poor, poor son!”  In my imagination she would’ve said these things all knowing that there was no other way.  Knowing that the only way to provide a way for the rest of her children to come back to her would be to sacrifice this one.  Billions and billions of souls needed to be saved and it could only be done through the sacrifice of this one child.  There isn’t a single parent who wouldn’t pause and think on this.  To give up any child, even if it was just one, for the sake of all of the others would be gut wrenching.  Gut wrenching and necessary. 

So, I guess that is the answer to my question of whether I have the faith and the strength to send my children out into a world that could spit on them, throw food at them, ridicule them, mock them, and treat them with all manner of cruelty.  I will look to the example of my Father in Heaven and my less spoken of Mother in Heaven.  I will have to remember there is a greater picture and have faith that this is a necessary sacrifice for their spiritual brothers and sisters who have not yet heard the gospel and know that my babies aren’t the first to have gone through this.  With that faith I will also have hope that there will be other merciful mothers out there looking after my children in my stead.  May these other “proxy mothers” feed and protect my children when the time comes the way I am feeding their children now and the way I would willingly and gladly protect any one of them like they were my own.  

My dear sisters, if your children are currently serving Our Heavenly Father today and they out there serving full-time missions spreading the gospel, know this… I will watch over them where I am.  I will feed them and provide whatever I can for them here in my little corner of the world.  And I have the utmost faith that I am not alone in this.  I know, the way I know that my Father in Heaven lives and the way I know that Jesus is the Christ, that there is an entire network of “proxy moms” out there serving and protecting your children, too. =)

And even with all of this faith and hope… I still won't let them leave our block. lol.  At least for a little while longer. ;)

Xavier and the Mexicans.

Xavier (my 11 year old) just started tennis.  Today was his 2nd practice.  We were on our way to the park and he asked me, 

"Mom, can you stay with me at practice today?"  

Me, "Why?" 

Xavier, "Because the Mexican moms look at me crazy!"  

Me, "What?  Why would they look at you crazy?"  

Xavier, "I think it's 'cause I'm white!"

My husband and I exchange a look and fight back the giggles.

This kid is a quarter white and he is my lightest child.  I crack race jokes all day long in our home so I have no illusions as to where this all came from. :)  I'm Samoan and my husband is half Tongan and white.  We clown on each other CONSTANTLY!  All with love of course! We cracked up at Xavier's request.  

However, we had errands that were time sensitive so we couldn't accommodate him today.  

"Son, just go play tennis.  Maybe you had a silly face on or you were doing something crazy and that's why they gave you those looks. I'm sure no one cares that you're white."  

And we sent him on his way!

Meanwhile, my husband is protesting in the 

background that he's Tongan. 

Calm down homeboy.  We get it.  You're "Tongan". 

lol

Later, when we picked him up RD asked in a teasing tone, 

"Did the Mexicans look at you funny today?"  

Xavier, "No."  

RD, "See! You got all worked up for nothing!"  

Xavier, "The Mexicans weren't there today.  I think they only come on Mondays." 

I just lol'd and smh. 

He is so my kid.

=D 

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The Tongan version of "Stand by Me", with a tiny bit more violence.

I got to sit and listen to my husband and his cousin exchange tales from the old days today.  I can’t tell you how much I love those old nostalgic trips down memory lane.  First, RD would say something and that would entice a, “Oh yeah!  That was crazy!” followed by a hearty chuckle from both men.  I know all of the names that were being thrown around but, sadly, I haven’t had the pleasure of actually meeting a few of them in the flesh, but I feel like I know them all so well.  The repetition of my hubby's tales from the hood have solidified all of these characters firmly in my mind. 

My favorite story from today’s rap session went something like, “Remember when Heef and I sent you over the wall to get that one guy?” 

Henry, “Yeah! (LOL)  Man, I thought I had him too!” LOL

RD whoops back, “Yeah, and then he started slamming your head into the ground!”

Henry with equal levity, “Yeah!  I was gettin’ my butt kicked!” And then they both start laughing hysterically. 

RD, “Man, when he started banging your head into that stucco?!?!  You came up and your head had all these rocks!” He’s gesturing to his forehead.  Again, they both start dying!  Henry does not seem to have any remorse or resentment about this memory.  He’s loving it just as much as RD.

I turn to Henry who’s grinning ear to ear, “Why is that funny to you?  That sounds horrible!” He just shrugs and smiles at me.

RD with a wistful grin, “Ahh,  good times!  Good times!”  Henry nods and smiles in complete agreement with his cousin.

Me, “How is that ‘good times’?”  Their glee is infectious at this point and even though I can’t see how this particular story could be such a happy memory for either of them, I can’t help but laugh with them.  Idiots.  Freakin’ hilarious idiots.

RD looks at me like the answer should’ve been clear as day, “Uh, because if you survived it, IT WAS GOOD TIMES!”  Now, both guys are doing that high pitched laugh with one hand over their mouths and the other one doing that semi high-five to the other from across the table.  LOL!  So ghetto. This is how it is when you grow up in the hood.  No hard feelings about the old war stories. 

My husband grew up with what I like to affectionately call his “Pack of Wolves”.  At any given time, whether it was home, school, or church, there were at least 3 to 5 boys together.  At least. They roved the streets like they owned them.  Kind of like the Tongan version of “Stand by Me”. Only on a slightly more savage scale with a tiny bit more violence. ;)  There is a rotation of about a dozen names that go with any of RD’s childhood memories.  By all accounts they sound like the “bad element” I would warn my sons not to get mixed up with. Heck, I'd probably threaten bodily harm to them if they had friends like those guys. And yet, I wish my boys had the kind of comradery he had.  I know that many of these boys, now all grown men with families of their own, had a rough life and because of some of their poor choices several of them are now scattered to the wind, but they always had each other.  And they took care of one another.  As bad as some of them were, they never let my husband get into too much trouble.  They were like a gang that you couldn’t get jumped into.  For most of them, you had to be born into it.  There were a lucky few that were not related by blood, but try figuring out which ones they were!  If you go strictly by the facts of the stories and the way any of them would repeat the names of their fellow partners in crime, you’ll never be able to discern the difference. There really isn’t a point to calling any of them cousins or life long friends.  I hate having to describe any of them as my husband’s cousins. These guys are more like brothers to him.  Then and now.  And I love and appreciate all of them. <3

Does Anyone Know If Toys R Us is Hiring?

