Thank you all so much. And thank you for the sunshine. I know that everyone who gives a speech is supposed to start off with a few jokes, but I've never been able to do that, because, frankly, all the jokes I can remember, I can't repeat--and those I can repeat, I can't remember! That's one of the drawbacks of living with ten children. It's not that the jokes the kids tell me are dirty, you understand, it's just that they're so dumb, I can't bring myself to repeat them.
When Doubleday Publishing Company first came to me in the fall of 1977 and asked me to write a series of books based on my experiences as a mother of ten children, they told me they wanted the first one to be a "how-to" book, because they were so popular at the time. And they told me I should submit an outline. Well, that almost blew the whole deal! I write books, I write book reviews, I write magazine articles, I write newspaper columns, I write nasty notes to my children's teachers, but I don't do outlines because I don't know how. Even in college when an outline was required for every term paper, I would have to write the term paper first and then pay my roommate to do the outline. But one does not say "No" to a publisher such as Doubleday, so I dutifully sat down and constructed a nine page paper, listing all my wise and wonderful theories on raising children, and sent it off to Doubleday. In a few weeks they called me, and they said they like the outline; they felt we had a great book going, but they did recommend one change. I said, "What's that?" And they said, "The theme." Instead of a "how-to," maybe this should be a "how NOT to." You see, Doubleday made the same mistake everybody makes about me--they think that because I have ten children, I should be an expert on raising children! But I'm not. I used to be an expert--that was before I had any children!
After the first baby was born, I realized that I knew absolutely nothing about raising children. And after I had raised ten, I realized that I still know nothing about raising children. But that was because I had carefully cultivated a very poor memory, and I advise all parents to do the same because the more you can forget, the longer you will survive!
Of course, I did learn a few things over the years. For example, I now know that a nine-month-old baby can crawl faster than his mother can run, and that a two-year-old toddler can find anything, no matter how well it is hidden or locked away, and that a three-year-old, who should be taking a nap of a cold snowy afternoon, would rather be outside shoveling snow, while her 15-year-old brother, who should be outside shoveling snow, would rather be inside--taking a nap!
I have learned that a four-year-old boy can spend five minutes washing his hands and get only the palms clean! That a 10-year-old boy can spend a half hour in the bath tub and not get anything clean! And that neither of them will get into the bathroom at all if they have a teenage sibling. You know, kids are funny creatures. You spend the first 12 years of their life begging them to take a bath, and the next 12 begging them to get out of the shower!
And I have learned one little-known fact of life, which will be of interest to any of you who have children in high school. Contrary to what you have been led to believe, it is not against the law for high school seniors to walk to school!
I truly do have ten children, but what they didn't tell you was, I had all ten children within a period of 12 years. And I'm always a little bit embarrassed when people ask me if they were planned. BECAUSE THEY WERE! OK, so maybe they weren't very well planned, but they were planned on, and definitely wanted. Truly, I did not intend to have them that close together. And, as a matter of fact, after the fifth child was born, I somehow managed to go 2! years without having a new baby! My husband was so grateful he gave me a mink coat! For which, I was so grateful I gave him a new baby!
I am often asked, "What's the best age--that is, the easiest age for children, and of course, the answer is obvious: under nine months. After that, it is 25 years of absolute chaos. I used to say 20 years, but I've had to change that.
You know, God certainly knew what He was doing when He created humans in the form of a sweet, loveable, huggable little infant who can't even talk yet, let alone talk back. Yet, it is an indisputable fact that life that all too soon that sweet, lovable, huggable little infant is going to turn into a terrible toddler who will break everything he touches, fall off everything he climbs on, put pins and needles into his mouth and peanut butter under the sofa cushions, and spout the dirtiest word you ever heard the moment your mother-in-law says, "Say something for Grandma, sweetheart!"
If the infant stage is the easiest, the toddler stage has to be the hardest. I honestly do not know how I survived those terrible toddlers. My mother used to say, "Oh, Teresa, blink our eyes, and they'll be all grown up!" SHE LIED! I blinked my eyes and they broke the dining room table. Our toddlers broke every thing they touched--and I mean everything! They broke all their toys, they broke the television set, they broke the telephone, they broke the front door. My husband used to tell people he came from a broken home.
