When you hear that familiar gurgling and your son starts to throw up as you rush him to the bathroom, do you stop and let him throw up on the stairs, or do you continue to rush him into the bathroom, making a nice throw-up trail on the way? I really haven't made up my mind on this one. How many bites of "whatever" is the correct amount before your kids leave the table? We know they really aren't going to starve. Is it okay to wake up the baby? EVER? I've always liked the idea that you should know the answers to life's possible questions before you are faced with them so that, in the moment you need to make a decision, you won't hesitate. But some mysteries remain unanswered--much like the game sensation "What's Grosser than Gross." 'cause really, I can't make a decision in that game to save my life.
I went to pick up a check from BYU. A seemingly simple task, picking up a check, but BYU made it a really special journey for me. By special I don't mean endearing or touching. But I love BYU, I really do, and so I'm always willing to give them the benefit of the doubt. After receiving two phone calls in two days that I had a check WAITING for me (and my mind pictures some 19 year-old plain-looking coed dressed in an awesome black Chico's skirt sitting behind a sterile gray desk, holding my check and checking her watch every 30 seconds--the pressure!) and a quick glance at the checkbook, I decided to THINK ABOUT picking it up. It takes me a while to ease into these things. I know what they will entail. I know what kind of determination, patience and speed it will take. I know the kind of negotiating I must be prepared to do. For example, I know that Owen will run off. I know that he'll want to see and touch everything. He'll run and get as near to the water-fountain as he can until I yell "don't even think about it!" and he'll laugh and go try to climb a tree. I know that Phoebe will take her time walking and go in the opposite direction the rest of us are moving. I know she'll say hello to all the boys and flirt as she says "My name is PHOEBE! I'm a bean-er-ina!" and she'll pick flowers she's not supposed to and tell me she has to tinkle right when I'm trying to talk to an adult or worse, tell me that boys have a penis and she has a vagina. Hugh could be an angel and smile, instantly captivating every stranger within a three mile radius, or he'll scream at the top of his lungs like a tortured cat. I consider all the possibilities and my adventurous pioneer spirit sets it. Not all of those things will happen all at once, I know. It is a grab bag of sorts; which one will happen on this journey? Which magical combination. "So", I say to myself, "feelin' lucky?"
After being directed to five different departments in the Administration Building, I finally come to discover that I do not have a check waiting for me. It will be ready on Monday. Of course it will.
After I load the kids in the car (details of aforementioned "grab bag" not important) as two 20's something students watch (in horror? in delight? I wonder), I say, "Enjoy the show?" they laugh and I flip my hair back and laugh, too and it was at that moment that I realized that I, too, was enjoying the show: "the show" that is motherhood. NO, just kidding. They just looked uncomfortable and smiled and I got into the car and told the kids to "hang on--we've got one more stop."