I just found out that I got a second interview 

with that bank from last week.  

I'm scrambling now to find something to wear.  Not a lot of "professional" options in my closet these days.  

Briggy sees me trying things on and says, 

"Mommy, where are you going tomorrow?" 

"I have another job interview at the bank." 

I tell him in soft tones.  

"What's an interview?" he asks. 

"You know what a job is?  It's what daddy has.  

I'm trying to get one of those."  

"But why do you want to work at a bank?"

"Well, they have lots of stores close to us. So, if I get this job I can still be close to you guys."

His eyebrows are furled.  

I can tell he's processing this. He's giving it lots of thought. 

Finally he says,

"Why don't you get a job at Toys R Us? You could work there!"

I laugh a little.  

"Well, I guess I never thought about them. I guess I could." 

"Mommy, if you get a job at Toys R Us I'll call you the best mom in the whole world!"

"Okay, my love.  I'll keep them in mind. Now, go to bed!"

As he's skipping back to his room I hear, 

"If you work there we can get all the toys we want!!!"  

Can I just tell you that 20 minutes before this conversation I wanted to pull all of my hair out?  They were all driving me nuts!  My husband, my children, my life!  But this guy always gets to me.  I have such a soft spot for him.  And now I kinda want to get a job at Toys R Us. =D

Teacher, do you know what my mommy told me?

During our Relief Society meeting today (that's the women's class at church for the uninitiated) the sisters were given the opportunity to share their thoughts and testimonies about Our Savior and His gospel.  I love to share my thoughts via the written word but I'm not always so comfortable in front of a crowd so I stayed pretty glued to my seat and listened quite contently to the other women share their experiences.   

The first one up today was Ika's primary teacher.  She shared that today she taught her class about testimonies.  "What is a testimony?" was going to be her topic, but like a good teacher who is in tune with the spirit she quickly realized that today her 4, 5, and 6 year olds were going to steer their discussion.  They had a visitor.  She told us about how she started to introduce him to the others, but then gestured toward me, "Ika is Bonnie's son."  She looked right at me, "And you know how he is.  He is something else!" My eyes get wide and I catch my breath. Oh, no. She went on to say my son spoke up immediately about the new kid, "I know him!  He's cool!"  

Teacher, "You think he's cool, Ika?"  

Ika, "Yeah!"  

Teacher, "I think he's cool, too! Do you guys want to be cool like 

him?"  

The whole class cheers, "Yes!"  

Ika says, "Teacher, do you know what my mommy told me?"  

Now, mind you, this story is being relayed to us in our class.  I am hearing this for the first time with everyone else.  At this point I'm cringing!  Ika is 4 and I am a bit of a loose cannon at home.  I kid with my children and joke around with them constantly.  Sometimes I am sarcastic and sometimes I am no nonsense. No matter which kid you're talking about, if any of them were to say in public, "Do you know what my mommy told me?"  I'd want to die right there!  Any number of things could follow that statement! But what she said next made me want to cry.  

Ika, "My mommy told me that Heavenly Father is cool.  And she said that He loves me. I want to be cool like Him, too."  

She then took her cue from my sweet Ika and parlayed that into how "cool" Our Father in Heaven is and how we can all be cool like him and following Him and believing in Him is very cool.  

I can't begin to tell you how often I doubt myself.  I second guess everything about my parenting style.  Am I doing anything right?  What am I doing that my children are silently vowing to never repeat with their own children someday?  Are they happy?  Am I too hard on them? Am I too lenient?  Do they feel loved?  I believe in Christ, but am I doing enough to teach them about Him?  Have my choices and actions helped to build their foundations on a rock or on sand?  And then every once in a while a moment like this comes along where someone outside of our bubble will tell me of something that happened with them and then this stillness comes over me.  Suddenly, I'm soaking in every word and I truly start to question if this is just a dream. Did I just make this up?  Did she?  But today it was in public.  There were others around.  I didn't even know she was in the room, let alone going up to bare her testimony.  She had no reason to tell a tall tale about my son.  This was an unprovoked truth being shared.  And just like that, the Lord used this woman to fill my cup.  They're okay.  I'm not doing a terrible job.  They know that Heavenly Father loves them, and I am the one that did that.  I planted the seed.  I am not a perfect anything… Blogger, mother, wife, daughter.  But the Lord sees me and is mindful of me and my doubts and He sent that woman into my class today to give me a sign that I am headed in the right direction. 

This is my testimony of my Father in Heaven. He lives. And He is cool.  

Amen. 

Rainy Day Dilemma.

It started raining last night just before 1am.  

Woke up this morning and it's still sprinkling.

  

Helped the kids get ready, sat down to watch the news, 

and silently debated whether or not to drive the kids to school or make them walk as usual. 

C'mon Bonnie!  Are you really going to make your babies walk in this weather?

Ugh.  Fine.  "Okay guys. I'll take you guys today."

Just then I looked up and the sun poked out. 

"Ooo, forget it!  Sun's out!  You guys are good, right? 

 Okay.  You're back to walking!" 

Xander just shook his head at me.  

Whatever kid.  I feel no guilt.  Look at it as an adventure!

:) LOL