Our toddlers were no notorious for breaking things they often got blamed for anything that got broken--anywhere. I can remember I was out shopping one day, when the power went out in the city. In fact, it had gone out in seven states--it was that time something went wrong in a dam up in South Dakota, and the power went out all over the Midwest. I cam home to find that my mother, who was babysitting, had one kid in each corner, and she says, "Nobody gets out till I find out who was fooling with the fuse box!" I never did convince her they weren't responsible. I've never been convinced they weren't responsible! I didn't realize how much my toddlers got blamed for breaking things, or what a guilt trip I was sending them on, until our first daughter was born and I decided that this was a good time to explain to the four little boys I already had the difference between little boys and little girls. So, I gathered the boys around the bath table--they were then, 2, 3, 4, and 5--and I said,"Now boys, there's something I want to discuss with you." And as I took off my daughter's diaper, my 3-year-old son looked down at his bare baby sister and said, "I didn't break it off, Mama! Honest!!"
So why and when did I become a writer? Actually I can remember the moment that I decided that I would become a free-lance writer. It was at 8:00 on a school morning, and I have just written four notes to teachers. The first note went to the junior high gym instructor telling him that my daughter would not play tennis that morning because of her broken leg. Two crutches and a plaster case were not proof enough--she needed a note! The second note went to the fifth grade teacher telling her that I was very sorry that I could not chaperon the fifth grade boys on a field trip to the zoo because of my allergy--I'm not allergic to animals, but I am DEFINITELY allergic to fifth grade boys! The third note went to the art teacher telling her that I could not send five jar lids of varying sizes, though I did, in fact, have five jars in varying sizes in my refrigerator. The kids had long since lost the lids. and the fourth note went to the first grade teacher telling her that my son would not have any notepaper that morning because I had just used it all up writing notes!
It was at that point that I decided if I were going to spend the rest of my life involved inceative writing, by golly, I was going to get paid for it! Incidentally, I like to think that some of the notes I wrote to teachers were quite original--but none was so good as one my husband wrote one morning. Our eighth grade son had come home and confessed that he had been goofing off in class and needed a note to get back in. So, my husband wrote, "Dear Teacher: Danny said he needs a note. Here is a note. Signed, Lee Bloomingdale." It wasn't just the notes to the teachers that inspired my wiring career, however, it was also the notes FROM the teachers. And you remember the ones I mean. "Your daughter is going to be in the Christmas pageant. Please make a camel costume by Thursday." Or, "Your child is going to be in the art fair. Please send six cottage cheese containers, three pounds of feathers, and a four-ounce tomato juice can by 8:00 a.m. tomorrow morning."Don't you hate it when they ask for things like cottage cheese containers? You know, some place, some where, there may be a mother who carefully washes and stores her cottage cheese containers, but I have never met such a mother. And, God willing, I never shall! Because she's the type of woman who HAS three pounds of feathers carefully stored on her closet shelf in a box marked, "Feathers for school use only." And if there is anything more ridiculous than asking a mother for three pounds of feathers, it's asking a mother of ten for a four-ounce can!
But the request I really dread is the one asking for my child's baby picture. How do you tell a 22-year old teacher that your 12-year-old's baby picture is still in the camera waiting to be developed?!
White I joke a lot about those grade school years, I must admit that I enjoyed them immensely, because in my opinion, at least, children five through twelve are absolutely perfect. Oh, I know--they balk at taking a bath, and they never want to do their homework, and they refuse to hang up their clothes or clean up their room but they're at the ideal age, as far as I'm concerned, if for no other reason than they are not yet teenage.
You know, I can remember when I was a very young mother, chasing my toddlers hither and yon--never daring to blink my eyes, lest they get away from me and--God forgive me--sometimes hoping they would! An older mother said to me, "You think they're bad now, wait till they get to be teenagers!" I could have killed her! You know, if there's anything an exhausted young mother does NOT need to know it's that things are gonna get worse before they get better! But this mother claimed that while toddlers will flood your bathroom and fall off their trikes and break all their toys and most of your furniture, teenagers will break your heart. And of course, she was right, but you have to look at life positively--a broken heart, given time, will heal all by itself. You're not going to have to pay somebody $50 an hour to plaster it, plug it, or put it in a splint! And teenagers won't make you feel so guilty! You know when a teenager does something stupid--like back your car out of the garage without opening the garage door first--you know it's his or her fault. But when a toddler does something stupid--like smear mustard all over the living room sofa--you know whose fault it is don't you? It's his MOTHER'S fault--even if his father was babysitting at the time. It's his mother's fault because she left the mustard out, or she left the sofa unprotected, or just because she left, period!
I admit, I enjoyed my teenagers, and I loved having them around. Of course, they didn't always like having me around. In fact, most times they didn't like me at all. You know I think it must be mandatory in high school for teenagers to dislike their parents--and daughters seem to be better at this than sons. I can remember one day I was having an argument with my 16-year-old daughter. I don't remember what the argument was about, but she must have been losing because at one point her eyes flashed, and she stamped her foot and she said,"You know somethin' Mom? I hate you!" Well, I was taken aback, but I said, "Well, I'm sorry to hear that, darling, because I love you." She looked stunned and said, "Well, I love you to. What's that got to do with anything?" I learned a lot about teenagers that day--though one never learns enough about teenagers. Especially boys. They're such an enigma!
For example, I have one son who is on the Nebraska track team. He's won medals for running cross country marathons, mile, two mile--all those long-distance things. Yet, every morning he asked me to give him a ride to school!
We have another son who has a remarkable memory. You notice I didn't say wonderful, I said remarkable--my husband and I remark about it all the time! No, I mean he really does have a phenomenal memory. He's one of those people that can recite the Presidents in chronological order, and the Vice-Presidents, and the Secretaries of State. He can remember the name and jersey number of every pro football player in the country, he name and address and telephone number of every girl in the senior class. What he cannot seems to remember is--does he have a calculus assignment tonight, or the name of his calculus teach, or for that matter, is he taking calculus! I mean this kid is really absent-minded. I was going up the steps one day and I found him standing on the landing with his head in his land like this, and I said, "on, are you alright?" And he said, "Yes, I'm just trying to remember if I was going up or coming down."
I am often asked, "Which is easier to raise--sons or daughters?" And while I wouldn't want to be quoted on this, I'm gonna have to opt for the sons. Oh, I know that girls are prettier, and quieter and cheaper to feed than boys, but they're also more complex. Take punishment, for example. You can rant and rave and yell and scream at a teenage boy and ten minutes later he will come back to the kitchen and, with all good cheer, ask you to lend him $10! You yell at a teenage girl, and she'll go off to her room and pout for three weeks! And girls are also more demanding than boys. Give a teenage boy a reasonable allowance and his own set of car keys and you won't hear from him again until he's gone off to college! But from the moment a girl becomes a teenager, she's gonna want her own room and her own telephone, and her own way, and she will cry when she doesn't get any one of them. She will, in fact, cry throughout most of her high school career, and you may never know what she's crying about. But that's alright--neither does she! And for heaven's sake, don't tell her that you understand her, because if there's anything that makes a girl really cry, it's having parents who think they understand her!
Which costs more to raise--sons or daughters? I think it's a toss up. Girls cost more to clothe, but boys cost more to feed. Boys will raise your car insurance and probably cost you more in traffic fines, but then we all know what those hot rollers and curling irons can do to our electric bill. And you know, I think it makes no difference if you have one child or several--you're going to spend more money that you've got! I have a theory about that--and that is, no matter how rich you are, how much money you have, how many children you have, your children are going to outlast your money. You know, I think it's amazing that more parents don't end up in bankruptcy court.
I'm often asked where I find enough ideas to fill up a book every year or two. A mother of ten does not have to search for ideas. They droppeth like hailstones from heaven! Or maybe, just from upstairs. For example, there was the time our two-year-old stuffed Kleenex into the upstairs bathroom sink, turned on the hot water,and departed. We didn't know what was happening until the dining room chandelier began to rain! It was a spectacular sight! So was the ceiling when it fell! Or the time our three-year-old son, while watching TV, decided he wanted to help the good guys catch the bad guys so he picked up his little toy gun and ran around the back of the set and found an opening and went "Bang! Bang!" Which would have been rather cute, except that the little toy gun was a loaded water pistol! Have you ever watched a hot picture tube explode? It's almost as much fun and watching your ceiling fall! Or the time our nine-year-old son climbed out of his third floor bedroom window, 40 feet above the ground, laid flat on this back on a nine-inch ledge, and painted under the eaves of the house "John the Great." It gets worse. He took his three-year-old brother out there with him to hold the paint!
Speaking of painting the house, we had just painted our house one spring, when for reasons never determined by anybody, a little neighbor boy named Matthew, who was then six or seven years old, took a can of bright blue spray paint and sprayed the word "Love" all over the north side of the house! Well, it was not a big deal. It was insured, but Matthew's parents didn't want Matthew to know it was no big deal, and so they called him aside and said, "Matthew, you've done a terrible thing and you're going to have to fix the Bloomingdale's house."
His father said, "Now Matthew, your brother pays you a dollar week to help with his paper route. It may take you 30 years, Matthew, but you're gonna fix Bloomingdale's house."
(Now incidentally, this story is the absolute truth just the way I am telling it from beginning to end.) That night the father said when Matthew was saying his prayers, he said "Please God, you gotta help me! I'm just a little kid, God,and I can't fix Bloomingdale's house all by myself. Please, God, help me fix Bloomingdale's house." At 4:33 the next afternoon a triple tornado hit Omaha, Nebraska and God fixed Bloomingdale's house! And let me tell you NOBODY has messed with Matthew since!
I have to keep writing more books because my kids keep doing stupid things! Just last Sunday, I had the grandchildren over the brunch and that night after they had long gone, the rest of us sat down for dinner and I looked up and saw right in the middle of the dining room ceiling a pat of butter. And I said, would somebody please explain to me how they got that butter on the ceiling? And my son Patrick said, "Sure, Mom, it's simple! You just cut the butter like this, put it on your fork like this, and whang!" We now have two pats of butter on our dining room ceiling. That same week our daughter went out for the evening and called home about midnight and asked her father to come and get her. He said, "I thought you took the car." And she said, "I did, but I locked my keys in it." And he said, "Wait a minute. I thought I told you that you couldn't take the car unless you took a duplicate set of keys." And she said, "That's right." And he said, "Do you have them?" And she said, "Yes." And he said, "Why don't you use them?" And she said, "I can't. They're in the glove compartment!" And she's 22 years old!!
In the unlikely event that my own children ever stop supplying me with material, I can always rely on relatives and friends. My sister called me not long ago. My sister has seven children--all of whom are every bit as bright and clever as mine--and she called me to play Can You Top This? This I could not top. It seems that her 17-year-old son had called her the previous afternoon to tell her that he was in jail. Well, now, my sister has been to traffic court every bit as many times as I have, but she had never been to jail, and of course, she was frantic. She called her husband, and together they rushed down to the police station where they spent the rest of the afternoon convincing the sergeant that you can't arrest a kid just because he's stupid. It seems that my nephew had been driving through the downtown area when it began to pour rain, and when he saw a well-dressed young man with a briefcase running along the sidewalk, my nephew--every helpful--always hospitable--pulled up and offered the young man a ride. The young man got in the care gratefully. A few seconds later they heard sirens, police cars converged from every direction, and they both got arrested. It seems that the well-dressed young man was running--not because it was raining, but because he had just robbed the First National Bank!
But my favorite story comes from a mother in Lost Nation, Iowa. She called me one day to tell me this story. She and her husband have eleven children, she said, and on their 25th wedding anniversary, the kids wanted to do something very special, so they all pitched in and gave their parents two airline tickets to Europe. I said that's wonderful! She said I'm not finished. They were ONE-WAY TICKETS!
Our children are grown up now. A couple of them are married, some of them are even working. But five of them are still enrolled at the University of Nebraska. I am buying the University of Nebraska! Course by course! What is it with kids these days that they can't seem to get a simple four-year course in four years? We have one son who took six years to get his college degree, and we couldn't understand why, because he wasn't flunking anything and he had gone to college with a straight A prepschool average, and twelve college credits previously earned in high school. Well, when he hadn't graduated in four years we weren't too concerned--I mean a lot of kids don't make it in four years--but at the end of four years I began to wonder. So I called the Registrar's Office to get his transcript. Did you know that you cannot get your child's transcript if your child is over the age of 21 without the permission of your child?? Even if you're paying the tuition. Well, that would have been OK if it hadn't been this particular child. This was the one with the "remarkable memory." He could never remember to go over to the Registrar's Office and give permission! Plus, it was five years before we finally say the transcript, and we were astounded to discover that while it takes 125 hours to graduate from the University of Nebraska, this boy had 151 credit hours! But nothing matched! I said, "Why did you take all those extra courses?" He said, "Because they were so interesting!" You know if there's anything that chills a mother's heart more than hearing her first grader say, "Mommy I hate school!" It's hearing her college senior say, "Mother, I love school!" This kid like loves school. He finally graduated with 171 credit hours. So what did he do then? Enrolled in graduate school, of course! What else?
Somebody asked me this morning how many of our children are still living at home. I don't have the slightest idea! You know what I mean don't you? they move out, and they move back, and they move and they move back. I think the problem--at least at our house--is with those that don't live at home but often still eat at home. My husband looked down the diner table at me not long ago and said, "Teresa, we've been married 34 years. Why do we still have seven people at the dinner table??" I didn't have the heart to tell him there were eight. He came home for lunch the other day and couldn't find a place to park!
But that's one nice aspect of having your children move out--you see so much more of them! I came downstairs the other morning to find my daughter, who has an apartment in Omaha, had dropped by to do her laundry. And she was standing out in the kitchen talking to her older brother who has an apartment in Omaha and had dropped by for a cup of coffee--and four eggs and six strips of bacon. Which would have been OK, but you know what they were talking about? How neat it was to be independent!
Speaking of apartments, one of our sons moved into an apartment not long ago, and I was astounded to find out that he didn't need any money. He had the rent deposit, he had the utilities deposit--but he didn't have any furniture. And I said, "Well, son, this is a nice apartment, but what are you gonna use for furniture?" He said, "Don't worry about it, mother." Don't you hate it when they say that? He said, "Don't worry about it, mother. I'll manage to beg, borrow or steal enough stuff to fill this place up." And he did. What he failed to tell me was the place from which he intended to do the begging, borrowing, and stealing. In the first place, he conned us into letting him take his bedroom set, which was fine with me, I have never seen the room clean. But the next weekend he came by and borrowed his sister's tape recorder and high brother's typewriter--neither of which has been seen since! The third weekend my husband and I were out of town, and when we came home the kids say, "Boy, we're glad you came back! If you'd been gone an extra day there wouldn't have been anything to come back to!" I said, "What do you mean?" And he said, "Well, your son, the scavenger, was here and he left you this note." It read: Dead Mom and Dad, Sorry I missed you. I dropped by to borrow a few things I needed. I hope you don't mind if I took a couple of sheets and towels from the linen closet." (Six sheets, nine towels). "And a few dishes from the kitchen cabinet" (Six place settings, including all the cereal bowls). "I also borrowed some knives and forks, but don't worry, Mom, I didn't touch your brand new stainless steel. I just took that old stuff you never use in the dining room buffet!" He has since taken a couple of lamps, a chair or two, an old sofa, four or five mirrors--they never have enough mirrors. I haven't seen the apartment yet, but my husband was over there the other day looking for his Countess Mara tie, and when he came home I said, "Well, how's the apartment shaping up?" And he said, "You know, it's really nice. Almost like home!"
How have I coped with the chaos and confusion of raising ten children while simultaneously developing a career as a writer, author and lecturer? I think if there is any secret to success for a mother, writer, or anybody else for that matter--it lies in laughter. I learned early on to laugh at everything and everybody--including and especially myself! I know the experts say you shouldn't laugh at your spouse or your children or your parents or your friends. But I do. I always have. I think it's better laugh at them than to yell at them. And it is certainly better for them to hear your laughter than see your tears. And as every parent out there knows--most of the time, it's going to be either one or other of them! So, I laughed at the toddlers when they smeared mustard of the sofa. I laughed at the older kids when they came home with incredible excuses for flunking exams or getting traffic tickets. I laugh at my college kids when they call home to tell us how much they miss us, then come home--hug the dog, take our car and go out with their friends. And I laugh--oh, heartily do I laugh when my married children call to tell me that my grandchildren are driving them up the wall!!
Yes, I am an advocate of laughter, and I am convinced that I have had such a happy life because I've laughed my way through life. But you know, I am particularly happy right at this moment because you have laughed my way today! Thank you all so much!